Into the Graveyard (Little Bile - Part II)

[Characters: Bile (pronounce as Bee-lay)]

Bile was walking on the wet roads in Kolkata, almost unnoticed, with the rainbow colored umbrella in hand and tiny steps taking him nowhere, but away from the cold, dark and silent house. The road was bustling, but quieter than usual days, when he comes out to go to school. He walked alone – slowly, but surely enough not to return again!

The umbrella was not heavy for him, but the slippers were. They were already wet and he was not able to walk wearing them. He looked around and after assuring that none was watching him, he bent down, took both the slippers and threw them into the drain, over the culvert. He bent down to see them float atop the drain water, which suddenly became livid with the morning rain. He walked past the culvert and the big stinky drain and he left the bakery behind. Mom never let him cross this drain. Never would Dad take him there. Bile always wanted to know what there might be, waiting to be explored. Today, he would not stop for anyone. He walked slowly, but surely enough not to stop until he is made to. The roads were slippery, in this sorry Sunday morning, with the morning rain all over the place. His bare feet would not grip well and he was slipping almost with every step.

He walked down the street. The sky was already clear by now – after the rains, it looked as blue as never before. The road narrowed in and was almost swallowed by those big, heavy and hefty iron gates. He never saw such a scene, when he got inside those gates. There was a big field around him and in front of him as much as he could see; with trees on it, spaced far from each other. The place was covered with tall green grass and there were big stones and wooden planks standing on the ground – some side by side, whereas a few, afar. He could relate this place to a picture he saw in his books – this place must be a Graveyard!

Bile ran in. He was very happy. For the first time in his life, he saw a graveyard – neither did he plan for this to happen nor was it allowed. The wet grass was cutting down his pants and his bare feet smelt like heaven. He could feel it. He could touch the earth, play with the tall grass and jump over the gravestones – for the first time. He felt like a king there. The umbrella was the only thing he knew with no living thing around him. He was tired and he lied down on the wet grass. Little droplets of water and a few torn grass pallets stuck to his body, all over. He was getting dirty, one thing Mom would not like at all. But he cared not. The view of the clear blue sky through the tall grass, below the gravestone was something little Bile never tasted. He saw the white clouds hover above him and the gravestone was a perfect ally to play hide and seek with. He was happy, in this sorry Sunday morning. He forgot everything that happened back home, when he woke up today. There was nothing much to remember, though. He was enjoying his time here. He could still feel the rain drops, the grass and the earth on his little bare feet and the smell of the wet grass on his hands. The milieu was silent, calm and he would here his own heart beat. As the morning breeze blew over his dreamy and sleepy eyes, he felt serenity. He held on to the umbrella and closed his eyes. He could not tell, when he fell asleep, behind the gravestone, lying on the wet grass on this sorry Sunday morning.

Part III (The Stranger)
... to be continued

Image Source
Part I
Written For: Thursday Tales

...
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A phone call

‘I told you, I do not know you. I never knew you. And I never left you. Neither did I want to leave you. You were the one who left – you left without notice, without a word and without a reason. I would have never stopped calling you, if you would have answered my calls. I would have never stopped mailing you if you would have ever returned an email to me. Did you even check my mails? Ever?

‘I was a fool. I have always been one. I waited for you – even when you never turned up. I wrote to you, even after not receiving a single reply for months. I called your ever busy or ‘out-of-reach’ number only to end up with the voice mail – you never called back – I waited.’

‘But Mrinal, I called you today.’

‘Yes, you called me – today, after nine long years. Where were you all these years? What were you doing? Did you not remember me for a single moment? How could you stay away for such a long time and not try to contact me. Why did not you call me all these years? And why suddenly, out of nowhere, on this silly, gloomy, cursed Thursday morning? Why are you calling me today?’

‘Yes Mrinal, I called you today to tell you something. Something I could never tell you and I wish you to hear this now. I am…’

‘What do you have to tell now? I know… I know it all. I do not want to hear about your kids’ school days; nor am I interested to know about your husband’s foreign trip. I do not want to get invited to your child’s birthday party and I do not want to know about the big bungalows that you and your husband might have bought over the years.

‘Look Tina, I am a very busy man now. And I am not sure whether you care or not, but I really do not have any time to stick to this call at present. I am very sorry, if I am being rude, but this is just what I would like to be now. I do not think I am anyone to listen to any of the nonsense that you might plan to tell me here. I have had enough of all these. I have lost my sleep and many a nights thinking over you and your talks. I have learnt a lesson on my own and thank you for teaching me that. Right now, I am going to office and I do not have the luxury to spend more time on this call.’

‘Please Mrinal. Please spare a couple of minutes for me.’

‘Don’t make your voice wear that phony rag of sorrow. That would not do any good anymore. These crocodile’s tears may be good for your friends, who would also cry along with you – not me! And before I cut this line off, I would like you to know that I would not expect any further call from you on this number. Hope there is enough courtesy left in you to make you understand this – straight and clear. Goodbye!’

Mrinal banged the phone on the receiver and rushed out of the house. Nishi never saw her husband raged like this earlier. She ran behind with his lunch box and could only push it through the rising glass windows of his Maruti. Mrinal zoomed away, leaving Nishi alone in the house for the entire day, yet again. She came back and shut the door behind her, probably with a deep breath and a couple of drops on her cheeks and thinking about the long day, until Mrinal returns from the office. She went passed the telephone; took the woolen cover and covered it to avoid deposition of dust – knowing absolutely nothing about the conversation that the telephone witnessed. She did not want to know – she would never dare and try to know either.

Three months passed.

‘Hey Nishi, where is today’s newspaper? If you are done with that, may I also have a look into it, for some time? I guess this is the only day in the week that I can lay my hands on it. So, please darling, if you have gone through it and mugged up every damn article in the classified pages, please get that paper here on my table – right now!’

Nishi ran out from her kitchen, as if the world is going to end the next moment and collected the newspaper from the balcony. She ran again and got the paper on the dining table within a flash, where her husband was taking a deep sip into the coffee mug. His eyes, were as red as ever; his voice was as rough as ever and his hands and shoulders were shivering with anger – as ever. She kept the paper on the table and left, looking downwards and thanking God, that he did not utter anything else; she knows for sure that he will not utter anything else until he finished reading the newspaper in whole. That hour would be her hour of having a happy weekend with her family!

