Specimen of the withering, yet, self-respecting middle-class of these days. Is he detached from his own sphere? His voice is unhesitating and straight- "My mother is ill-we are in want of money to buy her medicines-Will you buy one paper from me, Sir?" His grandma asks-"Why should you sell papers? You are a brilliant boy-you got medals and scholarships-you must strive hard and qualify yourself for higher position in life"- Still Babla hawks paper-Why ...Blasted ! ...inspite of all the inherent possibilities to grow up and thrive like a luxuriant tree?
His intellect and personality creates impression on Ashoke- His benevolent hand shrinks back in shame from offering any help to this brave boy. He says to his fiancee- "He is one of the self-conscious poor, who has understood that charity will never help the poor."
Manjari coughs and coughs and coughs - inside the lonely, solitary corner of her room-the pall of cold darkness gathers on her eyelids slowly but gradually. The blast moment creeps on pace by pace-inch by inch-she creams and yells-"Babla-Babla-my darling boy!"
In the medicine-shop Babla argues "How will my mother live-if you demand fifty rupees for the medicine which costs rupees five only?" A sudden row-a suppressed altercation-a door bangs-a girl moans-Babla runs to Ashoke forgetting everything behind him.
Manjari struggles for breath. She pants- "Come-my Babla-come".
The parting call strikes Babla's heart. And he runs to his mother only to find her DEAD-leaving unsolved the query in the child's heart-
"WHY DID MY MOTHER DIE?"
-WHO WILL ANSWER THIS?