Alarm clock beside her head rang just on time. It was 5 in the cold December morning. She woke up with a peculiar enthusiasm very much unlikely at that point of time, as if she was waiting for something. Clutching her sweater which lay asleep beside her pillow she stepped down her bed to look for her slippers. Sliding her feet in the purple slippers she headed towards the room where the computer rested. As she walked through the rooms to get there, bulbs and tube lights illuminated to see what this girl was up to. With one stroke of her finger the machine came to life. She swirled the mouse to search for something. The monitor saw her dreamy anxious eyes drop back to dismay. The computer thought if only it could ask for help, it would have rendered it to her. May be her search was over as she left the computer again to have a nap for an hour. It was 6:30 then, when she again dug into the internet to have another investigation. Her anxiety and restlessness was now visible to other member of her family as by now they too have come out of their beds. A couple of phone calls were made. Dressed in a perfect attire she rushed for some urgent cause.
An hour she engaged her mind in what is called the written test. An announcement regarding the shortlist was made during the test. Her sanguine and confident heart waited. As she headed towards the notice-board she knew not what waited for her. The piece of paper was all set to rip of her heart and assault her pride and identity as a departmental rank holder.
Her confidence, pride and arrogance was crushed. There was attack from both the fronts. From the mind and from the heart. She stood there still in the hope of getting some life savior from other papers hung on the notice-board. This time her tear glands rebelled and she could not fight back. She was strangled and bitten brutally by her strong feeling of being a failure.Slowly she drowned into the chasm of despair, dejection and pain. Perhaps this is the fate of the girl who thought she was bright, hard working and honest in what ever she did. Perhaps she wasn't fit for the time. She will lay in this gloom until rays of hope and morality makes it's way through this chasm to reach her. That's how Aditi Das, the "Clayden book muggu" died.