I really liked the idea of an older brother coming home from war and explaining to a little brother what he did there.
“Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“I just wanted to ask you a question.”
Venkat’s voice sailed gracefully down from the top-bunk above me. It quivered with his eight-year old curiosity but had a way of hanging in the air, demanding response.
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
I don’t want to talk.
“Ever since you got back, I’ve been wondering…”
He wouldn’t let me sleep until I gave in. I think I was like that when I was his age, too. “Wondering what, Venkat?”
That was a long time ago, though.
I could hear him take a breath, summoning all of his courage, before asking me this: “Did you ever kill anybody… You know… Out there?”
I rolled to my side, pulling my blanket over my shoulder. Maybe I won’t have to answer him. “Why do you want to know a thing like that, Venkat?”
“Well, when you came back, no one seemed to want to ask you…”
“So?”
“Well, I talked to Prito Suhani, down the street and when his brother…”
“…Lachu Suhani?”
“Yeah, when his brother Lachu Suhani came back from Kashmir, like you, he told everybody he himself killed three enemy soldiers and shot down a Blitz Bomber with a rifle.”
“So?”
“Well, when you didn’t say, everyone assumed you hadn’t killed anybody. Prito Suhani told me it’s cause you were probably a coward or something…”
“I’m not a coward, Venkat.”
“So you killed some enemy soldiers?”
“Just one.”
“Oh.” I don’t think he liked the idea of his older brother having ended someone’s life as much he wanted to.
A cricket outside the window filled the room with it’s rhythmic harmony, as though it was counting the beats until Venkat had the courage to ask his next question: “How’d it happen, Ranjit?”
“Go to sleep, Venkat.”
“But, Ranjit…”
“No, Venkat.”
The cricket began again, this time louder, harsher, like a miniature buzz-saw. How could I tell Venkat? The night was getting cooler so I pulled the blanket tighter against my body. I adjusted the pillow beneath my head, so I could sit up a little.
The cricket grew quiet. The sound of Venkat’s breathing slowed as well.
“Venkat?”
“What… Ranjit?” He was half asleep, his voice slow as though in a trance.
“I was a cook. You know that, right? That I was a cook for the Army?”
“Uh-huh…”
“Well, we were in Kargil. I don’t remember the name of the village. I never got the hang of pronouncing it anyway. Well, we found an old restaurant in this little village that seemed to have avoided being bombed rather well. The officers got a couple of us to see if we could get some hot food together for the units we had there and they turned the rest of the restaurant into a makeshift command center.
“In the store room of the restaurant, I found some vegetables in plastic bins that would be good for some stews, I got a sack of potatoes from a tank driver named Swamy from Tamil Nadu, I got some meat from the supply chief, and someone even got us some beer… We were going to have a great meal. It’s the third best thing you can ask for after soldiering for so long.”
From a daze, still half-asleep, Venkat asked innocently, “What’re the first two?”
“A warm bed and a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.”
“So, I got the potatoes peeled and Babu, one of the guys I was with, got the steaks going and we were boiling this and that and it was like old music, but instead of hearing it, you could smell it. I imagined you could smell it for miles. I remember joking to Babu, ‘Our enemy gonna smell this all the way in the mountains surrounding us and think to himself, ‘If those Indian’s are eating that well on the front, we’re done for.’’
“In the back of this little restaurant was a big spout hand pump. I was going to wash the potatoes back there. I hauled the basket of peeled potatoes out there when Babu called me back into the kitchen. He wanted to know what kinds of herbs we should be cooking the meat in. Of course I told him we should cook it in all the basil and garlic we could find. So, the potatoes went on the back burner while we tried to rustle up as many fixins for the meat as we could want.
“It was like a treasure hunt".
“So, we get that done and I go back out to wash the potatoes…”
I didn’t even notice that I had stopped talking. Venkat reminded me with, “Then what happened, Ranjit?”
“I went back out to wash the potatoes and there was a man standing there…”
“A man?”
He was a battered soldier… A enemy soldier. His uniform was in tatters; he must’ve been living in the wooded forest for the last week since our forces had moved through the village. I knew he was hungry, he had a raw potato in his mouth and he was devouring it… It took him a moment to notice me. I’d pulled my pistol from my hip, slowly… He didn’t notice until I had it leveled on him.
“If I spoke Urdu I would have asked him if he wanted to stay and eat with us, but the only common language we spoke were the rules of engagement".
“He went for his gun…
“I fired twice and caught him in the chest and guts.”
I swallowed hard.
“Babu came out to see what the gunshots were about. After him, a couple of officers came, too. I think I was in a shock. I couldn’t understand why they were patting me on the back.
“I ended a man’s life. A poor, hungry man who risked death simply to feed himself and I’d killed him in cold-blood. And I was getting a pat on the back. It didn’t—doesn’t—make sense.”
It still hurts.
I close my eyes.
“Please, don’t tell Mom or Dad.”
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Sunday, 11 July 2010
together in good times and bad.....
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto his beloved’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
December 21, 2012. Approximately two and half years from now, the world is predicted to come to an end. Havoc dwells the streets, exterminating the entire human population, sweeping off towns, mountains, and all sorts of structures. Life, as it is known today, would come to a dead-end. People are staggering for survival; they would go down to any extent to stay alive in this hell-on-earth.
The wealthy and the infamous leaders of various countries have built a gigantic ship to stay afloat when Mother Earth unleashes its rage. Only the rich could afford the prices for survival, while the middle class and the poor were left to face nature’s wrath.
The seas have swollen to unimaginable heights, and earthquakes shake the basic foundation of the crust. Lava rips through the mountains, fusing anything that comes in its way. Ice is melting rapidly, causing tsunamis that wipe off towns, even the inner most places on the Earth’s surface. Land is shifting, making New York strike against the Sahara; the Himalayas collide with Sydney; Arab deserts merge with the North Pole; London knocks on the Great Wall of China; South Pole erupting into a ball of fire; Mexican civilians running about the street of Rome, and so on.
Such was the disastrous revenge of nature.
In India, in an apartment on the outskirts of Kolkata, sat Sushil and Sushmita. Sushil was the eldest son of a billionaire, while Sushmita was the only daughter of her middle class parents.
Having met in Standard Six, they immediately felt that they had been made for each other. They were incomplete without each other; their hearts were bound in an everlasting bond. Sushmita admired Sushil because of his innocence and his self-sacrificing character. He was unlike the spoilt brats of rich parents. Sushil liked Sushmita for her personality. She was indeed beautiful, but her helpful and polite nature attracted him the most.
During the five years they had known each other, they could only recollect love revolving around them. Sushil was prepared to give up his luxurious, lavish life only to keep his Sushmita happy. During the last moments of life on Earth, his rich father purchased the golden tickets, required for existence, for his family. But knowing that Sushmita would be left behind, he decided to stay behind, and die with Sushmita.
They sat glued to the television, watching helplessly as their fellow humans were being erased from this realm by nature’s calamities. They grasped each other’s hand more firmly, as they feared it might be the end for them. In the last one week since the news was made public, their love had only deepened. All these years of affection would prove futile if they could not support each other during their end. The events that took place during the last week of their lives were the most important ones for their relationship.
December 14, 2012. A week left for Doomsday. Everything was quite normal then, sparing some frequent disasters. An Earthquake had shaken Indonesia, and Tsunamis had wiped out the coastal areas of America and Europe. The casualties were high, sufficient enough to proclaim international emergency.
The various Governments of the world had known the fact that the world was coming to an end for about five years now, but they restrained from informing the public fearing mass uprisings and unnecessary panic.
The Secretary of the United Nations called for an immediate press conference. “People of the world, there is a fact that is need to be told immediately, and after hearing this, please don’t panic. The Mayans had predicted that the world will end on 21st December 2012, and their predictions are taking shape. The world will come to an end, and the recent calamities are supporting this.
This news should have been told much earlier, but nonetheless, it doesn’t matter much now. At least you are being made aware of the events that are taking place, and even if we expect the worst, all of us will know the actual reason for our elimination. But people, please don’t panic. Stay calm. The world has to end one day, and the day is approaching fast. It was a real pleasure serving you. Thank you.”
After hearing such news, the entire world was petrified. Some tried to revolt, while some accepted it knowing that they would complete their life cycle soon. They felt helpless, wailing for the thought of losing their dear ones. But they could not do anything; ‘21st’ December was destined for them.
December 17, 2012. The American Government and the European Community had undertaken a multitrillion dollar project to build a ship that would withstand nature’s impacts. It was almost completed, and so the American President felt it was time to reveal the top-secret project.
“It takes me great pride to announce that not all of us are going to die. Some famous personalities will survive, and for this reason, we have built a ship. Those who want to board the ship may do so buying each ticket for one billion dollar.”
Hearing the news, Sushil’s father, the owner of a multibillion dollar private company, sprang immediately to catch a berth on this ‘ship of life’. He had sold his company’s stakes and had gathered sufficient money to purchase tickets for the five in their family.
“Son, we are going to survive. Don’t worry. Here’re the tickets I’ve purchased for the special ship.”
“But there are only five here Dad, don’t you have a ticket for Sushmita?!”
“No son. I sold my company for six billion dollars and five ticket cost me five. I saved one because we need something to start our lives after we survive through this hell.”
“Dad… But why? You still had one billion left. You could have easily bought one more ticket for her.”
“But that’s not done, my son.”
“Dad, I hate you!”
Sushil ran out of his house. One could see tears rolling down his red cheeks. All he cared about was Sushmita, and hearing that Sushmita would not be with him after the disaster, he could only hate his father. He went immediately to Sushmita’s house.
He knocked on the door.
“Sushmita, it’s me. Please come out.”
It was midnight, and Sushmita was probably asleep. Sushil smote on the door.
“Sushmita, please come out. I really want to see you.”
The door opened, and Sushmita’s mother came to greet him. Yawning in the cold winter night, she was barely able to speak.
“What is it, son? Sushmita’s asleep.”
“Oh, mother!” Sushil threw himself on Sushmita’s mother. Sushil had lost his mother when he was five, and he treated Sushmita’s mother as his own. Sushmita’s mother also accepted Sushil as her son, as she knew that in the near future, he would be her son-in-law.
“That’s it. It’s okay. Now now, what happened?” asked Sushmita’s mother.
“Mom! I can’t live without Sushmita. I am incomplete without her,” he could only sob and utter the words.
Hearing such commotion, Sushmita woke up. She strode to the entrance of their two-room apartment. Glimmering in the silver moonlight, she resembled an angel. She took her mother’s side, and on seeing her, Sushil hugged her. Not anticipating it she fell down. Sushil held onto her with his life. He pulled her closer to him, as he had the fear of losing her. He kept weeping on her shoulders. Sushmita had known Sushil for many years but she had never seen him cry like this before. She immediately realized something was terribly wrong.
She took him inside, and after lighting the bulb in their miniature drawing room, she looked into his eyes. His eyes displayed grief, agony, hatred, disbelief and fear.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Sushmita I-I—” He began with tears in his eyes.
Sushmita tried to console him, but Sushil was not willing to block his tears. His father’s rude and arrogant behavior towards Sushmita’s fate was too much of a shock for him. Whenever he imagined Sushmita’s death, he could only cry. Sushil’s love for Sushmita was pure, and the thought of Sushmita’s demise was despair for him. Having understood Sushil would not stop crying, Sushmita laid her hand on his mouth. Sushil had to stop crying.