‘Thanks a bunch!’ he murmured.

After almost an hour of reading the newspaper and going through all those unnecessary things happening around him, whom he wants to alter and align but never tried, Mrinal finally fixed his eyes on this small four by four obituary note. The note said that the deceased was a woman in her early thirties, who was fighting valiantly against breast cancer for more than a decade. She worked in the cancer relief charity association of the state, since she was diagnosed positive with this lethal disease. She gave up her entire lifetime, fighting and helping others to fight against cancer. The gratifying association could do nothing more than publishing this note in the paper and urging her family members to mourn on her ill-timed death – who left her in the association, in the fear of catching that disease themselves. The association, which had both elderly and mid-aged people, who were also left behind by their families and loved ones to die this slow but inevitable death, could do nothing but pray for the peace of her soul. The note also had the picture of the dead – of someone whom Mrinal knew – closely, for years. It was Tina, his college friend turned lover, whom he could not marry, partly because his father wanted him to marry Nishi, the daughter of his friend from the village and he could not give up his father’s dynasty; and partly because Tina chose to be away from him; lost in the darkness, which this unfortunate disease brought to her.

He read the whole note more than a few times and checked the picture minutely. He could not know when the paper fell down from his hands; nor could he realize that a few drops of tears have accumulated near the corner of his eyes.

Probably now, Mrinal knows what Tina wanted to say on that last phone call that she made to him.

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Little Bile

[Characters: Sumanta (pronounce as Shoo-mon-to), Kruti (pronounce as Kroo-tee), Bile (pronounce as Bee-lay)]

Part 1

“You better go and wash your face in a pot full of shit!”
“Oh, get lost! You do not even have a face to wash anywhere.”
“I know what I need to do. Just do not bother me again!”
“Fine, I’m leaving!”
Sumanta slammed the door behind him.
“Ya, go! Damn you! I’m leaving too!”
Kruti too slammed the door behind her and left.

It has been an hour since they left. The house has been silent, motionless and noiseless too since then. The light in the bedroom was glowing. The kitchen tap was probably open, contravening the silence. The living room was dark, cold and at sixes and sevens. Nothing moved – the door, the curtains, the chairs, the fan, the remote, the sofa and little Bile on it. Nothing moved. Bile is Sumanta and Kruti’s eight year old son. He did not understand a single thing that his parents talked about. He was always quiet since morning, when his mother, wake him up in this sorry Sunday morning. He could feel the rain pouring on the terrace and on the balcony. Did his parents take umbrellas with them? He does not know and never in his life had he given an umbrella to his parents while they go out. He was not responsible for that ever! However, today, for a change, he woke up, brushed his teeth, took bath, got dressed up, ate the piece of bread and drank the glass of milk – all by himself. Nobody had to run behind him for each of these daily chores. In fact, none had the time to run behind him today, since it was a sorry Sunday morning. His parents did not have time to look at him today, because they were always cursing and shouting at each other since they opened their fiery eyes. Bile has been a good boy today. He was going through all these chores one by one keeping an eye on his parents – their fists – their high raised voices – their curses until the door banged twice as they moved out of the house. Since then, he sat there, on the sofa knowing not what to do. The sofa gave him some comfort and he almost felt asleep. Probably the rain drops on the terrace kept him awake – he somehow, likes the sound of those drops – synchronized, consistent and inexorable. It has been an hour since his parents slammed the door and left for nowhere!

He was terrified by their behavior today. He was afraid if he would see the faces of his parents again. He was too small to even think what could be the consequences of this sorry Sunday morning. He wanted to cry, but there was none around to comfort or commiserate him. Hence, he did not. He wanted to sleep, since the sofa was too comfortable and he was feeling cold in that dark living room. He was somewhat happy that he was alone in the house and he could do absolutely anything with nobody around to stop him; but he had nothing special to do. He did not plan anything ahead of time. He was feeling clueless too, with a little doubt that the door would bang open once again and his parents might comeback with those false grins on their faces, like always.

Bile spent another hour, sitting on the sofa, with eyes fixed at the door which never opened. The rain has stopped by now. Still, the drops from the leaves were making that sound on the terrace – every other second. He just wanted to cry out aloud and wished to scream to someone; only if there were anyone to hear him and attend to him. He stretched his legs – they were jammed, sitting in that one position for so long a time. This was the first thing that moved in two hours. Slowly Bile got down from the sofa, still watching the door and hoping it would open. But nothing! He stood there for some time, to decide what to do. He could not! He walked to the kitchen to see if the tap was really open. He peeped in. Yes! It was open no doubt, but he was the last person in the house who could reach atop the sink to turn the tap the other way. He just left it as it was – dripping. He looked around. The house was almost haunting to him. The walls seem to squeeze in, reducing the space he had for himself – the whole house! He was still feeling cold, and may be a little hungry too. He went to his room, quietly, as if he was punished for making noise while walking in his own room. He saw the umbrella which his father bought him from the last mela but he could never use it since it did not rain as it is raining now. Quietly enough, he picked up the rainbow colored umbrella and slipped into the slippers and walked towards the main door.

Part 2

“He is tall. He is black. She is combing her hair. He is running for the bus. She is lovely. They are students. She is talking over the mobile. She is wearing a saree. He is riding a bicycle. He is riding a bike. She is making signs to him. They are waiting for the tram. She is busy. He is smart. Those are talking to each other.”

Bile was walking on the wet roads in Kolkata, almost unnoticed, with the rainbow colored umbrella in hand and tiny steps taking him nowhere, but away from the cold, dark and silent house. The road was bustling, but quieter than usual days, when he comes out to go to school. He walked alone – slowly, but surely enough not to return again!

… To be continued.

[To my readers: I know I am not writing much these days and I apologize to all those who await my posts here. Lately, a lot of stories came to my mind which I failed to put down in black and white. This one, is one of the best thoughts that came to my mind and I would love to write this one – long and completely. Part 2 has just started. Will post the same in time! Thanks for your love and support. That is what keeps me going on.]

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Logout (on the other side)

It was another wrathful weekend and I was stuck to my bedside holding unto the computer keyboard for almost 12 hours. There is nothing to do – not anymore. It has been a long time since he left and it has been long enough that his absence has become a habit. I was not bothered much; why would I? Nobody is bothered about me; why would I be bothered about anyone else? I work now; not like olden days when he used to earn and I used to cook for him. How damn fool I was – how I wasted my life with that nincompoop! I look back and want to slap myself. Anyways, that is past now. I am what my present tells me to be.

