#Title

ANIS
It is the paper sword his mother made him last night. He has been fighting the monsters in his dreams with it. He holds it up and stares at it for some time. He is the king of his world, and must carry his sword for protection.
SANJEEDA HOSSAIN
She was about to throw me along with her old clothes. Only at the last minute, she grabbed me by my nape, and pushed me inside the washing machine.
I found myself amidst a band of stuffed toys.
“Hi, I am Lalala the pink mouse. We all belong to Inu Binu,” she shook her fluffy ears and asked, “Whom do you belong to?”
“Inu Binu’s mother I guess,” I gave her a curt reply as I felt spoons full of lemon detergent on me. Water spurts in; the lid of the washing machine comes down, and everything becomes dark inside that cave full of soap water.
I moved round and round inside the machine; it squeezed me and filled me up with water. Next, it drained out the water in such a manner as if it would pull my black button eyes out.
***
She used to give me bath in a red, plastic bowl filled with mild, fragrant shampoo bubbles. She rubbed me gently with a soft towel, and placed me under the fan to dry.
This used to happen in my homeland where she went for her study. She was alone at her hostel room, until I came in to give her company.
I was separated from fifty other teddy bears because I had one foot shorter than the other. So, instead of displaying me at the glitzy mall, I was given to a vendor to be sold at a cheaper rate.
“I am Anis. I am nine inches tall. I am brown in color. My paws are pink.” I reluctantly introduce myself to the other stuffed animals as we all hung on the line under the scorching sun.
“The sun will hurt a bit, but you will feel nice and crisp once you are dried up. I don’t like it if I remain wet for days,” mutters the sheep called Baa with a red heart sewn on his chest.
“Let’s hope that it doesn’t rain today,” says Balok, the brown-haired little boy.
Cottons are coming out from his ruffled head. Inu Binu chews on his head when he watches cartoon.
“Do you know why we are washed today? We were washed just four days ago!” asks Dino, the green dinosaur.
Neigh Neigh the Horse was quiet till now. He bursts out angrily, “Because his mother thinks we are always dirty!”
His ears have come off due to that violent disinfecting.
“Inu Binu has caught a cold and germs are deposited on us. We have to be germ free before he holds us in his hands again. Baby toys must always be kept safe,” Lalala sagaciously replies.
As the sun begins to set in, Shefali, the maid servant, comes up on the roof top and takes us back inside the house to settle us inside a cardboard box.
Just beside us, there was a green sack full of rubber animals.
“Who are they?” I ask the band.
“Inu Binu used to chew on them and slobber to ease his gum pain when baby teeth were erupting from his delicate gums. They are discarded now,” Dino informs.
Upon that note, I rummage through my memories and wonder if there is anything darker than the darkness of being discarded, or forgotten?
***
It was more than two years ago.
As soon as she felt the presence of the baby inside her, she started giving less attention to me.
I was there, not discarded yet. She talked with her unborn child for hours, putting her hands around her belly, while I was sent to sit with the two gold fish, Gila and Kolija to spend time with. She left me bending over the round glass bowl and I had to remind the fishies of who I am at every three minutes.
I watched them swimming around the plastic plant rooted inside the pebbles in the bowl-water, waiting for her to come back. I could not afford to be angry. This is teddy bear mechanism: you just absorb the pain and sadness of the one who hugs you.
Gradually, the baby learnt to kick and used to respond to his mother’s joy and sorrow. Inside her dark womb, he tossed and turned, sucking his thumb and eagerly listening to his mother’s voice.
Back in my country, I used to wait for her to come back from her university to her hostel room. I sat idly inside her dark cupboard and raised my ears as I recognized her footsteps approaching.
After taking her bath, she used to sit with a mug of coffee. She held me tight during her happiness and soaked me with her tears when she was hurt.
Her pregnancy was a difficult one; she focused all her attention on her baby’s health and safety. As the time of Inu Binu’s birth was approaching, she put me inside a drawer full of clothes.
***
The warm, morning sun glows upon the baby’s face; he squeezes his eyes. He jumps up from his bed. He searches for something and passionately screams, “Swodh!”
It is the paper sword his mother made him last night. He has been fighting the monsters in his dreams with it. He holds it up and stares at it for some time. He is the king of his world, and must carry his sword for protection.
Before that he needs to reach his mamma? “Senanee!” he cries out.
Shefali arrives and pretends to be scared of his sword. He demands to be taken to his mother.
He is coming out of his room after three days. The fever is gone but he is still a little shaky. Where can possibly his toys be? He arrives at his mother’s room to find her bending over stacks of exam scripts.
Again?
He throws the sword away in rage, and God knows in what nook it goes. He reaches his mamma, snatches the red pen away from her hand and throws it out of the window.
Aware of his regal temper, his mother turns to him. She has to return all the scripts to her students tomorrow. But she knows how to divert her son when she is busy herself.
She gently plants a kiss on his forehead and hugs him tight. She patiently eats her breakfast with him. Cheese, omelets, apple jam, bread and tea.
Next, they arrive at the balcony and sit beside the lemon trees blooming with white flowers in red clay flower pots-- the mother with her scripts and the baby along with his cardboard box of stuffed toys carried by Shefali. The mother takes me out and hands me to her son.
“His name is Anis,” she softly speaks to her baby and runs her fingers through his sleek, brown hair.
He grabs me with his little hands and clutches me to his bosom.
…
As Inu Binu goes to sleep at night with me, I keep my eyes open and stare at the radium stars on the ceiling above his bed. The cardboard box has remained closed for the rest of the day with the band of stuffed animal toys in them.
They are left on the balcony, and it’s raining hard.
The baby snuggles with me inside his warm blanket while his mother checks her scripts. Little will I hesitate to respond to his love.
I just wish that Shefali did not forget to bring the band of toys inside the room.
Sanjeeda Hossain is an assistant professor of English at the University of Dhaka. She occasionally writes for the Star Literature.