“Now tell me what happened,” said Sushmita.
“Well, you know about that ship which the American President announced?” replied Sushil.
“Well, yeah.”
“My Dad bought us the tickets, but—“
“But what?
You should be happy. You are surviving through this devastating end.”
“That’s not the point. You see, he did not buy a ticket for you or your family, so—“
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not okay. As I was saying, he did not buy a ticket for you, so I’m not going to board the ship. I can’t live without you! Never! I’ve thought of giving the ticket to you.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Stop me.”
“Well, I’m not going to take it. I can’t live, knowing that you’re not around.”
“Sushmita, don’t“
“Sushil, you please don’t.”
Sushmita’s words had a dominating influence over Sushil’s pleas. After arguing for half an hour, she could finally persuade Sushil into not giving up the golden ticket.
“Sushil, your Dad bought that ticket with great hope. He wants you to live, and so you should not turn down his hope. You live, and when you pass over to the other world, maybe we can meet again.”
“But Sushmita“
“But nothing, Sushil. You will not give that ticket to me, and that’s final. Now please leave. It’s really late.”
Sushil left with reluctance. He could not believe his ears, or his fate. He was destined to be with Sushmita; he could not survive without her presence. As he walked towards his house, he looked down with disbelief and his vision was blurred with tears.
Inside Sushmita’s room, Sushmita gazed blindly at the stars. She had tears in her eyes. She was not afraid of dying, but she was afraid of losing Sushil. She imagined the after life, and she thought, “Will it be meaningful? Life without Sushil? Will Heaven provide sufficient pleasures to take my mind off Sushil?” As these thoughts entered her mind, she looked at a photo of Sushil, she was in tears.
December 20, 2012. Only a day remaining for the world to end. The process of the Earth’s destruction had intensified, and people scurried for protection. Vast stretches of the world had been destroyed. Kolkata was experiencing a major storm, and consequently, a flood.
Those who could afford the ticket prepared to board the ship, while others searched for alternative means to stay alive.
Sushil, his father, two sisters, and a younger brother readied their luggage. Sushil did not want to leave without Sushmita and opposed the packing of his luggage. He prevented any of his family members, or any of his innumerous servants, to touch his belongings.
“Dad, I won’t go without Sushmita. You guys leave without me. I’m not going to budge,” said Sushil.
“What rubbish?! You do as I tell you to. You will be going with us!” replied his father, now frustrated.
Sushil was an arrogant person, and was not willing to surrender to his father’s decision. He walked out of his room, and strode towards the garden. He was not allowed to leave the premises of his father’s huge land, because of the devastating flood, and especially because of his abrupt leave three days earlier. He admired the beauty of the tulips, which Sushmita dearly liked, and was instantly reminded of her.
“Sushmita, I’m sorry.” Sushil felt guilty of having to leave without Sushmita. “Wasn’t there some way I could get her onboard?”
The time arrived for them to leave. Sushil’s father threw their luggage in their custom-made Bentley.
“Sir, your father’s calling. It’s time to leave,” Sushil was addressed by a servant.
Sushil limped slowly towards the car. He sat comfortably on the rear seat. His father started the engine.
“That’s good, son. Now we will leave,” his father said.
After staggering through the flood, they finally reached the airport. It was night. The airport was deserted, sparing few employees who were loyal to their duties.
“Mr. Mittal, glad you made it. Your jet’s ready sir,” greeted one of the employees.
“Good, prepare to leave immediately,” replied Mr. Mittal.
The luggage was boarded on the private jet, and the Mittals were preparing to leave. They stood beside the make-shift ladder, waiting for the pilot’s signal to board the jet. Sushil looked back at the deserted airport, lost in his thoughts. He imagined Sushmita standing there, waving goodbye. He imagined tears in Sushmita’s eyes, as she was wholeheartedly telling him to take care, withholding her mind’s desires.
“Son, it’s time. Get onboard,” said Mr. Mittal.
Sushil did not seem to hear his father’s orders.
“Son“
Before he could finish his words, Sushil dashed away from the jet.
“Dad, take care. Same to you my sisters and my brother, I can’t leave. No, not without Sushmita,” Sushil said with his back facing his family.
“Dad, you people move, I won’t come. Forget me, and just carry on with life. I’m staying behind. Go!” There was a sudden change in his tone. He sounded soft and in pain, as if he was in despair.
Mr. Mittal was stunned by his son’s words. He was boiling with anger and fear. But then he realized that Sushil was as arrogant as him. It had to be; it was his blood.
He turned towards the pilot, “Pilot, please start the engine. We’re leaving without him. Please start.”
Till then, Sushil had not disappeared from sight. Mr. Mittal cried out, “Sushil, it’s okay. You stay with your Sushmita. You don’t have to come. But I’ll miss you, son. Take care, and if the world does end, then I expect to see you in the after life, after I pass away. Now run to your Sushmita.”
Sushil felt the words echoing in his ears. He did not believe that his father would allow him to stay with Sushmita. Although afraid of losing his life, he felt the happiest person in the panic-stricken world.
“Thanks, Dad. Take care. Bye,” Sushil’s faint words reached Mr. Mittal’s ears. He was vanquished of losing his eldest son, but was relieved with the knowledge that Sushil would live peacefully during these last few moments.
Sushil made his way through the flooded streets. Rain was pouring down on him heavily, but that did not prevent him from reaching Sushmita’s house. The land under him shook, as tremors made its way through the Earth’s crust. The world was nearing its end rapidly.
December 21… 2012. Midnight.
As earthquakes repetitively shook the basic foundations of Kolkata was shaken up.
Sushmita sat up, gazing towards the disturbed sky. She saw an airplane making its way through the heavy downpour. “That must be Sushil leaving,” she thought.
She was lost in her thoughts, which was, though, disrupted by loud bangs on the door. “Who would arrive so late?” she thought.
She opened the door to find Sushil. He was drenched wet with water and was panting desperately.
“Sushil! Why are you here? I thought you left,” said Sushmita.
“How could I leave without you? I’m staying back with you till the end.”
“But Sushil, your father..”
“Dad’s left. I told him before coming here.”
Sushil wrapped his arms around Sushmita.
“Now I’m here with you. We’ll face the end together,” he said.
They entered into Sushmita’s apartment. Her parents were looking at the television with desperation, with hope of some miracle which would save the world from perishing. He looked at the walls of the apartment. Nothing was in its correct position; everything was shaken by the series of tremors underground.
“Sushil! I’m surprised to find you here! You were supposed to go?” said Sushmita’s father.
“Come on uncle. You know me for the last five years. I will never abandon Sushmita.”
Sushil made himself comfortable on the worn out sofa. They were watching the news, observing the devastating condition of the world at present. Sushmita sat beside him. Sushil felt happy with his decision. He wanted to be as close as possible during these last few hours of their lives. They held each other’s hand, gripping it firmly to form an eternal bond.
Tears rolled down their cheeks when they saw hell unfolding in front of their bare eyes. They had never imagined such torture. There were several reports of the death of innumerous people due to the disasters. One of these reports displayed a gaping trench on the Earth’s crust, which was eventually widening, as if to divide the world into two halves.
Another report showed the reporter being melted by the hot lava gushing out from Antarctica. One report showed a live cameraman shooting an approaching tsunami, and within moments, his camera lost communication with the server. Sushil and Sushmita were completely devastated by these sights.
Within moments, another series of tremors rocked the ground beneath their feet. At a distance, they saw a twelve storied tower collapse into the streets below. They knew it was their turn next. Looking down into the streets below, they saw magma emerge from the sewers. It melted anything that came in its way. Another tremor shook the Earth.
December 21, 2012. 4:00 a.m. Kolkata was petrified by the series of disasters taking place. Sushil and Sushmita still sat while holding hands. Another powerful earthquake shook their feet. They watched helplessly as the apartment beside them broke down to rumbles.
Sushmita’s mother looked out of the window.
“I think you may want to see this,” said she.
All the occupants of the room went towards the window. They were stunned to see what lay in front of them. A tsunami was approaching fast, which rose miles high. They knew that this would be the wave that would relieve them from their worries; this was the wave which would cause the extermination of the Kolkatans.
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto Sushmita’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
Sushil held Sushmita’s hand, gripping it ferociously, never to let go, as if by holding her hand, they would be teleported together to heaven.
“Yes, I guess this is it. I’m happy to die in your arms,” said Sushmita.
“Glad I met you, and I’m lucky to have fallen for you.”
“I’m lucky to have got you too,” said he.
Sushil bent down his head, in order to lay one final kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. They were successful in having one final private moment of pleasure as their lips met.
Within moments, the tsunami struck their building as Sushil and Sushmita’s existence was erased from this sphere.
December 21, 2012. Approximately two and half years from now, the world is predicted to come to an end. Havoc dwells the streets, exterminating the entire human population, sweeping off towns, mountains, and all sorts of structures. Life, as it is known today, would come to a dead-end. People are staggering for survival; they would go down to any extent to stay alive in this hell-on-earth.
The wealthy and the infamous leaders of various countries have built a gigantic ship to stay afloat when Mother Earth unleashes its rage. Only the rich could afford the prices for survival, while the middle class and the poor were left to face nature’s wrath.
The seas have swollen to unimaginable heights, and earthquakes shake the basic foundation of the crust. Lava rips through the mountains, fusing anything that comes in its way. Ice is melting rapidly, causing tsunamis that wipe off towns, even the inner most places on the Earth’s surface. Land is shifting, making New York strike against the Sahara; the Himalayas collide with Sydney; Arab deserts merge with the North Pole; London knocks on the Great Wall of China; South Pole erupting into a ball of fire; Mexican civilians running about the street of Rome, and so on.
Such was the disastrous revenge of nature.
In India, in an apartment on the outskirts of Kolkata, sat Sushil and Sushmita. Sushil was the eldest son of a billionaire, while Sushmita was the only daughter of her middle class parents.
Having met in Standard Six, they immediately felt that they had been made for each other. They were incomplete without each other; their hearts were bound in an everlasting bond. Sushmita admired Sushil because of his innocence and his self-sacrificing character. He was unlike the spoilt brats of rich parents. Sushil liked Sushmita for her personality. She was indeed beautiful, but her helpful and polite nature attracted him the most.
During the five years they had known each other, they could only recollect love revolving around them. Sushil was prepared to give up his luxurious, lavish life only to keep his Sushmita happy. During the last moments of life on Earth, his rich father purchased the golden tickets, required for existence, for his family. But knowing that Sushmita would be left behind, he decided to stay behind, and die with Sushmita.
They sat glued to the television, watching helplessly as their fellow humans were being erased from this realm by nature’s calamities. They grasped each other’s hand more firmly, as they feared it might be the end for them. In the last one week since the news was made public, their love had only deepened. All these years of affection would prove futile if they could not support each other during their end. The events that took place during the last week of their lives were the most important ones for their relationship.
December 14, 2012. A week left for Doomsday. Everything was quite normal then, sparing some frequent disasters. An Earthquake had shaken Indonesia, and Tsunamis had wiped out the coastal areas of America and Europe. The casualties were high, sufficient enough to proclaim international emergency.
The various Governments of the world had known the fact that the world was coming to an end for about five years now, but they restrained from informing the public fearing mass uprisings and unnecessary panic.
The Secretary of the United Nations called for an immediate press conference. “People of the world, there is a fact that is need to be told immediately, and after hearing this, please don’t panic. The Mayans had predicted that the world will end on 21st December 2012, and their predictions are taking shape. The world will come to an end, and the recent calamities are supporting this.
