Fallen Hero

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my story, or whether someone else would occupy this post, the following pages are eligible to judge. I was born in the month of October, and after a long wait of precisely one year, one month and a fortnight, my sister's birth took place- which was the only memory of my childhood that could be called even remotely happy. Being abandoned at the ripe age of three by my parents and being the sole relation to my sister was rather hard.
I first started the dilemma of working- when I was three-by polishing shoes, which earn me sufficient food to fill my sister's and my own stomach. Polishing shoes, perhaps, taught me one of the most significant lessons of life- which sitting in an air-conditioned room with warm blankets and comfortable pillows could not. It made me accustomed to the harsh and real world and not the kind of enchanted world most children live in. It had the desired effect on me. Nothing scared me at that point of time.
Now when I think about it, I am forced to eat those words. The only thing that worried me was my sister, whom the world, unlike me, kept subjugated.
My sister was an angel. Her encouraging smile, served as an incentive for me to work hard everyday. Sometimes, on particularly hard days, she would pretend to be happy with half a loaf of bread, and let me have the rest. I would know that her stomach would not be content with half a loaf of bread, since I would catch her eating the leftover food in the garbage cans, often accompanied by a dog. Those times framed as the most adverse of my childhood.
It is every brother’s dream to see his sister earn. The only difference was that my sister had started earning, when she should have been playing with dolls. I had certain dreams for my sister, and hoped that I could earn enough to educate her. When I could not carry out this task, my sister did not complain about it. If anything, she started doing household chores for a joint family. My sister started earning about five hundred rupees every month, and with my income as a laborer, the two of us could fill our stomachs with adequate food. Things had, undoubtedly, started looking up.
Probably God thought that we did not deserve any happiness at all. Whatever the reason was, I highly doubt it was worth all that He made us go through.
One day, the two of us went for our respective jobs. I went to the sack factory, and my sister went to the house she was working in. I returned home, only to greet the sight of my sister sobbing her lungs out, with her small blouse torn.
Needless to say, this sight shocked me. I did not have to wait for long for an explanation, though. I was appalled after hearing what she gave me as an explanation. I ran to the police station, where not even a single officer was ready to believe, that a seventeen-year-old man from a well-reputed family could rape a five-year-old local maid. I was chastised out of the police station.
That night, when I returned to the small corner of a street, which was technically supposed to be my house, I could not make eye contact with my sister. I greeted the sight of my sister, who was waiting for me with food. Giving her the news I had, didn’t seem so embarrassing now. I quietly told her the news I had, and even tried to console her, but my consolation was not of much worth.
I did not see even one wrinkle of resentment on her face after she heard the news. Instead of crying or cursing me, she, very softly, told me to eat my food. That night, with the appearance of dusk, all my hopes followed the last rays of the sun.
Consequently, the news spread all over the town as fast as a forest fire. Pressurized by the circumstances, I decided to leave that area. Had it not been for my sister, I would have been forced to carry out this decision. And as usually things get bad to worse, the same thing happened to me. My sister got run down by a car, while going to buy food…for me.
My sister's death completely warped my psyche. My world had turned upside down and backwards from how I once knew it. I even left my job. And today, any time you want to talk to me- though I cannot imagine what might force you to do so, I’ll be available at the old Delhi Railway Station, doing drugs and pickpocketing for a living...