VOICES

 “You put salt in the tea? What is the matter with you?” she yelled.

She turned to him and saw his eyes tear up. His bowed his head down in shame. It was the third time this week he had done something like this.

“I’m sorry Ma. I’m so sorry. I can’t help it”, he said, crying, “The voices in my head keep telling me to do these things; things that make no sense. And I don’t know why, but I have to listen to them.”

She looked at him for a while, reached out her hand and hugged him ever so tightly.

“It’s going to be alright Son”, she said, in a comforting voice.

The little boy had been hearing voices in his head for a month now. Mother knew; Father didn’t. She wanted to tell him but she was worried. For the first few days, she thought her son was just having a little bit of fun, but over the past month, it had just gotten worse.

Adding salt to the tea, ripping out the milk packets from the fridge and pouring it over himself, holding his breath till he turned blue – and throughout, his explanation for it all was the same – “The voices in my head asked me to do it.”

Ma decided it was time to get help. That evening, when his father returned home, she started talking to him about it.

“Listen. I’m worried about the little one. He’s been hearing voices lately. Voices that tell him to do strange things – dangerous things”, she said.

Father didn’t reply for a while and then softly said, “Hmm, I think I need some tea.”

The boy was hiding in his room, with his ear pressed against the door. He listened to every word that was being spoken.

“Are you listening to me?” Mother said anxiously, “Our son is hearing voices. He has been doing things to himself. I’m scared he’s going to hurt himself. We have got to get him some help.

”Father sighed and then shouted in a calm voice, “Bring me some tea please?”

“You don’t care about your son? What is wrong with you!”, she screamed in anger, “get your father some tea son. And put salt in it. Let him know what’s going on.” 

Mother was angry. But Father watched patiently, as the little boy came out of his room, walked to the kitchen and made some hot tea. He poured it in his father’s favourite mug and served it to him.

But just as Father took a sip, he spat it out. “You put salt in the tea? What is the matter with you?” he yelled.

“I’m sorry pa”, the boy replied, looking at the garlanded picture of his mother that had been hung up on the wall a month ago, “the voices in my head asked me to.” 

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