This news should have been told much earlier, but nonetheless, it doesn’t matter much now. At least you are being made aware of the events that are taking place, and even if we expect the worst, all of us will know the actual reason for our elimination. But people, please don’t panic. Stay calm. The world has to end one day, and the day is approaching fast. It was a real pleasure serving you. Thank you.”
After hearing such news, the entire world was petrified. Some tried to revolt, while some accepted it knowing that they would complete their life cycle soon. They felt helpless, wailing for the thought of losing their dear ones. But they could not do anything; ‘21st’ December was destined for them.
December 17, 2012. The American Government and the European Community had undertaken a multitrillion dollar project to build a ship that would withstand nature’s impacts. It was almost completed, and so the American President felt it was time to reveal the top-secret project.
“It takes me great pride to announce that not all of us are going to die. Some famous personalities will survive, and for this reason, we have built a ship. Those who want to board the ship may do so buying each ticket for one billion dollar.”
Hearing the news, Sushil’s father, the owner of a multibillion dollar private company, sprang immediately to catch a berth on this ‘ship of life’. He had sold his company’s stakes and had gathered sufficient money to purchase tickets for the five in their family.
“Son, we are going to survive. Don’t worry. Here’re the tickets I’ve purchased for the special ship.”
“But there are only five here Dad, don’t you have a ticket for Sushmita?!”
“No son. I sold my company for six billion dollars and five ticket cost me five. I saved one because we need something to start our lives after we survive through this hell.”
“Dad… But why? You still had one billion left. You could have easily bought one more ticket for her.”
“But that’s not done, my son.”
“Dad, I hate you!”
Sushil ran out of his house. One could see tears rolling down his red cheeks. All he cared about was Sushmita, and hearing that Sushmita would not be with him after the disaster, he could only hate his father. He went immediately to Sushmita’s house.
He knocked on the door.
“Sushmita, it’s me. Please come out.”
It was midnight, and Sushmita was probably asleep. Sushil smote on the door.
“Sushmita, please come out. I really want to see you.”
The door opened, and Sushmita’s mother came to greet him. Yawning in the cold winter night, she was barely able to speak.
“What is it, son? Sushmita’s asleep.”
“Oh, mother!” Sushil threw himself on Sushmita’s mother. Sushil had lost his mother when he was five, and he treated Sushmita’s mother as his own. Sushmita’s mother also accepted Sushil as her son, as she knew that in the near future, he would be her son-in-law.
“That’s it. It’s okay. Now now, what happened?” asked Sushmita’s mother.
“Mom! I can’t live without Sushmita. I am incomplete without her,” he could only sob and utter the words.
Hearing such commotion, Sushmita woke up. She strode to the entrance of their two-room apartment. Glimmering in the silver moonlight, she resembled an angel. She took her mother’s side, and on seeing her, Sushil hugged her. Not anticipating it she fell down. Sushil held onto her with his life. He pulled her closer to him, as he had the fear of losing her. He kept weeping on her shoulders. Sushmita had known Sushil for many years but she had never seen him cry like this before. She immediately realized something was terribly wrong.
She took him inside, and after lighting the bulb in their miniature drawing room, she looked into his eyes. His eyes displayed grief, agony, hatred, disbelief and fear.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Sushmita I-I—” He began with tears in his eyes.
Sushmita tried to console him, but Sushil was not willing to block his tears. His father’s rude and arrogant behavior towards Sushmita’s fate was too much of a shock for him. Whenever he imagined Sushmita’s death, he could only cry. Sushil’s love for Sushmita was pure, and the thought of Sushmita’s demise was despair for him. Having understood Sushil would not stop crying, Sushmita laid her hand on his mouth. Sushil had to stop crying.
“Now tell me what happened,” said Sushmita.
“Well, you know about that ship which the American President announced?” replied Sushil.
“Well, yeah.”
“My Dad bought us the tickets, but—“
“But what?
You should be happy. You are surviving through this devastating end.”
“That’s not the point. You see, he did not buy a ticket for you or your family, so—“
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not okay. As I was saying, he did not buy a ticket for you, so I’m not going to board the ship. I can’t live without you! Never! I’ve thought of giving the ticket to you.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Stop me.”
“Well, I’m not going to take it. I can’t live, knowing that you’re not around.”
“Sushmita, don’t“
“Sushil, you please don’t.”
Sushmita’s words had a dominating influence over Sushil’s pleas. After arguing for half an hour, she could finally persuade Sushil into not giving up the golden ticket.
“Sushil, your Dad bought that ticket with great hope. He wants you to live, and so you should not turn down his hope. You live, and when you pass over to the other world, maybe we can meet again.”
“But Sushmita“
“But nothing, Sushil. You will not give that ticket to me, and that’s final. Now please leave. It’s really late.”
Sushil left with reluctance. He could not believe his ears, or his fate. He was destined to be with Sushmita; he could not survive without her presence. As he walked towards his house, he looked down with disbelief and his vision was blurred with tears.
Inside Sushmita’s room, Sushmita gazed blindly at the stars. She had tears in her eyes. She was not afraid of dying, but she was afraid of losing Sushil. She imagined the after life, and she thought, “Will it be meaningful? Life without Sushil? Will Heaven provide sufficient pleasures to take my mind off Sushil?” As these thoughts entered her mind, she looked at a photo of Sushil, she was in tears.
December 20, 2012. Only a day remaining for the world to end. The process of the Earth’s destruction had intensified, and people scurried for protection. Vast stretches of the world had been destroyed. Kolkata was experiencing a major storm, and consequently, a flood.
Those who could afford the ticket prepared to board the ship, while others searched for alternative means to stay alive.
Sushil, his father, two sisters, and a younger brother readied their luggage. Sushil did not want to leave without Sushmita and opposed the packing of his luggage. He prevented any of his family members, or any of his innumerous servants, to touch his belongings.
“Dad, I won’t go without Sushmita. You guys leave without me. I’m not going to budge,” said Sushil.
“What rubbish?! You do as I tell you to. You will be going with us!” replied his father, now frustrated.
Sushil was an arrogant person, and was not willing to surrender to his father’s decision. He walked out of his room, and strode towards the garden. He was not allowed to leave the premises of his father’s huge land, because of the devastating flood, and especially because of his abrupt leave three days earlier. He admired the beauty of the tulips, which Sushmita dearly liked, and was instantly reminded of her.
“Sushmita, I’m sorry.” Sushil felt guilty of having to leave without Sushmita. “Wasn’t there some way I could get her onboard?”
The time arrived for them to leave. Sushil’s father threw their luggage in their custom-made Bentley.
“Sir, your father’s calling. It’s time to leave,” Sushil was addressed by a servant.
Sushil limped slowly towards the car. He sat comfortably on the rear seat. His father started the engine.
“That’s good, son. Now we will leave,” his father said.
After staggering through the flood, they finally reached the airport. It was night. The airport was deserted, sparing few employees who were loyal to their duties.
“Mr. Mittal, glad you made it. Your jet’s ready sir,” greeted one of the employees.
“Good, prepare to leave immediately,” replied Mr. Mittal.
The luggage was boarded on the private jet, and the Mittals were preparing to leave. They stood beside the make-shift ladder, waiting for the pilot’s signal to board the jet. Sushil looked back at the deserted airport, lost in his thoughts. He imagined Sushmita standing there, waving goodbye. He imagined tears in Sushmita’s eyes, as she was wholeheartedly telling him to take care, withholding her mind’s desires.
“Son, it’s time. Get onboard,” said Mr. Mittal.
Sushil did not seem to hear his father’s orders.
“Son“
Before he could finish his words, Sushil dashed away from the jet.
“Dad, take care. Same to you my sisters and my brother, I can’t leave. No, not without Sushmita,” Sushil said with his back facing his family.
“Dad, you people move, I won’t come. Forget me, and just carry on with life. I’m staying behind. Go!” There was a sudden change in his tone. He sounded soft and in pain, as if he was in despair.
Mr. Mittal was stunned by his son’s words. He was boiling with anger and fear. But then he realized that Sushil was as arrogant as him. It had to be; it was his blood.
He turned towards the pilot, “Pilot, please start the engine. We’re leaving without him. Please start.”
Till then, Sushil had not disappeared from sight. Mr. Mittal cried out, “Sushil, it’s okay. You stay with your Sushmita. You don’t have to come. But I’ll miss you, son. Take care, and if the world does end, then I expect to see you in the after life, after I pass away. Now run to your Sushmita.”
Sushil felt the words echoing in his ears. He did not believe that his father would allow him to stay with Sushmita. Although afraid of losing his life, he felt the happiest person in the panic-stricken world.
“Thanks, Dad. Take care. Bye,” Sushil’s faint words reached Mr. Mittal’s ears. He was vanquished of losing his eldest son, but was relieved with the knowledge that Sushil would live peacefully during these last few moments.
Sushil made his way through the flooded streets. Rain was pouring down on him heavily, but that did not prevent him from reaching Sushmita’s house. The land under him shook, as tremors made its way through the Earth’s crust. The world was nearing its end rapidly.
December 21… 2012. Midnight.
As earthquakes repetitively shook the basic foundations of Kolkata was shaken up.
Sushmita sat up, gazing towards the disturbed sky. She saw an airplane making its way through the heavy downpour. “That must be Sushil leaving,” she thought.
She was lost in her thoughts, which was, though, disrupted by loud bangs on the door. “Who would arrive so late?” she thought.
She opened the door to find Sushil. He was drenched wet with water and was panting desperately.
“Sushil! Why are you here? I thought you left,” said Sushmita.
“How could I leave without you? I’m staying back with you till the end.”
“But Sushil, your father..”
“Dad’s left. I told him before coming here.”
Sushil wrapped his arms around Sushmita.
“Now I’m here with you. We’ll face the end together,” he said.
They entered into Sushmita’s apartment. Her parents were looking at the television with desperation, with hope of some miracle which would save the world from perishing. He looked at the walls of the apartment. Nothing was in its correct position; everything was shaken by the series of tremors underground.
“Sushil! I’m surprised to find you here! You were supposed to go?” said Sushmita’s father.
“Come on uncle. You know me for the last five years. I will never abandon Sushmita.”
Sushil made himself comfortable on the worn out sofa. They were watching the news, observing the devastating condition of the world at present. Sushmita sat beside him. Sushil felt happy with his decision. He wanted to be as close as possible during these last few hours of their lives. They held each other’s hand, gripping it firmly to form an eternal bond.
Tears rolled down their cheeks when they saw hell unfolding in front of their bare eyes. They had never imagined such torture. There were several reports of the death of innumerous people due to the disasters. One of these reports displayed a gaping trench on the Earth’s crust, which was eventually widening, as if to divide the world into two halves.
Another report showed the reporter being melted by the hot lava gushing out from Antarctica. One report showed a live cameraman shooting an approaching tsunami, and within moments, his camera lost communication with the server. Sushil and Sushmita were completely devastated by these sights.
Within moments, another series of tremors rocked the ground beneath their feet. At a distance, they saw a twelve storied tower collapse into the streets below. They knew it was their turn next. Looking down into the streets below, they saw magma emerge from the sewers. It melted anything that came in its way. Another tremor shook the Earth.
