The fan was as small as I thought I was and it had the personality of my father—sharp features, glistening skin–quiet and protective. It arrived in the house near my birthday, in May. Schools had closed, a few days ago, for summer holidays. Summer days in our town were shadowless and white and deserted—you could see the heat suspended in the space. Long after in the evening when father returned—one summer day would pass and he would bring to the hiding the news of the heat— "two horses died of heat-stroke, two old men died, one woman died, two children died."
"If you go out in the sun, you will also die"—my sister would hold my chin and lift my face towards her—force me to look into her eyes—speak and walk away. Obviously, I was studying in the first standard—otherwise I wouldn’t allow my sister to hold my chin. I can calculate the year—it was nineteen thirty-eight.
Just before it was dark—at about seven thirty in the evening—my father would return from his office. First of May—sheer logic—my father entered the house with the walking stick in his left hand—an awkward experience for the left hand to hold the walking stick—it looked amusing to me. The right hand held the fan—his arm appeared stretched with the weight of the fan.
Between my father and mother—to talk was to quarrel.
"You could have engaged a coolie to lift the fan for you".
"The fan has cost twenty nine rupees"—the words "twenty nine rupees" were spoken loudly, prolonged and stressed in the hoarse voice of my father.
The fan was crowned on a wooden table. The family gathered around the fan. Standing by the side of mother, I watched my sisters and brothers work the fan—turn by turn—switch on —speed one—speed two—speed three—switch off. My mother had no desire and was not confident that she could work the fan. I was sure I could work it but I was not even allowed to go near it. I felt, they were unnecessarily scared. I could see—not even my index finger could get in through the guards around the blades of the fan. Next morning—the stars were still in the sky when I woke up. Lying in my bed, I watched and waited for my mother to get up. I came down along with her from the terrace. As she busied herself in the kitchen, I slipped into the room where the fan was kept on the wooden table. Impatient and nervous I switched on the fan— the thrust of the morning cool air hitting my face and flying my hair. I remembered my mother and switched off the fan—went to the kitchen door—She was still busy. I returned to the fan and switched it on again. And when the togetherness with the fan became boring, I switched it off, I walked to the kitchen door and announced my triumph— "I can work the fan". Then I ran to the terrace and slept.
I was awakened with a slap from my sister—the sun was already high in the sky and the terrace was warm—"Don't ever touch the fan, you will die".
According to my sister if I would do anything, I would die.
"If I will go on the terrace in the sun, I will die."
"If I will go out of my house alone, the snake will bite me and I will die".
"If I don’t come home before it is dark, I will die."
"If I don’t take a bath before I eat my food, I will die."
"If I talk too much, I will die."
and now "If I touch the fan, I will die".
During the day, I heard all this and during the night, I dreamt of my sister and death and snakes. Always my mother came to my rescue in the dreams.
"Since morning, my sister is busy to make arrangements for the family to sleep after lunch. The room is darkened with curtains and the bed-sheets are spread on the floor in front of the fan. Everybody is allotted a place to sleep. Because I am the youngest my place is nearest to the fan. My mother choose to sleep at the end of the row.
The room is dark and cool. I can’t sleep during the day—I close my eyes for the fear of my sister and pretend, I am asleep—After sometime, I slightly open my eyes and watch the fan—its blades are revolving so fast that I can’t see them. Suddenly I feel the urge to switch off the fan and run to the terrace—I look at my sister—she turns on her side—I abandon the idea. I raise myself on my elbows and watch my mother over my sisters and brothers. She is snoring and she is perspiring—the air of the fan is not reaching her. I want her to sleep in my place—here she won’t perspire. Abruptly I get up—tiptoe to the door—the door creaks when I open it—my sister, without opening her eyes roars—"don’t go out in the sun, come and sleep". I leave the door open—return and lie down. I stare at her for sometime and then watch the fan. Again I am tempted to go to the terrace. I walk to the door on my toes and then run to the stairs—two stairs in a step and I am on the terrace."
The terrace is white with heat and there is no shade. The sky is clear but the sun doesn’t allow me to look at the sky. I stand by the railing and watch the leafless trees of the jungle around our house. My glance moves from branch to branch and from tree to tree. No bird is flying—they are all perched on the branches of the trees—exhausted by the heat, they are breathing heavily. The air is still and the world is silent and burning. Suddenly the birds start flying and crying. A snake is around—I know. I scan the ground and a snake appears—moving sluggishly towards our house—he is also exhausted with the heat and bored of the birds and their cries. I grow pale, stand still and I am scared—even though I know, the snake can’t reach me on the terrace.
The snake has reached near the wall of the room where everybody is sleeping. I imagine—the snake will go in the room and bite my sister—smile spreads on my face.
But my mother is sleeping near this wall—I leave the terrace—run to the room. There is no place from where the snake can come in. Still I stand near the wall—when the snake comes in, I will cry and wake my mother. I stand there for a long time. My sister opens her eyes in sleep and shouts again—"why are you not sleeping"—I go to the allotted place and lie down—I feel drowsy after the watch—soon I am asleep and forget the snake.
When I wake up, nobody is in the room—The fan is still on—I don’t even want to avail the opportunity to switch it off—but run to the kitchen and press my face on the jali-door.
"O, Maa".
From amidst her work, she tilts her face and looks at me and I set my gaze on her.
I wanted her to speak to me—I linger on.
She guesses my need for her—leaves her work—comes towards me—bends herself to be
near to me and asks
"You want anything"? 
"Nothing."