We married with lots of hope in our eyes – away from the families on our own all the way. We were kids that time, but we walked together. Life was a challenge and we were forced to experience loss every other moment. Still, we had love to bind us together, I guess! But with time, it withered too. The plant of our dreams wilted in front of our own very eyes. Sometimes, he did not water it sometimes, I faltered – and it wilted. Then one day, when we both ‘grew up’ and we become ‘practical’ and ‘down to earth’, we ‘understood’ that our ways would not meet again soon! It was like a railway track crossing – we were happy as the two tracks were coming close to each other and as they crossed, the distance kept on increasing forever; never to meet again. After years of being married, we realized we should not have come close at the first place. How ridiculous! And if it was so, why did I not think about it all these years? Probably, the best days of my life, that were now lost!

Anyways, we parted. And it was only for good. He never looked back – he is a man of his words, I know! He would not look back. If he would not, why should I? Why should I keep on waiting for him? He would come online but never say a ‘Hi’; but still I spend every futile weekend of mine on chat messengers – just to see if he is online. I used to ping him at times, but he never replies. So, I login invisible to him. He knows I will be online this time – but he would not ever ping me back.

WTF! What am I thinking about? Its late into the weekend night and I must be drinking more than usual that I’m getting all these worthless thoughts in my head. This life is good – no one to ask questions – none bothered for you and the best of it all, no one for whom you should be bothered! I could not go back to my family – nor could I commit something foolish. I went ahead and caught that highly paid and easily available job for me. It is a pleasure at work and I am the boss of my own coins.

I clicked on Logout and realized the world has turned a deaf ear to me. I am no longer living to anyone, anywhere. I logged in long ago and was seeing him online on messenger all the time. I had to logout and I did. He was always online, but he never said, “Hi.” Oh, damn him! Damn me! Damn these worthless thoughts of mine!

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Agartala – the development in news

“Indian Airlines welcomes you to Singarbil Airport, Agartala. The outside temperature is 22 degrees centigrade and the captain feels it’s quite comfortable. Please do not try to open the overhead lockers until the plane comes to a complete stall. This might harm you or your fellow passengers. We thank you for travelling with Indian Airlines and we hope you will travel with us soon. We wish you a pleasant stay in Agartala.”

At last, the plane stopped and we landed fine. As soon as I came out of the front door, I waved goodbye to the beautiful airhostess, turned outwards and took a deep breath. Ah! The whiff of my land filled my lungs. I have fewer words to describe the feeling of it. I was coming back after almost four years and I alone knew how much I missed it.

After checking out with the baggage, I was surrounded by a horde of car and auto drivers. The first signs; so uncommon about Agartala! For a moment, it did not feel like my own land! Anyways, I took an auto after twenty minutes of bargain and only after deciding upon a price which I thought should be enough for the ride home.

The ride was not so good. I mean, I did not feel I was in the same place where I spent most of my years! Agartala had changed so much since I left it that it gives me an impression as if the aero plane went back to Guwahati instead of landing in Agartala. The roads were widened; the shops were pushed back; the footpaths were fabricated and there were small saplings planted all through the road till I reached home. One might question the objective of the authorities, but all I felt was an improvement – a step towards development of the capital which had never been of priority to the government. I liked it.

After reaching home, I took recess for rest of the day. The cool bath in my own shower and a neck-fill lunch allowed me to do nothing more but sleep. So, I went upstairs and slept in the terrace. When I woke up, it was almost dark and the quirking crickets were shouting at the peak of their voice, as if they were welcoming my return. Only then, I felt I was back – home! The sound of crickets and the dancing fireflies in the middle of the city can only be experienced in Agartala, and nowhere else, I believe.

Agartala is the capital of one of the seven sisters of north east – Tripura. Tripura is a land that was never under British rule. This is why I say that Tripura is a virgin state (LOL). The ancient state takes up a huge area including some districts of Assam, Meghalaya, Mizoram and Bangladesh and it was ruled by Tripuri Kings or Twipra Dynasty for almost 2500 years. On October 15, 1949 Tripura was merged with independent India. The state lost lion’s share of its area to Bangladesh during partition of East Pakistan and India. Tripura became a centrally administered Union Territory on July 1, 1963 and attained the status of a full-fledged state on January 21, 1972. Agartala, the capital city of the state is where I was born. I have travelled across the length and breadth of India extensively during my school, college and post graduation days and no place could fascinate me more than my own little piece of land.

The next morning I carried my age old bicycle to the nearest puncture shop (well, most of the shops here were either ‘puncher’ or ‘pancar’ shops all these years, but somehow, all of them had suddenly learnt the right word, it seemed!) to mend it. The bicycle is still a perfect ride for the city. The total city area does not go more than 60 Sq. Km and you can still travel from one corner to the other just by handing over a five rupee coin! Everything is in the vicinity. You need not travel more than 12 hours to reach any of your relatives residing in any part of the state. At present, with the inception of railways (after 61 years of independence) the travel time has reduced even more.

The bicycle ride to the only railway station in Agartala illustrated many changes in the city. I intentionally took the longer route and met many of my old friends and relatives on the way. By the time I reached the station it was noon and there were no trace of any engine. Alas! I was excited hoping to see an engine for the first time in Agartala, but could not. The railway station itself has been built in a way to depict old palaces. The look of the white station gate gave a tremendous feeling. We all were waiting for it since childhood when the then railways minister promised to get Agartala connected to the rest of India. And when it happened, most of us were not present here in Agartala. Anyways, the very sight of the railway tracks and the platforms gave me immense pleasure. I came back.

The current Agartala is situated not far from the old and original one, called “Purano Agartala” or “Old Agartala.” One can still see the erections of the ancient kings who ruled the state in Purano Agartala. One of the main temples of Tripura where the traditional Kharchi Puja is celebrated is situated in this place. Many other small and big temples can be seen there that depict the engineering and art of ancient Tripuri Kings. However, the main palace, called the Ujjayanta Raajprashaad is situated in modern day Agartala and the city is built up all around it.

