He reached out for the alarm clock on the bedside and turned it off. Still one hour to go .
Sleep evaded him.
He turned back to look at the small form curled up under the blankets, heaving softly in the rhythmic breath which only peaceful sleep can bring.
Almost on cue, her little head emerged from the cave of blankets to give him a Good morning smile.
His heart felt that ache again. She looked so much like Her . Like her mother. It was almost like fate had given him this gift as a keepsake copy while snatching away the original so ruthlessly.
It was an usual day. The toothbrush song he had taught her as her little brush sweaked in the frothy toothpaste. The warm mug of Bournvita . The bread smothered with her favourite plum jam and peanut butter, cut into little pieces she could fork up easily. His hands deftly buttoning up her little denims. The long brush strokes as she sat on his lap, that made her hair glisten like a raven's jet black wings.
She skipped along side to the car and stopped at the sight of the red suitcase, sitting imposingly on the front step.
"Where are we going, Papa?"
He paused, not wanting to hear his voice mouthing the reality that was about to strike in a while.
Her young mind did not grasp the pause as she dragged the suitcase with him to the car.
" I like helping you," she said, looking up at him lovingly.
His mind went back to another day, another time when the same eyes had looked up at him. The same love. The same words. The same emotion.
They drove into the courtyard.
She look surprised at the sea of men and women in black and white, walking about with folders and papers.
"They are dressed like penguins, Papa," she said.
" Baby, go with this nice lady for a while and play with her. Papa has some work to finish. Then we will go for a good burger and fries meal. "
" Pwomise?"
"Promise."
He sat on the bench. Waiting for the Proceedings.
His face was expressionless when the Man walked in, his arrogance already showing his confidence of a win. He liked calling him the Man. That took away the relationship the Man had with Her. Took away the bitterness he felt that all he had of Her were just two beautiful years. While the Man had thirteen. Making the Man nameless took away some of the humanness and made him look at the Man like an emotionless machine. She had always called the Man that. A Robot. A selfish robot.
The final Battle began.
Rights of a "father". By birth? By support?
Can a man who has no relation at all even claim to be a "father"?
Serious faces in black and white cite Articles and Sections and make Points and Counterpoints.
The Man sits back, even more confident.
The little girl waits in the adjoining room, playing with her puzzle, waiting for Papa .
He is oblivious to all this. All he can see and hear is Her. Smiling at him confidently. Asking him to Think Positive. To Believe. He nodded silently. That's what she had been about. Always positive. Always believing in life and love.
The Verdict. He stands respectfully like the rest, still in oblivion. The wild enraged cry from the Man brings him back to the present.
He hears the congratulations. Accepts the pats on the back. Thanks the right people. Ignores the flash bulbs of hungry media waiting to break the story of justice.
All he could see was Her face, smiling gratefully. With a relief her living years had robbed of her.
The little girl was tired of waiting. She walked to the door and peered out.
Her worried face broke into a smile as she saw him walking towards her.
She looked at the lady who was with her, and said,
" There's my Papa. My father. We are going home."
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