December 21, 2012. 4:00 a.m. Kolkata was petrified by the series of disasters taking place. Sushil and Sushmita still sat while holding hands. Another powerful earthquake shook their feet. They watched helplessly as the apartment beside them broke down to rumbles.
Sushmita’s mother looked out of the window.
“I think you may want to see this,” said she.
All the occupants of the room went towards the window. They were stunned to see what lay in front of them. A tsunami was approaching fast, which rose miles high. They knew that this would be the wave that would relieve them from their worries; this was the wave which would cause the extermination of the Kolkatans.
“I guess this is the end,” said Sushil, holding onto Sushmita’s hand, “I’m glad we could be with each other during our last moments of life.”
Sushil held Sushmita’s hand, gripping it ferociously, never to let go, as if by holding her hand, they would be teleported together to heaven.
“Yes, I guess this is it. I’m happy to die in your arms,” said Sushmita.
“Glad I met you, and I’m lucky to have fallen for you.”
“I’m lucky to have got you too,” said he.
Sushil bent down his head, in order to lay one final kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. They were successful in having one final private moment of pleasure as their lips met.
Within moments, the tsunami struck their building as Sushil and Sushmita’s existence was erased from this sphere.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
A full circle....
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, you can present your allegations and demands now,” the Judge called out. The entire court room looked towards this separated couple. Mr. Kapoor had a frown on his face, while Mrs. Kapoor watched with helplessness. Ashish, their twelve year old son, was unaware of what had been going on, and only looked with perplexity.
His immature age prevented him from understanding the serious situation that existed there. He was, though, able to understand that something unfortunate was going on, as he thought, “Big policemen with guns meant something was wrong.”
He looked at the policemen, attracted by their shiny revolvers, but frightened by the frustrated looks on their faces. An atmosphere of tension and anxiety flouted the entire courtroom.
Ashish was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor. Mr. Kapoor was the Chief Executive Officer of a multi- billion dollar multinational company. Mrs. Kapoor was a simple housewife. They were good friends since their schooldays. They shared a warm and intimate relationship. Eventually, they fell in love, and tied the knot after completing their graduation. Mrs. Kapoor had always supported Mr. Kapoor, standing by him in his ups and downs.
“I could never have got anyone better than you,” Mr. Kapoor frequently told Mrs. Kapoor. It was only due to Mrs. Kapoor’s dedication towards her husband that Mr. Kapoor was able to excel in life. He had to struggle, but Mrs. Kapoor’s support had pulled him up from the rags, and turned him into a successful person.
Within five years of marriage, they were gifted with a healthy son. They named him Ashish, after Mr. Kapoor’s pet name. But ever since his birth, a wave of rivalry prevailed over them, as they would compete within themselves in order to prove a better parent to him. Both loved him dearly, but his existence deteriorated the special bond that they had once shared.
Their relationship worsened to such an extent that their bond of marriage could snap at any moment. Unfortunately, within twelve years of Ashish’s birth, it was happening so. Both were so dissatisfied with each other that they decided to separate. Today was the day of the court’s decree. Today’s decision would change their lives drastically; it was a case of certain death, as neither parent was ready to live without their son.
They had already signed the divorce papers. All compensations were paid, and other individual problems were solved. Every property dispute had been resolved, but one question still remained.
“Who will be Ashish’s parent?” Today’s verdict would answer this question and decide their fate.
The couple stood separated by a large distance. Mr. Kapoor occupied one corner, while Mrs. Kapoor occupied the other.
Ashish was under the Judge’s supervision, and he was not allowed to even talk to his parents without being asked to do so.
“So Ashish, whom will you choose, dear?” the Judge asked, after hearing Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor’s resolutions.
Ashish was puzzled by this question. He loved both equally and never imagined to live without either of them. He was donned by his parents’ presence and never wanted them to separate; he wanted to live with both of them, to love them and to be loved by them.
A terrified expression grasped his tired eyes and he was frightened by the thought of losing either of his parents. He looked at each of them, trying to understand the reason for their immature, foolish decision.
Mrs. Kapoor had tears rolling down her red cheeks. She could not suppress the motherly affection which she had for her son. Mr. Kapoor gave back a forced, heart warming smile. He was by no means willing to express his emotions. He never showed any sign of weakness, as men are expected not to do so. His eyes were gloomy, but he continued to smile affectionately at Ashish.
But under his confident and glad appearance lay a dark world, which was only filled with grief. His heart longed to be with his child but this could not force him to shed his tears.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, each one of you will have just one chance to influence your child’s decision,” the Judge continued after becoming impatient by the profound silence that swerved through the Court, “Ashish, please choose your decision wisely.”
Ashish looked at Mr. Kapoor. “Son, I can give you everything you want. I can buy all the happiness in the world. Please come with me,” He said while flashing some new toys he had bought for him. But Mr. Kapoor was wrong, so terribly wrong. Everything cannot be bought with money, especially not happiness.
All that Ashish wanted was his mother and father to love him together. He desired both of their love, and although any child of his age would be attracted by the new toys, Ashish was not going to be swayed so. He remained silent, and turned towards his mother.
Mrs. Kapoor could not withhold her emotions. Her cheeks had become red with all the tears she had shed. She was barely able to mutter anything. “Son,” she said partly restraining her affection from dominating her speech, “I don’t have enough money, and I can never surely give all that your father can give. I can’t buy all the things you desire. But there is something that I can give, which is priceless. And that is, love, my son. Now you decide what to do.” Mrs. Kapoor could no longer hold back her tears, and she began wailing in such a manner that she could no longer utter a word.
“Now, choose your decision wisely, son. Take your time,” the Judge said. A long period of silence prevailed over the courtroom. Ashish was lost in his thoughts. He had to act wisely, as this decision would finalize the family’s fate.
After much thought he replied, “I’ve decided.”
“So what’s your decision, son?” the Judge asked.
Everyone present in the courtroom looked at him eagerly while his parents looked with desperation.
“I will stay with you father”
“Oh, thank God!” his father exclaimed.
“I will live with you,” continued Ashish, “not because of all the wealth you have; not because you can buy all the happiness for me; but because of your affection for this son of yours… and”
“And what, my son?” asked Mr. Kapoor.
“And, I will live with you, mother, for your motherly warmth and affection. I want to live with both of you, mother and father. Both,”
Ashish ran towards both his parents, hugging them with lots of affection.
This decision of Ashish proved most significant, as the psyche of both the parents had changed.
They never fought again, and Ashish was able to receive equal love from each of them. What proved most important was that both Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor were successful in maintaining a lovable relationship as they once had before Ashish’s birth.
His immature age prevented him from understanding the serious situation that existed there. He was, though, able to understand that something unfortunate was going on, as he thought, “Big policemen with guns meant something was wrong.”
He looked at the policemen, attracted by their shiny revolvers, but frightened by the frustrated looks on their faces. An atmosphere of tension and anxiety flouted the entire courtroom.
Ashish was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor. Mr. Kapoor was the Chief Executive Officer of a multi- billion dollar multinational company. Mrs. Kapoor was a simple housewife. They were good friends since their schooldays. They shared a warm and intimate relationship. Eventually, they fell in love, and tied the knot after completing their graduation. Mrs. Kapoor had always supported Mr. Kapoor, standing by him in his ups and downs.
“I could never have got anyone better than you,” Mr. Kapoor frequently told Mrs. Kapoor. It was only due to Mrs. Kapoor’s dedication towards her husband that Mr. Kapoor was able to excel in life. He had to struggle, but Mrs. Kapoor’s support had pulled him up from the rags, and turned him into a successful person.
Within five years of marriage, they were gifted with a healthy son. They named him Ashish, after Mr. Kapoor’s pet name. But ever since his birth, a wave of rivalry prevailed over them, as they would compete within themselves in order to prove a better parent to him. Both loved him dearly, but his existence deteriorated the special bond that they had once shared.
Their relationship worsened to such an extent that their bond of marriage could snap at any moment. Unfortunately, within twelve years of Ashish’s birth, it was happening so. Both were so dissatisfied with each other that they decided to separate. Today was the day of the court’s decree. Today’s decision would change their lives drastically; it was a case of certain death, as neither parent was ready to live without their son.
They had already signed the divorce papers. All compensations were paid, and other individual problems were solved. Every property dispute had been resolved, but one question still remained.
“Who will be Ashish’s parent?” Today’s verdict would answer this question and decide their fate.
The couple stood separated by a large distance. Mr. Kapoor occupied one corner, while Mrs. Kapoor occupied the other.
Ashish was under the Judge’s supervision, and he was not allowed to even talk to his parents without being asked to do so.
“So Ashish, whom will you choose, dear?” the Judge asked, after hearing Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor’s resolutions.
Ashish was puzzled by this question. He loved both equally and never imagined to live without either of them. He was donned by his parents’ presence and never wanted them to separate; he wanted to live with both of them, to love them and to be loved by them.
A terrified expression grasped his tired eyes and he was frightened by the thought of losing either of his parents. He looked at each of them, trying to understand the reason for their immature, foolish decision.
Mrs. Kapoor had tears rolling down her red cheeks. She could not suppress the motherly affection which she had for her son. Mr. Kapoor gave back a forced, heart warming smile. He was by no means willing to express his emotions. He never showed any sign of weakness, as men are expected not to do so. His eyes were gloomy, but he continued to smile affectionately at Ashish.
But under his confident and glad appearance lay a dark world, which was only filled with grief. His heart longed to be with his child but this could not force him to shed his tears.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor, each one of you will have just one chance to influence your child’s decision,” the Judge continued after becoming impatient by the profound silence that swerved through the Court, “Ashish, please choose your decision wisely.”
Ashish looked at Mr. Kapoor. “Son, I can give you everything you want. I can buy all the happiness in the world. Please come with me,” He said while flashing some new toys he had bought for him. But Mr. Kapoor was wrong, so terribly wrong. Everything cannot be bought with money, especially not happiness.
All that Ashish wanted was his mother and father to love him together. He desired both of their love, and although any child of his age would be attracted by the new toys, Ashish was not going to be swayed so. He remained silent, and turned towards his mother.
Mrs. Kapoor could not withhold her emotions. Her cheeks had become red with all the tears she had shed. She was barely able to mutter anything. “Son,” she said partly restraining her affection from dominating her speech, “I don’t have enough money, and I can never surely give all that your father can give. I can’t buy all the things you desire. But there is something that I can give, which is priceless. And that is, love, my son. Now you decide what to do.” Mrs. Kapoor could no longer hold back her tears, and she began wailing in such a manner that she could no longer utter a word.
“Now, choose your decision wisely, son. Take your time,” the Judge said. A long period of silence prevailed over the courtroom. Ashish was lost in his thoughts. He had to act wisely, as this decision would finalize the family’s fate.
After much thought he replied, “I’ve decided.”
“So what’s your decision, son?” the Judge asked.
Everyone present in the courtroom looked at him eagerly while his parents looked with desperation.
“I will stay with you father”
“Oh, thank God!” his father exclaimed.
“I will live with you,” continued Ashish, “not because of all the wealth you have; not because you can buy all the happiness for me; but because of your affection for this son of yours… and”
“And what, my son?” asked Mr. Kapoor.
“And, I will live with you, mother, for your motherly warmth and affection. I want to live with both of you, mother and father. Both,”
Ashish ran towards both his parents, hugging them with lots of affection.
This decision of Ashish proved most significant, as the psyche of both the parents had changed.
They never fought again, and Ashish was able to receive equal love from each of them. What proved most important was that both Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor were successful in maintaining a lovable relationship as they once had before Ashish’s birth.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
The ever expanding city...
