The depth of Ratan's suffering and his extreme struggle for survival is depicted in the story below.Ratan wakes up before dawn. Lying in bed, he feels a strange emptiness in his chest. A ray of sunlight has fallen on the face of his eight-year-old daughter, Mim, through the broken roof of their dilapidated house. The girl is shivering with fever. There has been no rice in the house for three days. Last night, Mim fell asleep after drinking a little water. Crying from hunger, she eventually falls asleep from exhaustion; this has become Mim's daily routine.
Ratan once worked in a jute mill. Life was not like this then. At the end of the day, he would at least have enough rice to fill his stomach. But one year ago, on a fateful night, Ratan's right hand was cut off at the elbow when it got caught in a machine. After that accident, the owner gave him some money and sent him away. That marked the beginning of the dark chapter in Ratan's life.
After losing his hand, he lost his job at the mill. He paid off his debts with his savings. Then he set up a small tea shop on the sidewalk. He made tea and served it with his left hand. But fate did not let him live in peace even there. One morning, a bulldozer came from the municipality and demolished Ratan’s only means of survival, claiming it was an illegal shop. Ratan stood in front of the broken wooden pieces in silence, staring blankly. No tears fell from his eyes because the intensity of his suffering had dried them up.
Just a month later, Ratan's wife, Fatema, fell ill with jaundice. Ratan had not a single rupee in his pocket. On the porch of a government hospital, without receiving any treatment, Fatema passed away while holding Ratan's hand. She left behind little Mim. After Fatema's death, Ratan would sometimes lie awake at night, staring at the sky, wondering if the creator had written all the suffering only in his fate.
Since this morning, Mim's fever has worsened. Ratan searched every corner of the broken cupboard and under the rice container but found nothing except a rusty five-rupee coin. In a faint voice, Mim said, "Dad, my stomach really hurts. Please give me a little rice?"
Ratan's chest felt like it was going to burst. He stepped outside to look for work, but who would hire a man with one hand? He wandered from market to market, went to the brick kiln, and visited the rickshaw garage. Everyone turned him away with disdain. One person even said, "Why don’t you beg with one hand? What use are you for work?"
Ratan walked away with his head down. He couldn't beg; he still hadn’t sacrificed his self-respect. But when he returned home empty-handed that afternoon, he found Mim mumbling in a feverish daze, "Mom... please give me a little rice…"
Ratan could bear it no longer. He pulled out a broken bicycle that was sitting in a corner of his dilapidated house. It was the only memory left by his father. He took the bicycle to an old junk shop in the market and sold it for just two hundred rupees.
With that money, he bought half a kilogram of rice, a little lentils, and a fever medicine for Mim. After returning home, he somehow made a soft rice and lentil dish with his left hand. When he held the first morsel up to Mim's mouth, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She asked, "Dad, did you eat?"
Ratan stroked Mim’s head and said, "Yes, dear, I ate. You eat." In reality, Ratan hadn’t had a single morsel of food for the past 36 hours. His stomach was gnawing with hunger; his head was spinning. Yet, that small smile on Mim's face seemed to erase all of Ratan's suffering for a moment.
Ratan knew that tomorrow the same struggle would begin again. He would have to face hunger once more. There is no end to this endless suffering, no comfort in sight. Yet, with one hand and a chest full of pain, Ratan must continue to survive—only for the sake of that little girl's face.