While travelling back home, I thought of getting into the market place – Kaman Choumuhani and Hawker’s Corner. The moment I entered the area, my eyes went ablaze! What was there that I am seeing? Big shopping malls have come up in place of small chain of shops and the roads are not covered with shop less hawkers anymore. There were parking made for cars and bicycles and the whole place was glowing and bustling like a metro! The changes what I saw around me left me awestruck; but for the people around me, nothing at all! Maybe they were more adaptive or practical or mature. Whatever it was, I was in no mood to think about them. People change as the environment and the society they live in changes. I know, I know!

On the way back, I cycled passed my school, the hospital that I was born in, the Motor Stand, the South and North Gates to the palace compound, the Astabal Maidan, the Buddha Mandir, the Governor’s house and the Malancha Nivas, where Kabiguru Rabindranath Thakur used to stay. My school building was demolished and a big palace stands in its place now. The place near Buddha Mandir had grown up to a satellite market place. Governor’s house remained a mystery with its high raised guarding walls as we could never peep into it and see what is there to be seen. Renovation works on Malancha Nivas were still going on. A few roads were being re-laid and the smell of tar and charcoal filled the air. Sight of the circuit house, road towards Bholagiri Ashram’s field and the age old Kunjavan Quarters gave me pleasant hindsight of the olden days. Some things never change and I was happy that they do not. By the time I reached home, it was dark and Maa scolded me after years and I promised within to be late for each of the rest days of my tour.

The stay in Agartala came out to be pleasant as wished by the airhostess earlier. I could not travel to different parts of Tripura, and relished my excursions into my native – felt like old wine in a new bottle! There are many places one can visit when in Tripura – the Tripureshwari Kaali Bari, Neermahal, Shipahi Jala animal resort and zoo, Unokoti Mountains containing idols of 33 crores Hindu Gods and Goddesses inscribed on rocks, Pilak and many more small but historically irreplaceable places. Due to shortage of time, I could not visit any of those; but I browsed through the paths and roads of Agartala to my heart’s content. The next time I go there, I am sure to see many more changes, developments and shifts in overall beauty of the city but I am confident on one thing – how much ever they change Agartala, I will know it as much as I have always known and it will love me as much as it always does!

Phew! Nostalgic Agartala!
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Its almost a work of fiction, as I have not visited the place for 2 years, 11 months and 16 days; however, the facts are all true as I got to see the photos and experiences that my friends and relatives have shared with me. When I go there now, it will not be much different!
Was thinking where I should put thie writeup - in this blogor my regular blog. Then, since I have not actually gone there in years, I felt this is the right place for this to be... Hope you enjoyed...
Pics above:
1. Tourism Map of Tripura.
2. Railway Station, Badharghaat.
3. Ujjayanta Palace.
4. Neermahal, Melaghar.

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The Meeting

I was there in time. The crowd went crazy by the time I reached the Palace Corner. It was almost evening and weekend just started for all the bureaucrats that Friday evening. I stood there near the BSNL gate, with the cigarette half done. She did not come in time. Well, she told me she might be late, but this wait was killing me from inside. I did not want to wait for her that day. I have waited long hours for her to come online and then to login to YM and say that sweet ‘Hi’ and have never complained; but today, when we were meeting for the first time, I could not wait to meet her in flesh and blood! I never liked pink, but I was browsing through the fleeting crowd and searching only for that color that day. She told she will be wearing pink top and white trousers. I saw at least a thousand girls in pink in the last ten minutes of wait, but none of them mattered. When will she come?

A tap on my right shoulder; I turned 180 degrees around and I was shocked!

I always thought her to be my dream girl. We shared our pictures and I really felt she was the one. Actually, I modified her a great deal to match the idol I dreamt of. And very easily, she got into that virtual mold. With her chatting, emails, text messages and rare phone calls and those jokes and giggles over the phone, she easily crept in the cast I made in my thoughts and dreams. I went through the last five months of knowing her on the internet in a flash – the way we met in Orkut and then we chatted in GTalk and those nudges and those irregular emails took us to a few conversations on the phone and finally we would meet that Friday evening. All felt like a moment – a mere moment!

Another prod – this time, it was more of a shake.

“Hey, do you recognize me?”

“Ee… No! I mean, who are you?”

“Err… Rakib?”

“Ra… Rakib?”

“I’m sorry. I meant, are you Rakib Al Sharif?”

“Rakib Al Sharif?”

“I’m Sahana… Sahana?”

“Sahana? Yes, but…”

“I’m sorry again. Are you Rakib? I came here to meet you.”

“Nn… No! I’m not Rakib. My name is Asif. Asif Mm… Mohammad.”

“Oh! I’m extremely sorry.”

“Ee… it’s alright.”

She turned back. I could see the want in her eyes to meet me, through my tainted glasses. She was also searching all around her – for me – the way I was searching for her all this time! She cross passed me and I tried to smell her for one last time by the passing gust of her, but I smelled nothing! How strange! I could smell her and feel her presence even while we were chatting on the internet, the other night. And that day, when she was as close as ever, I could not feel her at all!

She went ahead and dissolved in the crowd. I turned once more to look for her, but I did not search. I did not see her there again. It was almost dark but I could not think of removing the glasses. I lit one more cigarette with almost trembling hands and walked towards the bus stop.

[That Night, in YM]

Sahana: Hi...

Rakib: Hello
(Last message received: 3 minutes ago)
Sahana: hw r u?
(Last message received: 2 minutes ago)
Sahana: Hello... :) u thr?
Rakib: Hi
Sahana: wt happnd?
Rakib: Feeling tired
Sahana: y? :(
(Last message received: 7 minutes ago)
Sahana: ... ...
(Last message received: 4 minutes ago)
Sahana: r u bz?
Rakib: Nope
Sahana: thn? :'(
(Last message received: 3 minutes ago)
Sahana: tk 2 me...
Sahana: r u thr???
Sahana: H E L L O ................. :X
(Last message received: 12 minutes ago)
Rakib: Yes
Sahana: y dint u cm 2day?
(Last message received: 5 minutes ago)
Sahana: wt happnd? tk 2 me... plz....
Sahana: Rakib.......

(Last message received: a minute ago)
Rakib: I am here
(Last message received: 4 minutes ago)
Sahana: ws tht u?
Rakib: No
(Rakib is Offline.)
Sahana: I wsh v cud spk. ........... Gud bye!... ... ... ... ... :'( :'(
(Rakib is Offline. Message not sent.)

