Tridiva Chakraborty of class seven shares the story of Prachi, a lonely orphan who forms an unexpected bond with a mysterious visitor who appears through her window each night.
Prachi initially thought Aunty Ghosh was joking, but then…
The sun had just peeked over the eastern horizon when the health centre celebrated the birth of a baby girl, along with her joyful new parents. This was a particularly special occasion, as it marked the first birth in the recently opened centre. With tears of happiness, the father held his daughter for the first time and named her Prachi, in harmony with the time of her arrival.
The family celebrated with great joy, and everyone welcomed the little girl into the world. For three blissful months, life was filled with love and happiness, until tragedy struck. A devastating accident claimed the lives of both of Prachi’s parents, leaving her an orphan.
Prachi’s uncle and aunt kindly took her in, but as time passed, their kindness faded. They began to exploit her innocence, making her do all the household chores. She cooked, washed clothes, and even mopped the entire house. On fortunate days, she was given leftovers to eat, and on most days, she went without food altogether. As time went on, the abuse worsened.
Eight years passed this way, and on her eighth birthday, she was in for a surprise. As she walked into the living room, she saw a gift box waiting for her. Excitement bubbled up inside her. Perhaps her uncle and aunt had finally changed, and maybe they had bought her a nice dress or some toys.
“Happy Birthday, Prachi,” her aunt said, handing her the box. She hugged her aunt, feeling a surge of hope.
“Thank you! I’m so grateful.”
“Won’t you open it?” her uncle urged.
“Of course,” she replied eagerly, savouring every moment as she slowly unwrapped the gift. She closed her eyes, enjoying the anticipation. But when she peeled off the last bit of wrapping paper and opened her eyes, she froze. Inside the box was a broom, a mop, and a bucket.
Confused, she looked at her aunt, who was smiling. Slowly, the smile turned into laughter.
“Happy birthday again, Prachi! Now use your gift to clean the room,” her aunt said, as both she and her uncle burst into laughter.
Hurt and heartbroken, she retreated to her room and collapsed in front of her mother’s photograph. “Mamma, where did you go? Don’t you know no one here loves me? I don’t even have a friend to talk to. Please send someone who will love me and understand me,” she sobbed, until sleep finally claimed her.
The next morning, she awoke on the floor beside her mother’s picture. Quickly changing her clothes, she wandered into the living room to find her uncle and aunt packing their bags.
“Are you going somewhere?” Prachi asked.
“Yes, we’re going on holiday to Goa,” her aunt replied. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you—you’ll be staying with our neighbour for the month.”
She felt a mix of disappointment and relief. She wouldn’t be joining her only family on holiday, but at least she wouldn’t face their torment for a while. That evening, her uncle dropped her off at Mrs. Ghosh’s house. Mrs. Ghosh, a kind woman, welcomed her warmly.
“Welcome, Prachi. Feel at home,” Mrs. Ghosh said, and for the first time in years, she felt the warmth of love.
Later that evening, as she was playing in her room, there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Ghosh entered, carrying a plate of dinner.
“Thank you, Ghosh Aunty,” Prachi said gratefully.
“You’re welcome, dear. But don’t forget to close the window before you sleep,” Mrs. Ghosh reminded her.
Prachi nodded, but after finishing her meal, she forgot to close the window and soon drifted off to sleep.
Around midnight, she awoke to a strange sound. Her eyes fluttered open, and she noticed the window was still wide open. There was no grill on the window, and outside, in the dim light, she saw a figure. Blinking her eyes, she tried to focus. It was a young girl, standing just beyond the window.
“Who are you?” Prachi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The girl didn’t respond; she only stared at Prachi. She looked about Prachi’s age- maybe eight or nine years old. Again, Prachi asked, “Who are you?”
This time, the girl answered, “What’s your name? Will you be my friend?”
Prachi’s heart filled with joy. Finally, she had a friend.
“Of course! I don’t have any friends. You’ll be my first.”
The girl smiled. “Would you like to play with my doll?”
“Yes! Come inside, let’s play together,” Prachi said eagerly.
Night after night, the two girls played with the doll. Their bond grew stronger with each passing day. A month passed this way, and soon it was the night before Prachi’s uncle and aunt were due to return.
“I have to leave tomorrow. My uncle and aunt are coming back,” Prachi told her new friend.
The girl looked sad. “You’re leaving tomorrow? But you’re my only friend.”
“I’ll miss you too,” Prachi replied, feeling a twinge of sadness. But then an idea struck her. “Why don’t you come to my house? We can play there.”
The girl’s face lit up. “That’s a wonderful idea! Please, take my doll with you.”
The next day, as Prachi prepared to leave, she remembered her friend’s request. She went to Mrs. Ghosh and asked, “Aunty, may I take this doll with me? It belongs to my friend.”
Mrs. Ghosh looked puzzled. “Which friend, dear?”
“The girl who comes to play with me every night,” Prachi explained. “She comes through the window.”
Mrs. Ghosh’s face grew serious. “But I told you to close the window, didn’t I?”
Prachi hesitated. “Yes, but…”
Mrs. Ghosh paused, then said softly, “That doll belonged to my daughter. She passed away three years ago.”
Prachi’s heart skipped a beat. She thought Aunty Ghosh must be joking. But then her eyes fell on a photograph on the wall, adorned with flowers. It was a picture of her friend.