Chunee lived with Prahlad on a big, empty ground surrounded by apartment buildings somewhere in Jogeshwari East, Mumbai.
When Chunee came from her village many years ago, there had been empty grounds all around her, there were plenty of green fields and lots of cattle sheds.
The smell of the buffaloes, the clinking of the milk pails, and the milkmen in their yellowing white dhotis had reminded her of home.
But now, there were no green fields and the cattle sheds were wedged between concrete buildings so tall, that Chunee had to strain to see the tops of them.
The ground that she lived on seemed to have been forgotten for some reason, in the building frenzy.
Chunee did not miss her village all the time. But she did miss having a bath everyday. In the village, she could walk into the river any time she wanted, whenever she was feeling hot and dusty, she would splash around to her heart’s content. But here she was able to have a bath only once a week.
Prahlad had to fetch buckets of water from the well near the tea stall. The tea stall owner had become the unofficial owner of the well and even though Prahlad paid two rupees for every bucket of water he took, the self-proclaimed owner would stare disapprovingly at him whenever he took a bucket too many.
The little boy Gottya, who worked at the tea stall would help Prahlad lug the buckets to and fro while bathing times on Sunday mornings became a big event. Even twenty buckets of water could not give Chunee the pleasure she had had splashing in the river back home.
Every Sunday, after the bath, Prahlad would take Chunee to the South Indian temple in Matunga. It was a long walk, but they earned a lot of money on that day because the temple was crowded with devotees, and each one of them gave something to Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee would be decked in all her finery and everyone would turn to look at her. She was so beautiful. Chunee would stare back with smiling, crinkled eyes.
Chunee loved to go to the temple. The lane outside smelt of flowers and incense; the women were dressed in brilliant colors and the children laughed happily at her. The roads were not too crowded on Sunday and it was a pleasant walk for Prahlad and Chunee.
On weekdays, Prahlad would eat his breakfast late at the tea stall. Chunee would wait till he was ready. Then they would start walking on their regular rounds, past the cattle sheds, crossing the busy highway, crossing the railway tracks to the more affluent western side of the suburb, Andheri, where there were many small South Indian eateries whose owners always had a little something to offer Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee hated to cross the highway with its roaring trucks and cars that never seemed to stop.
Some days they met Mona and her keeper, Santosh. It did not happen too often, but some times, they would be called together for a wedding party or a film shoot. Mona lived far away in Mira Road and hence Chunee was happy whenever they did meet. Mona and Chunee could talk to each other all day.
Mona was Chunee’s daughter, born to her in the village many years ago. Chunee and Mona had come to the city together, but had been separated when they came here because they worked different rounds.
Chunee had another daughter, Hanno, who lived further away in Kurla, whom Chunee had never seen again after they came to the city.
One day, Chunee and Mona crossed each other near the crowded Andheri station. It was more than a year since they had seen each other. They were on opposite sides of the road, but oblivious to the traffic around them they stopped in the middle of the road and called out to each other.
The traffic policeman glared at Prahlad and Santosh, who goaded both the females to move ahead. The cars piled up around them, the drivers honking furiously. But Chunee and Mona did not hear the noises around them or even feel the prod of Prahlad’s and Santosh’s sticks. They just continued to stand still and look at each other.
Suddenly, a large red bus with an impatient, irate bus driver nudged Chunee on her back and moved forward. Chunee, shaken out of her stillness and hurt by the weight of the bus moved back a step. Across the road, Santosh too nudged Mona again, and she reluctantly but with a lingering glance at Chunee, moved away. Prahlad skillfully guided Chunee through the traffic, ignoring the abuse of the drivers around him. With great patience brought her back home.
That night, Prahlad lay awake hearing Chunee moan for Mona. Her eyes were shut, probably she was asleep after her long walk and the injury on her back must have been hurting, but Prahlad thought perhaps she was dreaming of her daughter Mona and the village to which she belonged.
Prahlad wondered if he should walk to Chunee’s side of the ground and stroke her, but he lay where he was, listening to her soft crying. Again he thought of their silent walk back home and felt a little proud that he had managed to bring her back without any further accidents, she had been so distressed that day.
After a few minutes, he picked up his thin mattress and sheet and walked up to her. He stroked her gently and murmured softly into her ear. Chunee moaned back.
Prahlad was a kind mahout. He had often told his owner, Khan-saab that Chunee, Mona and Hanno needed male mates but Khan-saab had stopped bringing elephants to Mumbai.
It was too expensive to transport them and too expensive to keep them. The three females he had brought years ago were still paying their keep, but it was certainly not worth its while to invest more money in animals, what with the new rules and regulations.
Anyway, where on earth would the elephants mate in Mumbai? There was no place big enough for that in the vicinity. Open grounds no longer existed, and they were lucky they still had place for the three elephants in the city.
Prahlad shrugged helplessly in the dark as he thought about Chunee and her daughters and their longing for their loved ones.
Then he thought of his own wife back home in the village and wondered if she too moaned for him like that in the dark. He laughed at himself and his fancies, as he remembered his silent Lalli going about her work at home and the fields, and sighing softly he turned to go to sleep.
When Chunee woke up the next day, she was still a little sad. Every time she met Mona, she was sad for days, missing Hanno and her village.
But today, Prahlad fetched buckets of water and gave her a bath even though it was not a Sunday. Chunee sprayed water on him with her trunk and tried to be cheerful for his sake.
Prahlad, soaking wet, laughed, and threw yet another mug of water at Chunee’s back. The little boy Gottya came running towards them with a fresh bucket of water, and sprayed by Chunee, he too laughed. It was definitely a sight to watch.
When Chunee came from her village many years ago, there had been empty grounds all around her, there were plenty of green fields and lots of cattle sheds.
The smell of the buffaloes, the clinking of the milk pails, and the milkmen in their yellowing white dhotis had reminded her of home.
But now, there were no green fields and the cattle sheds were wedged between concrete buildings so tall, that Chunee had to strain to see the tops of them.
The ground that she lived on seemed to have been forgotten for some reason, in the building frenzy.
Chunee did not miss her village all the time. But she did miss having a bath everyday. In the village, she could walk into the river any time she wanted, whenever she was feeling hot and dusty, she would splash around to her heart’s content. But here she was able to have a bath only once a week.
Prahlad had to fetch buckets of water from the well near the tea stall. The tea stall owner had become the unofficial owner of the well and even though Prahlad paid two rupees for every bucket of water he took, the self-proclaimed owner would stare disapprovingly at him whenever he took a bucket too many.
The little boy Gottya, who worked at the tea stall would help Prahlad lug the buckets to and fro while bathing times on Sunday mornings became a big event. Even twenty buckets of water could not give Chunee the pleasure she had had splashing in the river back home.
Every Sunday, after the bath, Prahlad would take Chunee to the South Indian temple in Matunga. It was a long walk, but they earned a lot of money on that day because the temple was crowded with devotees, and each one of them gave something to Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee would be decked in all her finery and everyone would turn to look at her. She was so beautiful. Chunee would stare back with smiling, crinkled eyes.
Chunee loved to go to the temple. The lane outside smelt of flowers and incense; the women were dressed in brilliant colors and the children laughed happily at her. The roads were not too crowded on Sunday and it was a pleasant walk for Prahlad and Chunee.
On weekdays, Prahlad would eat his breakfast late at the tea stall. Chunee would wait till he was ready. Then they would start walking on their regular rounds, past the cattle sheds, crossing the busy highway, crossing the railway tracks to the more affluent western side of the suburb, Andheri, where there were many small South Indian eateries whose owners always had a little something to offer Prahlad and Chunee.
Chunee hated to cross the highway with its roaring trucks and cars that never seemed to stop.
Some days they met Mona and her keeper, Santosh. It did not happen too often, but some times, they would be called together for a wedding party or a film shoot. Mona lived far away in Mira Road and hence Chunee was happy whenever they did meet. Mona and Chunee could talk to each other all day.
Mona was Chunee’s daughter, born to her in the village many years ago. Chunee and Mona had come to the city together, but had been separated when they came here because they worked different rounds.
Chunee had another daughter, Hanno, who lived further away in Kurla, whom Chunee had never seen again after they came to the city.
One day, Chunee and Mona crossed each other near the crowded Andheri station. It was more than a year since they had seen each other. They were on opposite sides of the road, but oblivious to the traffic around them they stopped in the middle of the road and called out to each other.
The traffic policeman glared at Prahlad and Santosh, who goaded both the females to move ahead. The cars piled up around them, the drivers honking furiously. But Chunee and Mona did not hear the noises around them or even feel the prod of Prahlad’s and Santosh’s sticks. They just continued to stand still and look at each other.
Suddenly, a large red bus with an impatient, irate bus driver nudged Chunee on her back and moved forward. Chunee, shaken out of her stillness and hurt by the weight of the bus moved back a step. Across the road, Santosh too nudged Mona again, and she reluctantly but with a lingering glance at Chunee, moved away. Prahlad skillfully guided Chunee through the traffic, ignoring the abuse of the drivers around him. With great patience brought her back home.
That night, Prahlad lay awake hearing Chunee moan for Mona. Her eyes were shut, probably she was asleep after her long walk and the injury on her back must have been hurting, but Prahlad thought perhaps she was dreaming of her daughter Mona and the village to which she belonged.
Prahlad wondered if he should walk to Chunee’s side of the ground and stroke her, but he lay where he was, listening to her soft crying. Again he thought of their silent walk back home and felt a little proud that he had managed to bring her back without any further accidents, she had been so distressed that day.
After a few minutes, he picked up his thin mattress and sheet and walked up to her. He stroked her gently and murmured softly into her ear. Chunee moaned back.
Prahlad was a kind mahout. He had often told his owner, Khan-saab that Chunee, Mona and Hanno needed male mates but Khan-saab had stopped bringing elephants to Mumbai.
It was too expensive to transport them and too expensive to keep them. The three females he had brought years ago were still paying their keep, but it was certainly not worth its while to invest more money in animals, what with the new rules and regulations.
Anyway, where on earth would the elephants mate in Mumbai? There was no place big enough for that in the vicinity. Open grounds no longer existed, and they were lucky they still had place for the three elephants in the city.
Prahlad shrugged helplessly in the dark as he thought about Chunee and her daughters and their longing for their loved ones.
Then he thought of his own wife back home in the village and wondered if she too moaned for him like that in the dark. He laughed at himself and his fancies, as he remembered his silent Lalli going about her work at home and the fields, and sighing softly he turned to go to sleep.
When Chunee woke up the next day, she was still a little sad. Every time she met Mona, she was sad for days, missing Hanno and her village.
But today, Prahlad fetched buckets of water and gave her a bath even though it was not a Sunday. Chunee sprayed water on him with her trunk and tried to be cheerful for his sake.
Prahlad, soaking wet, laughed, and threw yet another mug of water at Chunee’s back. The little boy Gottya came running towards them with a fresh bucket of water, and sprayed by Chunee, he too laughed. It was definitely a sight to watch.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
The astrologer.....
Every night Janshetram had the same routine, he used to get out of the mill and enter the beer bar to drink the regrets in his life. He used to drink to forget, to drown the past into the bottles of alcohols.
He was a mill worker and earned a modest salary to feed his family, but his drinking habit took over the human in him and turned him into a monster his wife and kids had to face every night.