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The Last Flood

The flood was bloody. And so was the aftermath. It has been a couple of days, since the silent river rose, roared and ruined the village. The time was frightening and was long lived – enough to engulf the whole village. The life-giving river that used to provide the villagers food and water became a monster that night, and ate up its own children. The tides rose above the banks and swallowed crops, cattle, trees, huts and everything else that beautified and glorified the village.

It left behind Mili alone, the daughter of the village milkman. She was away, at other end of the village, collecting blueberries for the market, next day. She was late and it was raining incessantly; she thought of spending the night with her ailing grandmother. She lived there and she lives to witness the repercussions of the flood that devastated her family, her village and all her dreams overnight!

She remembers the day when she first went to school. Her mother accompanied her till the river. She took a handful of water and sprinkled it all over Mili and asked her to take its blessings, since it was her first steps into a new life. She never knew then that the river would one day, do such grotesque a thing to wipe out the very village that worshipped and considered it their mother.

Mili walked by the bank of the river over the stones and pebbles towards the place where her house used to be, just the other day. She looked up – the moon was like a big aluminum plate, they used to eat on. The river was silent again, but the water in it was rushing downhill like never before. She never saw such haste in the river water. She wanted to ask them where they were going – after sullying her life. They seemed to speed through just to avoid her questions. She cried for the entire day – her tear buds were frozen and out of tears. She cried no more.

She reached the place and looked around – there is no sign of any inhabitance anywhere. Only the vestiges of the mud walls stayed to prove that there were people staying here. She walked among those broken walls and could find nothing but sand and trails of silt and shrubs that the water carried. There was nothing left to cry on or to call home!

It started to rain again. A sudden thought made her cold: is the water hastening to create similar mayhem in the other end of the village, where her grandmother was staying? She got scared! She looked back and ran over the stony riverbank. Her feet bleed but she never stopped but sped as if she was competing with the stream. As soon as she reached grandmother’s hut she ran in and hugged the shivering old woman. She asked, “What happened, Mili? Why did you come back?” Mili whispered in her ears, “Nothing Granny. Everything is all right – everything is silent!”

---

Cross posted at The Writers Lounge for Moonlight Picture Contest

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A Silent Goodbye

“Give me a cigarette.”

“But, you…”

Papiya extended her hand, looking away from Himu. She was still looking at the lake, enveloped in fog. It was a chilled winter morning. The Shivam Lake in Haridashpur is the most famous place for morning walk. People of all age groups come here during this time of the day. Children play in the nearby football ground. Many of the houses were still asleep, along with the marketplace here; but the lakeside was a happening place. A few winter birds which could not avoid the urge to come out of their cozy nests were sitting on the tree above the bench where Himu and Papiya were sitting. They kept the frozen environment alive.

“Here, take it.”

Himu handed her the lighter and a cigarette from his packet. She lit it. He lit one himself. The fog was too dense. They looked deep into the lake, but nothing was visible. The diving board was the only thing they could see, and a few bamboo poles coming out of the water. After that, it was all white. It seems that the lake was taking a nap, wrapped in a white cloak. They tried to see through, but nothing else was visible.

These were the last few days for the couple in Haridashpur. Papiya got transferred to Haridashpur Post Office a couple of years ago and the couple moved in. The township attracted them, the very moment they set foot here. The people were lovely; the environment was so apt for the newly married couple that their whole stay here was like an extended honeymoon. Papiya used to be busy the whole day in her office, while Himu remained busy with his daily chores and writing. It was a perfect place for him to take out the creative genius he had in him. They used to enjoy the evening together, roaming around in Haridashpur – the temple, the river, the mountains and of course the Shivam Lake. They used to walk into the remote places by the mountains or near the river and sit there for hours till the sun would set. They used to enjoy the silence of this place. The rumbling of the river water; the chirping of the unknown species of birds; the sight of the rainbow after an evening drizzle – would set peace in their hearts. In spite of all these, they used to find and enjoy an indescribable silence of this place. Apart from a few honks of a passing train, there was nothing to disturb them. They used to immerse themselves into the quiet of Haridashpur. They would sit on the soft green grass near the river, dipped in ecstasy of their love for each other and the harmony of the nature. She would often keep her head on his lap and would tell her about all that had happened in her office. He would laugh, empathize or keep mum. He would discuss the latest poem he wrote and would tell how the hero of his last story is going to be the villain at the climax. She would enjoy everything he said. A kiss; a hug or long strolls holding each other close was a common phenomenon. This place was not their own, but they got attached so much that the very thought of leaving Haridashpur would bring tears in their eyes.

“It’s getting dark, isn’t it Papu.”

“A few minutes more please.”

“Sure.”

She puffed last her cigarette and threw the bud away. She was angry, somewhere deep down. He was not less annoyed too; but then, there was nothing else they could do. They gave an intense thought to the decision. They thought to let go of Papiya’s job and settle down here permanently. They thought of Himu becoming a full time writer and publish a few books. They thought of borrowing money from her father, until they get well off themselves. Nothing lasted – none of their plans. They had to think of the little Pihu, who was in her second year in school. She had a better future in Kolkata, the happening busy city. Moreover, it was a promotion for Papiya and she was posted in the Head Post Office in the capital city. Not every day do you get such an offer – not every day you get such an opportunity to fix your destiny and brighten your future. They had to leave.

“Let’s go.”

She stood up from the bench, holding his fingers. Her eyes were twinkling and Himu could see the flicker in them, even in this twilight. He stood up too. They were about to leave the place.

“Himu,” she said. “I’ll miss this place.”

They hugged. There were tears in their eyes. None saw that – not even the chirping birds hovering above them.

“I will miss this place too, Papu.”

“Very much,” they said in unison and slowly started walking back to their quarters.

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Written for: Tell a Tale: Prompt # 7 : Silence

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The Box Made of Bamboo

I stayed back as Nishi left in her red Maruti. I cannot afford to take a taxi back home. I have to walk till the Bus Stop, which is no nearer than almost a kilometer from the gate of our office.

