The Soup

By Srotoswini Bar Saha

It's raining cats and dogs outside. Beliti might not come today. “Belit" I named her, her soft milky skin red tinted cheeks make her look like a foreigner.

It was the 12th of April, three years ago, around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, when we moved into this empty single storey 'should get renovated' house - "we" meaning me and my lovely, beautiful wife. We’ve been happily married for 52 years. She was the life to my soul, now she is lifeless settled in her old creaking rocking chair. 9 years, Her legs are paralyzed.

“Bhalo dadu! Ooo bhalo dadu!”

The familiar chant echoed from the front porch.

Ah, there she is — Beliti and her little gang.

“How come you're all here? It's raining like anything today!”

“Oh, dadu, it's nothing!” one of them grinned. “Ten frogs must've peed together!”

Beliti beamed, her hair dripping wet and sticking to her forehead, eyes bright like monsoon lightning. The rest of her squad— three boys and another girl — huddled under the porch roof, water pooling around their feet. I handed them a towel. 

With hesitation in voice beliti spoke up “can we meet her once”, 6 bambi eyes looking at me for answer “To give her a gift.” There was something in her voice — unsure, a little solemn — that made me pause. Rain pattered heavily on the tin gutter. Behind me, in the quiet of the house, the old rocking chair creaked gently.

“Not now, she is resting” I said with a soft smile “give me I will pass on to her” I reached my hands out. Beliti gave a small nod, passing me the small silk pouch. Then, she turned to others. “Come on. Let's go before the frogs start peeing again.”

A ripple of laughter broke the spell, and they slipped out into the rain, their footsteps fading into splashes and giggles. The door to our bedroom was slightly ajar. She was in her chair by the window, as always, wrapped in the old shawl with the faded marigold print. The rain tapped softly on the glass. Her eyes were closed, but I knew she wasn't asleep.

The rain had eased into a soft drizzle. A gentle hush settled over the house, like the walls themselves were humming.

I made myself a cup of tea, the steam curling up like old memories.

That's when I heard it — the faintest creak of the floorboards down the hall.

I thought it was her chair again, but something about the rhythm was different. Lighter. Hesitant. I peaked in.

At the edge of the hallway, near the door to our room, stood a small figure — half-hidden in the shadows. The figure spoke up, “I want to see her.. just once”. 

I recognized him, he is from beliti’s gang the little one with big curious eyes.

I looked at the door.

“She Is inside,” I said, quietly. “Don't go too close. Just… be gentle.”

He nodded.

Then he stepped in.

The morning air was thick with the smell of damp earth. Rainwater still clung to the leaves, dripping lazily into the puddles that freckled the path outside.

I stepped onto the veranda with my usual cup of tea, expecting the quiet hum of a new day. But instead, I saw movement — quick, scattered.

The kids caught my eyes, they looked tense and hesitant.

 I spotted her — Beliti.

She was running, her braid half-undone, her voice cutting through the morning stillness. 

As I called her, She stopped at the gate, breathless. Her cheeks were flushed, not from running, but from worry.

“Bhalo dadu,” she said, voice trembling slightly, “it’s Biltu. The little one. No one's seen him since yesterday evening. We are very worried.”

The rocking chair creaked gently behind me

“Yes, darling,” I called back gently, with a small smile. “The chicken soup is ready. I’m coming.”

I touched her shoulder lightly. “Go on. Keep looking. I’ll join you all soon.”

She nodded and ran off, her voice rising again. “Biltu! Biltu!”

The sun had barely risen, and the drizzle still clung to the air like a secret. Most of the children had returned home, faces drawn and feet heavy, their search for Biltu giving way to quiet fear.

But Beliti wasn't ready to stop.

She took the narrow back lane, the one that curled behind the old banyan tree and led to the side entrance of the 1storey “ should get renovated” house. Her sandals slapped against the wet ground, calling out into the fog.

“Bhalo dadu! Bhalo dadu!” she called, voice cracking.

She pushed open the creaky gate. The front door was ajar.

Strange — he never keeps it like that.

She stepped in cautiously, and then she heard it — a soft scraping sound. Metal on ceramic.

Her eyes, still adjusting to the dim light, caught a movement through the half-open bedroom door.

A woman.

Wearing a long, faded maxi gown, her frame oddly stiff. Brown wavy hair falling over shoulder. She was hunched forward, messily shoving spoonfuls of soup into her mouth, dribbling broth down her chin. The rocking chair groaned under her weight.

Beliti felt a pang, she recognized someone, very familiar one.

She muffled couldn't speak a word, felt her legs got pinned to the flood.

“B-Bhalo Dadu…” Beliti mumbled, her voice barely more than a breath.

The figure looked up slowly, his eyes glassy, the spoon hanging from trembling fingers. Broth clung to his chin, dripping in slow, sticky trails onto the faded floral gown. A wig shifted, slipping slightly to one side, revealing a patch of thinning grey hair beneath.

“Beliti,” he rasped.

His voice was hollow. Wet. Not quite his own.

“Come, come here… lemme feed you. It's still warm.”

He held out the spoon, hand shaking.

I rotten fleshy disgusting smell was coming out of the soup, beliti felt her stomach welling up to her throat.

Beliti took a step back.

“I… I was looking for Biltu,” she whispered.

The familiar face looked disgusting. Lipstick painted all over the face, wig falling off, he chuckled. 

“I had to,” he murmured. “She's hungry, Beliti. Always so hungry. No one ever understood that.”

Beliti took another step back, her breath shallow now.

Outside, the drizzle began again — light, steady, like the world is holding its breath.

Beliti stood frozen in the doorway, She couldn’t look away.

“Hungry…?” she whispered, her voice cracking.

By Srotoswini Bar Saha