Every night he used to take the same dark road back home and at the corner of the street saw the astrologer. The astrologer had long brown hair and overgrown facial hair. Unlike other astrologers, he carried no stuff, no stones, and no parrots. The astrologer just sat there quietly, doing nothing, saying nothing.
He just had one board off front which read ‘All your problems solved. Astrological consultation just Rs 5’
‘He is a obviously fake,’ Janshetram used to think, but something in that astrologer made him glance at that corner regularly.
One day totally drunk, he glanced at the fat lady sitting in front of the astrologer. Out of curiosity, he stepped closer to listen to them, “You obviously are going to get freed of all your worries,” said the astrologer gazing at the palm of the fat lady.
“But my love life is a mess,” she replied, “My husband doesn’t love me anymore.”
‘Try reducing your weight a bit,’ thought Janshetram.
“Do one thing; know the Shiv temple on the top of the hill? Every Monday go there and while enchanting the Shiv Mantra, circle around the temple 15 times,” the astrologer said, “You will find your love life returning in a month.”
“Thank you baba,” she touched his feet.
“Remember, if you begin this vrat (the task to please God) you should not stop in between for anything or God will curse you.”
‘Obviously a fake,’ thought Janshetram and gazed at the astrologer.
“Yes, my son,” asked the Astrologer, “Do you want to consult?”
“You are a fake,” said Janshetram, “You do not know anything. If you are really so great can you tell me my past?”
The astrologer gazed at him for a moment.
“See,” Janshetram shouted, “Not upto the task are you?”
“I will,” said the astrologer, “I will definitely. But I will tell you the day you come to me sober.”
“Yeah right,” laughed Janshetram sarcastically and left.
Then he walked the same road stumbling on the road side poles and reached his house.
His wife was dutifully waiting for him with a hot food plate, she was rubbing the bruise from the last night while heating the food.
But today her husband was quiet, she did not understand. He did not pull her hair, he did not beat her. He quietly sat down in the kitchen waiting for food. She was surprised to see the change, as she never had a peaceful night in last three years.
The next day Janshetram did his work promptly while his attention was somewhere else… he was thinking all the time about the astrologer.
That evening, he did not visit the bar. The path suddenly seemed bright, the roads all lit.
The astrologer sat there, as quiet as always.
“I was waiting for you,” the astrologer said.
“If you tell me my past correctly, I will give you Rs100, right now” said Janshetram.
“I know you earn modest wages, son, I will not take a single penny from you,” the astrologer smiled and gazed at the palm.
“You came to the big city three years ago,” began the astrologer, “You come from a small village in Parvachi region of Rajasthan. Your family is your mother whom you cannot face, as you are ashamed of going there because of the deed you did three years back.”
The old thoughts came back to Janshetram, the friendship, the plot and the long run.
“You have been betrayed in your life by someone, someone very close to you. You had to run away from yourself, but now it is time to stop. Don’t run anymore for your betrayer is dead.”
Janshetram was impressed but he did not wish to accept defeat yet, “This is all very general, tell me something specific.”
“Fine, you have robbed, robbed God himself.”
The words hit hard, Janshetram pulled back his hand.
“You and your friend robbed the gold crown in the temple of your village, but your robbery was foiled by the priest who rang the alarm. You had to flee the village in total darkness and fell into a well while your friend ran away with the loot. You have not seen your village and your friend since.”
Janshetram sat stunned; all the past events came back to him. His jobless times, his plan to rob the temple, rob the very people of the village for not letting him into the temple. He came from a lower caste and was not allowed to enter the temple, tired of this, he and his friend, Shirmith, decided to punish the Priest by robbing the crown and then frame him for the robbery.
Unfortunately for him, things went haywire. The alarm was raised, he and Shirmith were chased by the villagers, while running he accidently fell into a deep dry well where he waited in the dark for three days, Shirmith did not return for him.
Then after three days he ran, ran forever leaving his life behind. He was haunted by the villagers’ cries for three years; he was haunted by the sense of loneliness for three years.
Every night he tried to drown these very voices into the numerous bottles of alcohol.
“Do you believe in me now… Son? So I may give you a closure in your fear and regret?” the astrologer asked.
“Yes, baba,” cried Janshetram.
“Your friend was caught soon after you fell into the well. He was taken to the village and the crown was reinstalled in the temple. The villagers condemned him to leave the village immediately. Your friend has received his calling, he is beyond our reach. Your mother is waiting for you son, no one knows of your involvement in the robbery. The damage is done, you have a life ahead of you son, bury the ghost of the past, and go back to your village. Lead a peaceful life.”
That night, Janshetram did not stumble on the way home. He suddenly realized how beautiful his wife looked. He ate the hot food with pleasure; his life would stay beautiful for days to come now. What a relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the astrologer went to his hut in the outskirts of the city and started packing his stuff.
“Are you leaving again?” asked his elderly neighbour.
“Yes Chacha, I have to make a final pilgrimage to Ambarnath.”
“Son, you have been to many pilgrimages, Dehu, Alandi and Kashi to find peace, yet you did not get it in any at those places. Now your life is well settled in this city, you can always go and pray in any temple here. Why are you wasting your youth in chasing peace?”
“Chacha, I have taken many pilgrimages, but today I am truly at peace. This is my last journey towards moksha and have to leave”.
He was a mill worker and earned a modest salary to feed his family, but his drinking habit took over the human in him and turned him into a monster his wife and kids had to face every night.
Every night he used to take the same dark road back home and at the corner of the street saw the astrologer. The astrologer had long brown hair and overgrown facial hair. Unlike other astrologers, he carried no stuff, no stones, and no parrots. The astrologer just sat there quietly, doing nothing, saying nothing.
He just had one board off front which read ‘All your problems solved. Astrological consultation just Rs 5’
‘He is a obviously fake,’ Janshetram used to think, but something in that astrologer made him glance at that corner regularly.
One day totally drunk, he glanced at the fat lady sitting in front of the astrologer. Out of curiosity, he stepped closer to listen to them, “You obviously are going to get freed of all your worries,” said the astrologer gazing at the palm of the fat lady.
“But my love life is a mess,” she replied, “My husband doesn’t love me anymore.”
‘Try reducing your weight a bit,’ thought Janshetram.
“Do one thing; know the Shiv temple on the top of the hill? Every Monday go there and while enchanting the Shiv Mantra, circle around the temple 15 times,” the astrologer said, “You will find your love life returning in a month.”
“Thank you baba,” she touched his feet.
“Remember, if you begin this vrat (the task to please God) you should not stop in between for anything or God will curse you.”
‘Obviously a fake,’ thought Janshetram and gazed at the astrologer.
“Yes, my son,” asked the Astrologer, “Do you want to consult?”
“You are a fake,” said Janshetram, “You do not know anything. If you are really so great can you tell me my past?”
The astrologer gazed at him for a moment.
“See,” Janshetram shouted, “Not upto the task are you?”
“I will,” said the astrologer, “I will definitely. But I will tell you the day you come to me sober.”
“Yeah right,” laughed Janshetram sarcastically and left.
Then he walked the same road stumbling on the road side poles and reached his house.
His wife was dutifully waiting for him with a hot food plate, she was rubbing the bruise from the last night while heating the food.
But today her husband was quiet, she did not understand. He did not pull her hair, he did not beat her. He quietly sat down in the kitchen waiting for food. She was surprised to see the change, as she never had a peaceful night in last three years.
The next day Janshetram did his work promptly while his attention was somewhere else… he was thinking all the time about the astrologer.
That evening, he did not visit the bar. The path suddenly seemed bright, the roads all lit.
The astrologer sat there, as quiet as always.
“I was waiting for you,” the astrologer said.
“If you tell me my past correctly, I will give you Rs100, right now” said Janshetram.
“I know you earn modest wages, son, I will not take a single penny from you,” the astrologer smiled and gazed at the palm.
“You came to the big city three years ago,” began the astrologer, “You come from a small village in Parvachi region of Rajasthan. Your family is your mother whom you cannot face, as you are ashamed of going there because of the deed you did three years back.”
The old thoughts came back to Janshetram, the friendship, the plot and the long run.
“You have been betrayed in your life by someone, someone very close to you. You had to run away from yourself, but now it is time to stop. Don’t run anymore for your betrayer is dead.”
Janshetram was impressed but he did not wish to accept defeat yet, “This is all very general, tell me something specific.”
“Fine, you have robbed, robbed God himself.”
The words hit hard, Janshetram pulled back his hand.
“You and your friend robbed the gold crown in the temple of your village, but your robbery was foiled by the priest who rang the alarm. You had to flee the village in total darkness and fell into a well while your friend ran away with the loot. You have not seen your village and your friend since.”
Janshetram sat stunned; all the past events came back to him. His jobless times, his plan to rob the temple, rob the very people of the village for not letting him into the temple. He came from a lower caste and was not allowed to enter the temple, tired of this, he and his friend, Shirmith, decided to punish the Priest by robbing the crown and then frame him for the robbery.
Unfortunately for him, things went haywire. The alarm was raised, he and Shirmith were chased by the villagers, while running he accidently fell into a deep dry well where he waited in the dark for three days, Shirmith did not return for him.
Then after three days he ran, ran forever leaving his life behind. He was haunted by the villagers’ cries for three years; he was haunted by the sense of loneliness for three years.
Every night he tried to drown these very voices into the numerous bottles of alcohol.
“Do you believe in me now… Son? So I may give you a closure in your fear and regret?” the astrologer asked.
“Yes, baba,” cried Janshetram.
“Your friend was caught soon after you fell into the well. He was taken to the village and the crown was reinstalled in the temple. The villagers condemned him to leave the village immediately. Your friend has received his calling, he is beyond our reach. Your mother is waiting for you son, no one knows of your involvement in the robbery. The damage is done, you have a life ahead of you son, bury the ghost of the past, and go back to your village. Lead a peaceful life.”
That night, Janshetram did not stumble on the way home. He suddenly realized how beautiful his wife looked. He ate the hot food with pleasure; his life would stay beautiful for days to come now. What a relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the astrologer went to his hut in the outskirts of the city and started packing his stuff.
“Are you leaving again?” asked his elderly neighbour.
“Yes Chacha, I have to make a final pilgrimage to Ambarnath.”
“Son, you have been to many pilgrimages, Dehu, Alandi and Kashi to find peace, yet you did not get it in any at those places. Now your life is well settled in this city, you can always go and pray in any temple here. Why are you wasting your youth in chasing peace?”
“Chacha, I have taken many pilgrimages, but today I am truly at peace. This is my last journey towards moksha and have to leave”.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
The awakening....
When Mr. Raghu opened his eyes, he discovered himself engulfed in a sea of darkness. A deep dark pitch that spread from nowhere to nowhere, the likes he had never seen before.
He could hardly espy where he was, in what part of what. At the beginning, middle or end. At home or in some strange land. He could neither find out whether he was sitting, standing or lying down. He only realized that he was somewhere – somewhere in a lightless realm, trodden by mistake or by misfortune. A realm where the Sun had never risen.
He felt hard done by, that such a thing should even happen to him. A man whom everybody greeted with esteem and awe.
Being the head of a huge corporation and the destiny of hundreds, it was surely a misfortune to rot in the dark like this.
But that was a different thing. The most urgent of all was to find out where he was and what he was done in for. Was it his new apartment that he had recently built and furnished in an exaggerated fashion, amassing his life’s earnings?