The rain was problem. The early summer rainy weather in Haridashpur tells a lot about the climate here. However, the cool breeze along with the drizzle was invigorating. Spring does not stay here for long. Summer starts almost as winter ends. That means that the rains came after a good seven or eight months. No, it rained during Durga Puja too. Yes, it did – I am sure of it.

Anyways, I was getting late. The last bus would arrive in – hmm – let me see the watch. Yes, the last bus will arrive in twenty minutes. I need to reach the Bus Stop before that.

I held one end of my Dhoti and jostled it in to the waist knot. I held the other end with the two fingers of my left hand and made an umbrella with my leather handbag and stepped into the puddle. The leather sandals got wet the very moment and declined to walk along any further. I stepped back and came inside the shed. I took the sandals and put them into a plastic carry bag, in which I brought my lunch to office and carefully put them inside the handbag. They went in and there were no more snags. I could walk now.

I stepped back into the muddy road – this time, bare footed. The touch of the mud gave my senses a warning; but, my senses winked and cheered me up. I started to walk. The smell of the rain, the fresh zephyr and the stench of the mud was making me nostalgic.

I went back to my childhood. I remembered how I rescued the 3 kittens from my neighborhood in one such rainy day. I remembered the aftermath too.

I walked briskly, for the Bus Stop was not near. The drizzle got heavier and the small handbag could just get wet along with me. The Kurta was all wet by the time I reached the next corner lane. I will get a good spanking today once I reach home, I knew. This is only the second Kurta I have; the other one I received last year, during my sister’s marriage.

I liked walking in the rain. I would remain here forever, getting wet – getting drenched in these pearls that were dropping from heavens and hitting me like sharp nails. I wished the heavens were not that far away.

But I had to move – and move swiftly. I rushed through a few people and a beautiful girl, whom I would have stopped and gazed otherwise. The deserved that; but not in this rain. I ran.

Just before taking the next left towards the Bus Stop, I saw a small dark boy, not more than twelve years old, sitting in the corner of a big building. He was sitting alone; trying to steal himself away from the ever increasing rain. He was shivering; probably in the cold. I did not have time to look at him, so I moved on.

“Babu…”

He called me? No! That is just an illusion. I took a few steps further.

“O Babu…”

It was him! Calling me at this time, when the rain is wetting me consistently and the next bus arrives in ten minutes now. What the hell!

I asked him what happened. He showed me the small box made of bamboo that he had beneath him. He was sitting on it all the time, protecting it from the rain. Then he showed me the two dots on his left hand – two deep cut marks. I took his hands on mine.

Snake bites! I was sure about it. I have known and seen snakes every week in my house. They used to visit us weekly – regularly for generations. We killed a lot of snakes in our house; perhaps, I myself had killed some ten snakes till now! I know what snakes are and what their venomous bites can do.

His hands were getting blue. He was not dark, but his whole body was now having a bluish tint. He was bitten by a snake and it has been a long time since that! He fell down, on my feet.

*** Three hours later, in Haridashpur Government Hospital ***

“Are you fine, boy?”

He could not open his eyes. They must be too heavy, after the antibiotics that the doctors gave him. I brought him to them just at the right time. The doctors said that the snake must have been low venomous and the poison did not spread in his body too much; however, if it was not for me, he might have gone into a coma!

“Are you fine?”

“Where is my box?” The boys jumped on his bed and shouted at the peak of his voice.

“What box?”

“The box I was sitting on! Where is that box?”

“There, at the corner. I brought it along too.”

“Oh! Thank you Babu, thank you a lot! Thank you for bringing my box along.” There was a clear sign of relief on his face. I could see that.

It was already too late. I called up home and informed them all about the incident and told them that I might have to stay back in the hospital if necessary. They were ok with it, after they heard all the heroics I did today. I was happy for it. The nurses around were smiling at me; the doctors were patting my back for bringing a road ridden boy to the hospital and saving his life – attention, I am so deprived of!

I was also a bit interested to know the story so that I do not leave my friends halfway while telling them the tale of my gallant efforts. I went near him and sat closed to him.

“What happened? How did you get bitten by the snake?”

“I did not get bitten. It was an accident. Shiva had to bite me. He was helpless too.”

“Shiva bit you? Shiva?”

“Yes, Shiva, my snake.”

“Your snake?”

“Yes. I’m the son of a snake charmer. Shiva is my snake, which my father caught a week ago and gifted him to me. I would maintain Shiva and train him for performances. He is my snake.”

“Then why did it bite you?” asked a nurse, awestruck by the story. The other two came and sat near to hear the story.

“I told you. He did not bite me. Father told me to wait for him in the corner of that building and take care of Shiva. He was trying to come out of the box and I tried to put him back in it. He was frightened; so he bit me in self defense. He never wanted to do that. He even does not know that he has poison in his bite!”

“Why did not you call anyone for help?” Somebody asked.

“I could not leave the place myself. Father asked me to stay there. I had to take care of Shiva too. However, I called out to a few other Babus but they did not come to me.”

Everyone in the room was captivated with the story. A few patients lying nearby sat up to take a look at the young snake charmer.

“Bring me my box please, Babu.”

I went and brought the wet bamboo box to him and held it over his lap.

“Where is Shiva now? Did you catch him?”

“Yes, I did! Here he is,” said the boy in excitement and he opened the lid of the box with a jerk.

The snake inside sprang up and the two nurses sitting on the bed sprang up too and fell down. I do not know what happened to the rest who were pouring on to the discussion; for the first thing that Shiva did after he came out of the box was to bite my hand which was still holding the box. I saw pitch darkness all around me.

When I woke up, there were at least 20 people in that Hospital Emergency Room – all looking at me like I was the last Dodo around. A dark big man was standing along with the boy whom I rescued, smiling at me from behind his big fat moustache. I could hardly see his grin; but I smiled back!

“He saved you,” the doctor pointed towards the big man. He added, “he took out all the poison from your hand and I did not have to touch you a bit,” and laughed away.

The big man smiled again. I smiled back at him.

I looked around. Everyone on earth whom I knew, were there in the hospital room. My parents, my sister, my brother in law were there. Even Nishi and Rajan, my colleagues were there too – all staring at me.

I looked at Rajan and raised my eyebrows.

“Three hours,” he said.

I was ashamed. The very thought of my own heroics have faded long ago. I was feeling insecure, shy and diffident in front of everybody. I wanted to go home.

