Paper Butterflies

After a long time, Vardan entered the secluded room of the orphanage. He had been here millions of times, still today it felt strange like the life has been sucked out of the room and left it vestigial. Filled with rusty and dusty furniture, it seemed like a long lost world; almost extinct. The memories of his first visit here came rushing back to him. He would have been 10 - 12 years old at the time and he had seen this door open. Peeping inside he had seen a dark man sitting on the bed, silently staring out of the window. His body was covered with so many scars, many of them still healing. He had felt sad for Mysty then, Mysty as in Mr Mysterious as we came to call him in the coming years.

Suddenly he turned and saw me peeping at him. I froze at his dark gaze almost drilling through the soul. It felt as if he could read my thoughts and suddenly his lips perched into a smile. He motioned to come near him and sit on chair next to his bed. I was scared and cursed myself for looking into this damned room. Ahhhh..Why did I not go to the ground to play? I had to be the Sherlock and look around the Orphanage.
As I sat on the chair, Mysty asked me in his strong coarse voice ‘What’s your name bacha?’ I have many names I said, ‘Father Patrick calls me Johnny, Everyone else calls me Golu, you know because I am so chubby. But I will tell you a secret. Once I saw my birth certificate in Fathers room, it said my name is Vardan. ’ He was keenly listening to everything that I was saying and gazing out of the window, he said ‘Vardan, that means Blessing right? Does a sinner like me really need Blessing in his life?’ I didn’t understand what he was saying then.
My visits to his room became a routine after that. I brought him his food and the evening tea. He used to tell me stories of far and away and also taught me how to make the paper butterflies he kept making with the newspaper cuttings. My favourite hobby then was to poke these paper butterflies on a coconut leaf mid-rib and make them fly around the orphanage. Father Patrick called it the God complex: The tendency to animate the non-living. If only he had known the price I had to pay to get these paper butterflies from Mysty.

Anger gripped me as I thought of each time I was alone with Mysty. He used to remove my clothes and look at me and some days even touch me with his devil hands. I didn’t understand then. Was it a way of showing his love for me? No, It wasn’t. It was his way of satisfying his paedophile needs. He gifted me a butterfly for the services. By now, Vardan was mad with anger, he took the chair and smashed it against the glass cub-board. It shattered all around the floor and some pierced into his body. He couldn’t feel the physical pain because of his anger. Hundreds of paper butterflies fell from the cupboard. He collected them and kept them on the bed. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he walked out of the room taking a butterfly with him.
Standing at the door, he lit the butterfly and threw it on the bed, setting the room ablaze. The Devil Complex: The tendency to destroy the damned…

Birthday

11.30 :

The women across the street was still waiting for a client.  I have been looking at her since long now.  Maybe if I let her know that its a special day tomorrow for me,  she will give a discount. Her cheap tone and lipstick says otherwise. But hope is what keeps us alive, isn't it? Will tomorrow be any different?

The cars zooming by him kept beaming up his lustful face every alternate minute. He hoped she would see him looking at her and would come and talk to him.


12.00 :

Happy Birthday to me..!!!  No sweets,  no friends to wish me, no love or family that would remember my day. Its just another day of hunger and poverty like the last 42 years. There are few other like me on the footpath.. Maybe i should wake them up to celebrate my special day.  Nevermind,  why wake up one more hungry soul in the night. I will cherish my special day,  i don't need anyone else to celebrate it with.  Not even the cheap hooker across the street.

Nope. I think i can make an exception for her. A black ambassador car stopped near her.

12.30 :

She is still bargaining with the guy in the driver seat. Maybe I should go over and play the middle man in the bargain.  I had special talent for that. It was just yesterday that i bought a towel which was being sold for 50 rupees for mere 20 rupees ( that too a torn note).

That bastard is touching her even while bargaining. How can she let him do that?  She really needs a good business partner. Probably I should ask her tomorrow.

01.00 :

She has left with him in the car. Leaving me behind to celebrate my birthday all by myself. She must have got a good bargain, otherwise wouldn't have left her children alone on the footpath during the night. They are good kids and are learning the begging business. I had taught them a few of my tricks and they had picked it up very fast.

Tomorrow if I get some money,  I would buy them chocolates. Maybe then I can ask her to make me her partner,  I can get her good clients.
If we get 50 clients a day and i make 50 rupees commission on each one,  I will be a very rich man in a few days.

Can she take 50 men in a day?  I will have to make her do that otherwise theres no profit in our business.

01.30 :

There's a chill tonight. God gift me a blanket tonight please I pray. Then start chuckling, If he ever wanted to give me anything,  would have given me a better life. I am a lowlife who was born on the streets and will someday die in the same Street. I shouldn't expect more just because it's my birthday, Why would God care about it.  He is happy with all the offerings from the rich,  he keeps answering their prayers.

I said out loud to all the Gods in the sky, "Give me a full meal tomorrow.. Give me a women tomorrow.. Give me bottle of liquor tomorrow.. Then you can have this lowlifes soul in exchange.. It is not worth much but it is everything I have. "


Two days later, an article in the local newspaper read ' NAKED BEGGER FOUND MURDERED IN THE LADIES COMPARTMENT. God seems to have answered a part of his wishes.