Where were then, his wife and sons, relatives and especially his men, whom he had tended so scrupulously? Had they all departed for a holiday, leaving him alone in the dark? It seemed, as if, all were unconcerned.
Or, was it his office with all lights gone out all on a sudden? If yes, where were his office fellows? Why was it so silent? He tried hard to feel their presence and discern their very faces. He wished to pull the calling bell and call a peon.
But ah! Such an attempt was futile, for nothing was visible except his memories that were fresh and vivid. Everything else seemed to be drowned by an overwhelming wave of shadow.
‘Where am I?’ he yelled out aloud in exasperation. But he heard nothing except his rebounded interrogation- ‘w-h-e-r-e .. a-m .. I ??
He repeated his query again and again and always got the same response.
Instead of being afraid, he kicked up a fuss.
‘Who put me in such an invisible void where I cannot see my dear ones, my house or my office? Who could it be?’ he shouted.
Glimpses of images he had read in the Upanishads and in eighteen Puranas stood like living forms in front of him. ‘Was this the Hell I was brought to redeem my sins?
But I’ve not committed any such relentless crime for which Hell is the due.’
His soliloquy was broken by a horselaugh.
By then, the darkness had crystallized into a shadowy form. It stood somewhere yards away, throwing a cold sneer at him all the while. The image of Yamraaj- the god of death, resurrected in his mind. Was it he who brought me to this hell?
‘Who are you?’ he asked the shadowy form sternly and with the authority he used to maintain in his office. He thought the form might be scared of his harsh command as did his subordinates, but instead, the shadow laughed at him.
A loud hearty laugh that rang repetitively. And then his voice turned into a stern callousness.
‘How dare you ask me such a question?’ the shadow retorted back audaciously.’ Don’t you know who I am?’
The imperious utterance of the shadow not only startled Mr. Raghu but also made him irritated. None in his office had ever dared to reply to him with such impudence. His fist was clenched unconsciously to plant a heavy slap on the shadow’s cheek, to teach him, once for all, how to talk with a boss.
But considering his situation he was in at the moment, he thought it to be foolish. He relaxed for a moment and said ‘Why should I ask if I knew you?’
‘Well, then take It.’ the shadow retorted solemnly. ‘I am the one you are.’
‘What?’ croaked Mr. Raghu, listening such a vague and ambiguous statement, ‘If that is that, how come you are away in the dark and not in me?’ he amused and tried to make fun of the shadow’s audacity to think itself akin to his being.
‘I’m always with you, fool, deep within you. Can’t you discern me?’ the shadow’s voice was poignant and sharp, as if, he were in a deep inner turmoil.
‘Don’t upbraid me. I’m sure I can’t discern you.’ pleaded Raghuji with inflected seriousness.
‘How can a blind see his self? That’s the real plight. You’ve made yourself blind. That is what you have caused to me. You have never tried to bring light to me. In fact, you have no time, no zeal, and no need to heed to me.’
Raghu was deeply wounded. Never in his life had he realized that there was such an irrational being that could implicate him. He had enjoyed unlimited power and prestige as the General Manager of the Corporation and earned money that one could only dream of.
He had shown the way and regulated the lives of numerous employees, just at the point of his fingers. And yet, he was blind! But, how…how was that?
‘You are blind because you are away from the light from your own self. You are blind because you are very near to what you are not. You are obsessed with those illusive ghosts that misled you every moment.’ a taunting jeer rang in his ear.
‘Stop your prattle’ commanded Mr. Raghu impatiently, ‘and tell me why I am here.’
‘Where else would have you been with all your sins?’ the shadow mocked at his very face. The dominant figure of Mr. Raghu got shrunken inwardly.
‘I’ve not done any sin. I’ve not done any wrong knowingly.’ Raghu pleaded like a convict in the dock desperate to extricate himself.
‘Were you not haughty? Were you not boastful of your position?’
‘Of course, I was. But that’s not a sin.’ he said confidently.
‘That’s not a virtue either’ came the sharp rejoinder from the dark, ‘Your vanity had led many to their dooms. You were not what you projected to be. That was a temporary act assigned to you and you fancied, as if, you were that. You fell victim to your own ego. You entered into the kingdom of vice. And a vice is a sin.’
‘That wasn’t as much as a murder.’
‘Didn’t you ill-treat many?’ inquired the shadow firmly.
‘Yes, I did. And I was right because they deserved it. They committed blunders and so they paid for them.’
‘Didn’t you commit any in the whole span given to you?’
‘May be, may be…. To err is human.’ He admitted falteringly.
‘To forgive, then, is divine. Did you punish yourself?’
‘No’
‘That’s why you’re here. You were an unjust judge and you must receive your lesson.’
It was still hazy outside. The morning had not clearly dawned, yet a bedlam of twitters had already started in the old peepal.
Mr Jairaj hustled on his usual walk to complete an early round. As he neared the dusky grove, he saw a figure sail leisurely down the opposite. He looked so sober and quiet that he couldn’t help greeting him from a distance.
The other slowed a bit to fold his hands and utter a deep ‘namaskar’. It was a voice-grand and clear, free from the cliché clattered callousness- and one that seemed to spring out of his heart.
Mr Jairaj looked up to have a clear view of the man, and lo, in sheer disbelief and awe, he squinted at what he saw. In his front halted Mr Raghu to ask about his well being. His eyes seemed to stretch far more wider and alert, such as a deep slumber and a freshening dream can bestow. And a ripple of unruffled placidity swept over his countenance. His hands still rested half-folded over his chest.
He could hardly espy where he was, in what part of what. At the beginning, middle or end. At home or in some strange land. He could neither find out whether he was sitting, standing or lying down. He only realized that he was somewhere – somewhere in a lightless realm, trodden by mistake or by misfortune. A realm where the Sun had never risen.
He felt hard done by, that such a thing should even happen to him. A man whom everybody greeted with esteem and awe.
Being the head of a huge corporation and the destiny of hundreds, it was surely a misfortune to rot in the dark like this.
But that was a different thing. The most urgent of all was to find out where he was and what he was done in for. Was it his new apartment that he had recently built and furnished in an exaggerated fashion, amassing his life’s earnings?
Where were then, his wife and sons, relatives and especially his men, whom he had tended so scrupulously? Had they all departed for a holiday, leaving him alone in the dark? It seemed, as if, all were unconcerned.
Or, was it his office with all lights gone out all on a sudden? If yes, where were his office fellows? Why was it so silent? He tried hard to feel their presence and discern their very faces. He wished to pull the calling bell and call a peon.
But ah! Such an attempt was futile, for nothing was visible except his memories that were fresh and vivid. Everything else seemed to be drowned by an overwhelming wave of shadow.
‘Where am I?’ he yelled out aloud in exasperation. But he heard nothing except his rebounded interrogation- ‘w-h-e-r-e .. a-m .. I ??
He repeated his query again and again and always got the same response.
Instead of being afraid, he kicked up a fuss.
‘Who put me in such an invisible void where I cannot see my dear ones, my house or my office? Who could it be?’ he shouted.
Glimpses of images he had read in the Upanishads and in eighteen Puranas stood like living forms in front of him. ‘Was this the Hell I was brought to redeem my sins?
But I’ve not committed any such relentless crime for which Hell is the due.’
His soliloquy was broken by a horselaugh.
By then, the darkness had crystallized into a shadowy form. It stood somewhere yards away, throwing a cold sneer at him all the while. The image of Yamraaj- the god of death, resurrected in his mind. Was it he who brought me to this hell?
‘Who are you?’ he asked the shadowy form sternly and with the authority he used to maintain in his office. He thought the form might be scared of his harsh command as did his subordinates, but instead, the shadow laughed at him.
A loud hearty laugh that rang repetitively. And then his voice turned into a stern callousness.
‘How dare you ask me such a question?’ the shadow retorted back audaciously.’ Don’t you know who I am?’
The imperious utterance of the shadow not only startled Mr. Raghu but also made him irritated. None in his office had ever dared to reply to him with such impudence. His fist was clenched unconsciously to plant a heavy slap on the shadow’s cheek, to teach him, once for all, how to talk with a boss.
But considering his situation he was in at the moment, he thought it to be foolish. He relaxed for a moment and said ‘Why should I ask if I knew you?’
‘Well, then take It.’ the shadow retorted solemnly. ‘I am the one you are.’
‘What?’ croaked Mr. Raghu, listening such a vague and ambiguous statement, ‘If that is that, how come you are away in the dark and not in me?’ he amused and tried to make fun of the shadow’s audacity to think itself akin to his being.
‘I’m always with you, fool, deep within you. Can’t you discern me?’ the shadow’s voice was poignant and sharp, as if, he were in a deep inner turmoil.
‘Don’t upbraid me. I’m sure I can’t discern you.’ pleaded Raghuji with inflected seriousness.
‘How can a blind see his self? That’s the real plight. You’ve made yourself blind. That is what you have caused to me. You have never tried to bring light to me. In fact, you have no time, no zeal, and no need to heed to me.’
Raghu was deeply wounded. Never in his life had he realized that there was such an irrational being that could implicate him. He had enjoyed unlimited power and prestige as the General Manager of the Corporation and earned money that one could only dream of.
He had shown the way and regulated the lives of numerous employees, just at the point of his fingers. And yet, he was blind! But, how…how was that?
‘You are blind because you are away from the light from your own self. You are blind because you are very near to what you are not. You are obsessed with those illusive ghosts that misled you every moment.’ a taunting jeer rang in his ear.
‘Stop your prattle’ commanded Mr. Raghu impatiently, ‘and tell me why I am here.’
‘Where else would have you been with all your sins?’ the shadow mocked at his very face. The dominant figure of Mr. Raghu got shrunken inwardly.
‘I’ve not done any sin. I’ve not done any wrong knowingly.’ Raghu pleaded like a convict in the dock desperate to extricate himself.
‘Were you not haughty? Were you not boastful of your position?’
‘Of course, I was. But that’s not a sin.’ he said confidently.
‘That’s not a virtue either’ came the sharp rejoinder from the dark, ‘Your vanity had led many to their dooms. You were not what you projected to be. That was a temporary act assigned to you and you fancied, as if, you were that. You fell victim to your own ego. You entered into the kingdom of vice. And a vice is a sin.’
‘That wasn’t as much as a murder.’
‘Didn’t you ill-treat many?’ inquired the shadow firmly.
‘Yes, I did. And I was right because they deserved it. They committed blunders and so they paid for them.’
‘Didn’t you commit any in the whole span given to you?’
‘May be, may be…. To err is human.’ He admitted falteringly.
‘To forgive, then, is divine. Did you punish yourself?’
‘No’
‘That’s why you’re here. You were an unjust judge and you must receive your lesson.’
It was still hazy outside. The morning had not clearly dawned, yet a bedlam of twitters had already started in the old peepal.
Mr Jairaj hustled on his usual walk to complete an early round. As he neared the dusky grove, he saw a figure sail leisurely down the opposite. He looked so sober and quiet that he couldn’t help greeting him from a distance.
The other slowed a bit to fold his hands and utter a deep ‘namaskar’. It was a voice-grand and clear, free from the cliché clattered callousness- and one that seemed to spring out of his heart.
Mr Jairaj looked up to have a clear view of the man, and lo, in sheer disbelief and awe, he squinted at what he saw. In his front halted Mr Raghu to ask about his well being. His eyes seemed to stretch far more wider and alert, such as a deep slumber and a freshening dream can bestow. And a ripple of unruffled placidity swept over his countenance. His hands still rested half-folded over his chest.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
the last wish....