“Are you fine, Babu?” the little boy asked, with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen and holding the box of bamboo with both hands – perhaps it was the closest thing to his heart.

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Written as prompted on: Tell a Tale : Week # 6: Snake

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An evening boon!

The day was bad. There was no crowd in the beach that day. I sold only for 6 rupees. The big fat glass bottle of lozenges was still full. I did not know how I would pay the day’s rent of Rs. 10. The rent collector would come soon. It was going to be dark. The sky was painted in all colors – red, white, yellow, orange, grey, blue and black! There was a cool breeze coming from the sea. The birds were chirping. The scantly populated beach was getting more secluded as the few visitors present there were leaving too. I was sad and was preparing myself for a nice thrashing from both my Uncle Abdul and the rent collector, Raghu.

“ए छोकरा, इधर आ” (Hey boy, come here.)

I turned back and looked around. There were not many people around. It was getting dark too, and I could not see anyone. I curved back to my position and looked ahead towards the park, near the beach, hoping for someone to come my way and buy some of my lozenges.

“अबे इधर देख, निचे” (Hey look here, downwards.)

I looked down. A middle aged man, clad in torn jeans and a dark jacket over a bright colored polo shirt was lying down. He was certainly enjoying the cool evening breeze at the sea shore. I was happy to hear the call. Probably, he would buy some lozenges from me. I went to him.

Phew! He smelled like rotten egg. There was a mild smell of country liquor too. I know it because my Uncle Abdul always has it. He goes mad when he drinks. This must be tasty, but then, I don’t know. Everyone says that liquor is not good. They must be having their own reasons; but whatever it is, I never ever tasted that awful thing.

“अबे गधे, सुनाई नहीं देता मैं बुला रहा हूँ?” (You moron! Can’t you hear me calling you?) He said furiously.

“जी साब, बोलिए.” (Yes Sir, tell me) I went to him running; almost tumbling on the uneven hot sand.

“क्या बेचता है तू?” (What do you sell?) He commanded.

“निम्बू लागेंस साबजी.” (Lemon Lozenges, Sir.)

“कितने की है?” (For how much do you sell these?)

“एक रुपिअह में चार, साबजी.” (Four for rupee one, Sir.)

“पानी है?” (Do you have water?)

“पानी?” (Water?) I turned around and looked at the dark sea, behind me. I smiled, “नहीं, साबजी.” (No, Sir.)

“ठीक है. दो लोगेंस दे इधर.” (Ok. Give me two lozenges.)

“मेरे पास छुट्टे नहीं है साब.” (I don’t have change, Sir.) I murmured.

“इधर आ, एक राज़ की बात बताता हूँ.” (Come close, I will tell you a secret.)

As I went near to him, he said with a grin, “मेरे पास भी नहीं है.” (Even I do not have any.) Saying this, he burst into a weird and wicked laughter!

I did not like anything about that man. He had patchy stubble on his face which I did not like. He had a smell of rotten eggs that can be smelled from miles away. He had grown his hair and the way he dressed was weird too. I did not like anything of him. However, I was happy that he called me. I was sure he would buy some lozenges; but, now he was asking them for free? I will not give any even if he threatens to kill me.

“क्या हुआ? नहीं देगा?” (What happened? Won’t you give me any?)

I looked at him. His dark face was barely visible; more so, because he was lying down on the hot sand. I did not reply to him. I held the glass bottle closer to my chest, with both my arms around it. Probably, he saw that and he started laughing again. This time, it was even louder.

“इधर आके बेठ. अजा मेरे पास.” (Come here and sit. Come to me.) He said suddenly.

I did not move.

“अब आजा नहीं तो बहोत मरूँगा.” (Now, come here or else you will have it from me.)

I was not particularly scared; but then, I just did not want to offend him too. I went near and sat there, beside him. He was stinking! For the first time I saw his eyes. His eyes were very much different from his outlook. They were dreamy, half opened; probably because he was drunk, or maybe not. There was a soft feeling in his big brown eyes that twinkled in the dark evening at the beach. The first look in his eyes reminded me of Radhika, the daughter of the sweetmeat seller in my colony. I just fell in love with his eyes and there was a sudden feeling of attachment. I wanted to ask him something I do not know; but his smell kept me away.

He has had enough of that creepy laughter and was almost calm now. He did not detect me noticing him. He was looking down and was silent for some time – perhaps he was trying to accumulate himself to talk further. Suddenly, he looked up.

“तो, मैं पैसा नहीं दूंगा तो मुझे तू लोगेंस नहीं देगा?” (So, you will not give me any lozenge if I do not pay you, isn’t it?)

I took a deep breath and gathered some strength in my voice, “नहीं दूंगा!” (I will not!)

“हम्म… अभी भी नहीं?” (Hmm… not even now?) He took out a revolver from his belt and held it in front of my face. I was freaking stunned and scared seeing the gun in his hand. I went pale. I must have been visible even in the dark now. I could feel my hands shivering!

He exploded again! This time he was laughing so aloud that a few passerbies looked at us. No one saw the gun as it was hidden in the dark; but they wondered a lot, about this curious and strange laughter in the middle of the beach. It took me time to stabilize him. Suddenly he looked up at me.

“अगर तू मुझे दो लोगेंस देगा तो मैं तुझे मेरा एक लोगेंस दूंगा.” (If you give me two lozenges of yours, I will give you one of mine.)

I did not like it. First of all, he was going to exchange one of his lozenges for two of mine – a bad business. Secondly, I need to have money in exchange of my lozenges; I can give his lozenge neither to Uncle Abdul nor to Raghu. I did not like this idea.

His eyes must have done some trick on me. I did not think any further and took out two lemon lozenges carefully and handed over to him. I did not want his lozenge. He can keep it. I will handle the situation myself. I was not afraid of his gun! He asked for water, which I could not offer him. That was my duty, but then I had lozenges, which I can give. That’s fine then! I tried to console myself and justify the act.

He took the two lozenges and popped them in his mouth. I could hear him chew them first and then bite and break them into pieces. I felt a jolt in my heart when my lozenges were crushed brutally between his filthy teeth.

It was dark now and I wanted to leave. Raghu was not here as yet and I was happy. I thought to tackle him the next day, somehow.

“मैं चलता हूँ साब.” (I’m leaving Sir.) I said that and I prepared to stand up. He was searching his pockets as he noticed me leaving.

