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…