“Darling, what’s wrong?!” Mrs. Walke shrieked. Mr. Walke was coughing violently; his coughs, penetrating through the cold morning air. His mouth foamed vigorously, and within moments, he was lying senseless on the wooden floor of his dining room. Dawn had just approached. The clock struck four, indicating that it was ‘3’ in the morning. The Sun was slowly emerging, while Mr. Walke’s Sun had set.
“Oh, mother!” Mrs. Walke cried out, “Please come and see!” Her mother-in-law had been sleeping; it was not met that a woman of her age would be awakened so early in the morning. She slowly came out of her room, signalling a big yawn. Her age had taken a toll on her body, and it was natural that her body would shiver after confronting the cold winter air.
On seeing her son lying lifeless on the floor, she was stunned. She let a cry of disbelief, and collapsed beside her son.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed. Beside her, a machine beeped loudly, flashing some kind of a graph. A white coated man with a stethoscope was standing next to her bed. “Thank God she’s back!” He exclaimed.
On hearing the good news, her daughter-in-law arrived. The doctor looked at her, then approached her, and whispered something into her ears, then left. Mrs. Walke sat on the stool beside her mother-in-law’s bed. “Mom! Thank God you’re back! You’ve been lying unconscious for five days now! The doctor said you’ve passed over to coma, but I’m thankful you’re back!”
The old lady asked, “Kishore! Where is he?”
Mrs. Walke began to weep. She threw herself on the bed, and began to sob loudly, as if, to gain attention. The old lady consoled her, and then looking in her eyes, she asked, “What happened to him?”
“Kishore’s gone!” Mrs. Walke continued to sob.
The old mother had a weak mentality. After hearing her son’s death, she could not even react. All she could do was look lost. She stared at her daughter-in-law for some time, before fainting again. She awoke in the evening. Mrs. Walke was still sitting beside her.
Acting strong, she asked, “What is the date today?”
“Eighteenth June,” she replied with a sorrow tune.
“And for how many days exactly am I here?”
“Five.”
“So, Kishore died on the thirteenth?” She could no longer hold back her tears. She wailed, so terribly, that the entire hospital was shaken by her cries. It was quite natural. She had lost her only son.
After some condolences, Mrs. Walke stepped out of her room. The old lady looked lost. She gazed up at the ceiling, ignoring everything that was going around. All she could think of was Kishore. She could envision Kishore’s image appearing and disappearing in a moment’s notice. She flashed back on his past, as she remembered the tiny Kishore when she gave birth to her. Slowly, she imagined Kishore growing up. She remembered all the special moments in her child’s life, both painful and serene. She saw him grow up, and finally marry her dear daughter-in-law, who was like an angel to her. Finally, she imagined his dead face, and the sight mad tears roll down her wizened cheeks. She loved her son dearly; her son meant the world to her. His loss was the greatest trauma of her life. She did not feel as terrible when she lost her dear husband.
“Mrs. Walke?” Someone knocked on the door, which disturbed her thoughts, and drew her attention. She stared at the door. A nurse was standing there with an envelope in her hand.
“Yes?” The old lady answered.
“I have a letter for you. Someone dropped it off at the patients’ letterbox. It’s addressed to you. Sorry, I don’t know the addressee as we aren’t supposed to breach upon our patients’ privacy.”
The old lady looked stunned. “A letter, in here?” she thought. She turned to the nurse, “Thank you. You may leave.”
She saw the post seal on the paper. It was stamped on 17th June, which was yesterday. She quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the piece of paper. The letter was written on a sheet which was of poor quality. The handwriting seemed familiar. It read—
“17th June, 2009.
Dear Mrs. Bina Walke,
I sincerely apologize for not providing my address, because I, myself, am not aware of it. I’m sorry to disturb you during this time, when you are grieving over your son’s death, but this letter is regarding him. No, this is not a testament, but this is mainly a letter to make you aware about the mysteries surrounding your son’s death. Those secrets will be revealed in this letter.
Your son was murdered! His death was unnatural, although the autopsy revealed he died of suffocation. I guess you may be wondering how exactly such a healthy person could suffocate, and that too, in a winter morning while having breakfast. Well, his windpipe may have been blocked due to entrance of food particles, but that is not the case. Yes, he did die by suffocation, but he was suffocated intentionally by someone very dear to him.
Your dear daughter-in-law, your angel Mini, is the reason behind your son’s death. She murdered him, by feeding him peanut butter and toast. And you know how allergic he is to peanuts. As soon as the toast entered his mouth, his neck had swollen, preventing air flow, and thus choking him. It was not an accident, and it was done intentionally. She buttered his toast with peanuts deliberately, in order to get rid of him. That bitch murdered him, only because he knew dark secrets about her. She had an extramarital affair with her husband’s best friend—Varun. She betrayed him. Kishore thought of divorcing his wife due to mental treachery, but he could not do so, as it would upset you.
Now, after I’ve revealed the reason for his death, I will disclose some personal details about him, which might be beneficial to you. After all, people should not dwell on the past. He has written a will, as he feared his end was near, in order to distribute all his properties. The will is held by his lawyer—Mrs. Govindita. You will receive further information from her.
You may be wondering how I know such details about him, but the fact is, he, himself, provided me with such knowledge. This was his last wish—‘Not to punish his wife by giving this letter to the police. Let her live her life.’
Your loving son,
KISHORE.”
The old lady was startled by the name of the addressee. She could not help but stare at this piece of paper. It was her son that sent her the letter. “But how? How can he send it after he died?” She thought. She knew that even if she thought for years, her answers would remain unanswered. The handwriting was similar to Kishore’s, and this style of writing was Kishore’s trademark. So, it must have been him.
After some more days, she was discharged from the hospital. Within a month of Kishore’s death, Mini married Varun, and they lived a happy life together. Kishore’s mother was helpless in interfering; she could not show the letter to the police, as they would not believe her, and because then, her action would be against Kishore’s last wish.
“Oh, mother!” Mrs. Walke cried out, “Please come and see!” Her mother-in-law had been sleeping; it was not met that a woman of her age would be awakened so early in the morning. She slowly came out of her room, signalling a big yawn. Her age had taken a toll on her body, and it was natural that her body would shiver after confronting the cold winter air.
On seeing her son lying lifeless on the floor, she was stunned. She let a cry of disbelief, and collapsed beside her son.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed. Beside her, a machine beeped loudly, flashing some kind of a graph. A white coated man with a stethoscope was standing next to her bed. “Thank God she’s back!” He exclaimed.
On hearing the good news, her daughter-in-law arrived. The doctor looked at her, then approached her, and whispered something into her ears, then left. Mrs. Walke sat on the stool beside her mother-in-law’s bed. “Mom! Thank God you’re back! You’ve been lying unconscious for five days now! The doctor said you’ve passed over to coma, but I’m thankful you’re back!”
The old lady asked, “Kishore! Where is he?”
Mrs. Walke began to weep. She threw herself on the bed, and began to sob loudly, as if, to gain attention. The old lady consoled her, and then looking in her eyes, she asked, “What happened to him?”
“Kishore’s gone!” Mrs. Walke continued to sob.
The old mother had a weak mentality. After hearing her son’s death, she could not even react. All she could do was look lost. She stared at her daughter-in-law for some time, before fainting again. She awoke in the evening. Mrs. Walke was still sitting beside her.
Acting strong, she asked, “What is the date today?”
“Eighteenth June,” she replied with a sorrow tune.
“And for how many days exactly am I here?”
“Five.”
“So, Kishore died on the thirteenth?” She could no longer hold back her tears. She wailed, so terribly, that the entire hospital was shaken by her cries. It was quite natural. She had lost her only son.
After some condolences, Mrs. Walke stepped out of her room. The old lady looked lost. She gazed up at the ceiling, ignoring everything that was going around. All she could think of was Kishore. She could envision Kishore’s image appearing and disappearing in a moment’s notice. She flashed back on his past, as she remembered the tiny Kishore when she gave birth to her. Slowly, she imagined Kishore growing up. She remembered all the special moments in her child’s life, both painful and serene. She saw him grow up, and finally marry her dear daughter-in-law, who was like an angel to her. Finally, she imagined his dead face, and the sight mad tears roll down her wizened cheeks. She loved her son dearly; her son meant the world to her. His loss was the greatest trauma of her life. She did not feel as terrible when she lost her dear husband.
“Mrs. Walke?” Someone knocked on the door, which disturbed her thoughts, and drew her attention. She stared at the door. A nurse was standing there with an envelope in her hand.
“Yes?” The old lady answered.
“I have a letter for you. Someone dropped it off at the patients’ letterbox. It’s addressed to you. Sorry, I don’t know the addressee as we aren’t supposed to breach upon our patients’ privacy.”
The old lady looked stunned. “A letter, in here?” she thought. She turned to the nurse, “Thank you. You may leave.”
She saw the post seal on the paper. It was stamped on 17th June, which was yesterday. She quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the piece of paper. The letter was written on a sheet which was of poor quality. The handwriting seemed familiar. It read—
“17th June, 2009.
Dear Mrs. Bina Walke,
I sincerely apologize for not providing my address, because I, myself, am not aware of it. I’m sorry to disturb you during this time, when you are grieving over your son’s death, but this letter is regarding him. No, this is not a testament, but this is mainly a letter to make you aware about the mysteries surrounding your son’s death. Those secrets will be revealed in this letter.
Your son was murdered! His death was unnatural, although the autopsy revealed he died of suffocation. I guess you may be wondering how exactly such a healthy person could suffocate, and that too, in a winter morning while having breakfast. Well, his windpipe may have been blocked due to entrance of food particles, but that is not the case. Yes, he did die by suffocation, but he was suffocated intentionally by someone very dear to him.
Your dear daughter-in-law, your angel Mini, is the reason behind your son’s death. She murdered him, by feeding him peanut butter and toast. And you know how allergic he is to peanuts. As soon as the toast entered his mouth, his neck had swollen, preventing air flow, and thus choking him. It was not an accident, and it was done intentionally. She buttered his toast with peanuts deliberately, in order to get rid of him. That bitch murdered him, only because he knew dark secrets about her. She had an extramarital affair with her husband’s best friend—Varun. She betrayed him. Kishore thought of divorcing his wife due to mental treachery, but he could not do so, as it would upset you.
Now, after I’ve revealed the reason for his death, I will disclose some personal details about him, which might be beneficial to you. After all, people should not dwell on the past. He has written a will, as he feared his end was near, in order to distribute all his properties. The will is held by his lawyer—Mrs. Govindita. You will receive further information from her.
You may be wondering how I know such details about him, but the fact is, he, himself, provided me with such knowledge. This was his last wish—‘Not to punish his wife by giving this letter to the police. Let her live her life.’
Your loving son,
KISHORE.”
The old lady was startled by the name of the addressee. She could not help but stare at this piece of paper. It was her son that sent her the letter. “But how? How can he send it after he died?” She thought. She knew that even if she thought for years, her answers would remain unanswered. The handwriting was similar to Kishore’s, and this style of writing was Kishore’s trademark. So, it must have been him.
After some more days, she was discharged from the hospital. Within a month of Kishore’s death, Mini married Varun, and they lived a happy life together. Kishore’s mother was helpless in interfering; she could not show the letter to the police, as they would not believe her, and because then, her action would be against Kishore’s last wish.
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