By Rimly Bezbaruah

It was one of the coldest days in February; the year was 1997 in Delhi. Or was the cold in my mind. For what happened that evening chilled my heart with fear, dread and a sense of hopelessness. I don't remember the date and I don't want to. I want to expel that day from my life. Nothing in the world can prepare a mother for what happened that fateful evening. I lost my son,Ron; he was barely four years old. What followed, felt like something out of a horror movie.

We had recently moved into a new apartment not very far from the apartment where Ron spent most of the three years of his life, playing with friends, where everyone knew him. We were just about getting used to our new home, not really getting acquainted with anyone. Ron would however, play every evening in the park inside the society accompanied by our live-in maid. Unlike the previous apartment where security was pretty tight, this new one was rather slack. The apartments were situated near a 'mandi' (market place) teeming with people, cycles and cars, even cattle. For a child to walk out of the gates was not at all safe so we were very careful about Ron never being alone when he was out playing. Children of that age are unaware of the hazards of a busy road and it is so easy to get lost in the milieu.

That evening was like any other, I was doing a multi media course and was getting ready to study. Ron's father asked me if he could take Ron to the market. I wanted to study; the quiet in the house was welcome so I said that he could. My maid too jumped at the idea and asked me if she could also go and I agreed. Excited, both Ron and the maid rushed downstairs to await Ron's father. Soon he too went down to join them. I sat down to study but no longer had I started my maid came up asking if Ron was with me. I was irritated and told her that he had not. It was when she told me that they couldn't find him downstairs that a dread set in me but I didn't panic. We looked everywhere in the house, under the beds, in the bathrooms, in the balcony. I kept telling myself that he was somewhere; all we have to do is search for him. My maid and I went downstairs and I realized that half the people of that society were out looking for Ron. Every place was searched but Ron was nowhere to be found. I still couldn't bring myself to believe that he was not there.

Finally someone suggested we inform the cops. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. There was a mosque right across the road and they kept announcing about a lost child. Every rickshaw driver, auto driver and shopkeeper were shown pictures of Ron and asked to report to the police station if he is sighted. The cops questioned my maid but even she couldn't give any clue. One second Ron was there next to her and while she got busy talking another maid, he disappeared.

Losing a boy child could mean anything in Delhi. They could be sold to couples, who don't have sons, or they could be mutilated and forced to begging, but I didn't want to go in there. The thought was too frightening. But as the hours slowly dragged I was losing hope. Strangers came to the house trying to console but nothing they said or did helped. I remembering standing in the balcony crying and wishing I had never been a mother. I cursed myself. Friends kept pouring into the house but I was in my world of hell. Around midnight we took off in search of Ron. Three of our friends accompanied us. We kept calling for Ron in the by now deserted streets, hoping he will hear us. There were open manholes and I feared he may have slipped into one of them. Or perhaps he is so frightened that he is hiding in some corner in the dark. It was unreal. This was happening to me and I couldn't do a thing about it except have faith in God and hope like hell someone finds him. Soon sniffer dogs were brought in. I remember being asked to bring some clothing of Ron that he had worn recently. I remembered picking up his tiny shoes and crying. Where is my baby? I kept asking myself and God. The dogs were of no help. They managed to get his scent only till the gates; beyond it they lost Ron's scent. That too was a dead end. So the theory was that perhaps someone picked him up outside the gates. We were beginning to believe someone took Ron. But why? We were ordinary middle class people; we had no enemies, at least not known ones.

A particular neighbor was extremely caring and thoughtful that night. The husband was an elderly Sikh who kept telling me that I should not lose hope. He said "I will pray for you and your son." I thanked him but nothing seemed convincing enough. I knew everybody was being nice. What else could they do? But I am sure behind closed doors they were discussing about our loss and how impossible the situation was. These same neighbors sent dinner but the thought of food was sacrilege. How could I eat when I didn't know where my son was? Was he alone, hungry and frightened? Two of my friends stayed back with us. They couldn't eat either. None of us slept a wink that night.

It must have been around four in the morning when the door bell rang. We all jumped. Was it news of Ron? There was fear as well as anticipation. Was it good news or was it something horrific? I didn't dare answer the door so one of my friends opened the door. It was our neighbor, the wife this time. She was sent by her husband, the elderly Sikh with a message for me. Apparently he was so disturbed that he couldn't sleep so he sat down to meditate. While doing so he saw something of a vision which showed him that Ron would be found. Visions or premonitions being ambiguous and not very clear, he could not exactly say where but he said that he saw Ron and there were wheels, so it could be a bus or a railway station. The possibilities were limitless. I wasn't convinced, my heart refused to take the bait but we thanked her.

I couldn't stand the waiting any longer so about five in the morning I and my friends took off in our search for Ron. It was a very cold misty morning. One couldn't see beyond a few steps. There was a sense of gloom that seemed to cling to the air, there was no respite for me. Nothing seemed to matter anymore but I couldn't stop looking for my son. It was in one of the paan shops that I visited every morning that we first went once again asking of any news that the owner could have heard. He reassured us that he knew all about it and if any news came to him he would surely inform us. Just then my friend turned around the corner and saw two people walking towards us in the thick mist, a man and a tiny boy. She said "I think that is Ron" and started running towards them. I was too scared to even think of the possibility and yet with tears streaming down my face I ran after her. And yes it was Ron! I was howling by then as I gathered my son in my arms and no words can even come close to expressing what I felt that morning as I held him.

The man who saved Ron that night was like an angel sent by god. We never got to know much about him. He refused to take any kind of reward though he did accept a cup of tea and some snack. It seemed he had appeared out of nowhere just to deliver Ron to me and then disappear again. In all the confusion of relief, happiness, joy and excitement we nearly forgot to ask him where Ron was found. What he told me made me realize that nothing is impossible in this world, that there are mysteries in this world that are waiting to be revealed, all we need to have is an open mind. Ron was found that night under a railway track.

Was what my neighbor saw in his vision a coincidence , that Ron would be found where there are wheels or did he truly possess a gift? Did he really see that vision or was it some freak incident? Perhaps his restlessness caused some kind of an energy that connected with the energy around Ron and made him see, was it telepathy?