“मुझे आपका लोगेंस नहीं चाहिए.” (I don’t want your lozenge.) I declared.

He looked up at me, still lying on his one arm.

“नाम क्या है रे तेरा?” (What is your name?)

“अहमेद.” (Ahmed.)

“मतलब क्या है?” (What is the meaning?)

“पता नहीं साब.” (I don’t know Sir.) I was almost irate.

He extended his left arm and opened his fist over my palm. There was sparkling white piece of stone.

“क्या है ये?” (What is this?)

“मेरावाला लोगेंस.” (My lozenge.)

“लेकिन मुझे ये चाहिए नहीं…” (But, I don’t want this.) I tried to return him the same. He held my closed fist with both his hands and stood up.

“लेके जा. कभी याद करेगा मुझे.” (Take it. You will remember me sometime.) He said this, turned back and struggled through the sand and went away. He was lost in the dark within moments. I stood there for a few more minutes, holding the stone in my hand with all the strength I had. I did not want to lose it and I did not want to share it with anyone else. I knew what stone it was!

~: Six Years Later :~

Here I am today, writing about the evening that changed my life. The man I met on that evening was no less than an angel to me. He gave me a boon, in exchange of two lemon lozenges. And by virtue of that, I’m sitting in the 80th floor of the tallest building in Mumbai. It’s my own floor! I own a fully fledged business now. I have my own house and my own car. I need not sell lozenges after that evening. My days with Uncle Abdul were over. I never fought with Raghu again – I never had to. The evening brought me a godsend. The only thing that haunts me now, is the identity of the man, the seraph. Probably, I will never get to know who he was.

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Written as prompted on: Tell a Tale (Week # 5: An Evening)

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Mistake: A scary reason

~1~

It was a hard fight. Once more. They have been married for two years now and Alex could not remember a single day when they did not fight. Every time they fight, it would end up in a quarrel and they would not talk for hour or even days! They fought again today. It was grave this time. Julie cursed him as much as she could and locked herself in the other room. She threatened to commit suicide, but Alex knew she would not dare to do so. She would come out in some time and everything will be in place. However, it was almost an hour that she has locked herself and has not uttered a single word since. It was scary, but he knew she would come back. He tried to think about the good times they spent together. The honeymoon in Geneva; the trip to Paris, a year ago; the last Christmas! Those were dream time.

He made himself a peg of scotch. He opened the bottle last week when Joanna and George paid them a visit. Alex liked the bottle more because of the long neck. It feels like long legs of the ladies he use to date – smooth and flawless! He took the first sip. It was awesome. The smell itself is worth the money he spent to buy the bottle. Julie liked it that time. He was missing her all right, but never would he go and call her. Why should he? It was not his fault today. He could not see the ego taking over his love for her.

He finished the bottle and puffed the last cigarette he had. The clock ticked two. What? It was 2 o’clock! And Julie was still locked inside her room! He unlocked his door and walked to her door.

“Julie.” There was no response. Probably she was asleep.

“Julie.” He called her loudly. There was no response still. He called a few more times, but nobody answered. He was anxious for a moment. He tried to look in through the keyhole. The sight inside was blurry, but it was clear that there was a mishap. Julie was lying on her bed and her limbs were swinging outside, as if she was falling down from the bed.

Alex shouted, “Julie. Don’t you dare play any prank on me! Come out, you moron. It’s too late now. I’m hungry.” There was still, no response.

Alex was worried now. He banged the door a couple of times and the latches gave away. He broke in and ran to her and perched by her side. She was lying still. A white froth came out of her mouth. Alex checked her breath and her nerves, but could not find any. She was no more! He stood up in fright. There was a piece of paper on the bed with the following scribbled in:

“Al, my love, I’m leaving you. I’m going to some place where I can be happy and I need not answer to your filthy questions. Our marriage is dead. By the time you read this, you will realize that I’m dead too. I never mistook you for any wrong reasons and I’ve given you all the proofs you wanted to prove my sanity. We have spent all dreadful time together. I thought everything will be all right; but you never cared for my sacrifices and you were always a coward to admit those. I have nowhere else to go, apart from where I’m leaving to. I know you will not be sad and I hold you solely responsible for my act. Goodbye, Al!”

He was afraid now. He could not move; neither could he stand up. He was shivering – more in fear; less in sorrow. Suicide – police – court – judge – sentence – jail! All ran through his mind in a single moment. He probably could hear the siren of a patrolling police car. His face went pallid. He accumulated all his strength and stood up. He looked back at her for once and ran out of the room. He banged his door behind him and threw himself on his bed.

~2~

After a few minutes, Alex opened his eyes.

Oh! What a dream! Was it? No! His door was open and the dead face of his wife was so very vivid to him; it cannot be a dream. He looked around carefully; her door was closed, his hands were still shivering and his heart beating faster, as if he has came running there. It is so real; it can be, but a dream! His wife was dead. And he was responsible for it. It was a suicide and the suicide note clearly mentions that he was accountable for it. Now, there will be police in his house in no time. He cannot escape the long hands of the law and soon he will be trialed and sentenced, probably with a capital punishment for inducing Julie to kill herself. Everyone in the society will know about it and everyone in Illinois will know once the news gets published in the morning paper. His friends, his colleagues and his long forgotten family members will come to know very soon and will spit at him. He almost cured his bad impression, but now, nobody will listen to him and nobody will spare him. None will be interested to listen to his reasons and all will abandon him. There will be no life, even if the jury spares him. There will be no Alex Graham Fox anymore.

Blood was all over his mind – the heart was beating fastest – the head was spinning; probably because of the alcohol inside, and more so with the fear of losing everything. He looked at the empty bottle of scotch. It was lying on the table. It allured him, somehow. He left the bed and held the bottle by its long neck and hit it on the brink of the table. There was a clatter of glass pieces flying around him and hitting the marble floor. The sharp edges of the broken bottle were chilling to look at.

Blood jetted out of his wrist, as he slit it with the broken bottle in his hand. Within a few seconds there was a pool of blood around him. He stared at his severed wrist. The veins were open and the blood streamed out like dammed water out of a sluice gate. As time passed, he felt weaker and hapless. He held his arm with the other hand and sat there in the puddle of blood. Alex could never know when his eyes closed and when he fell unconscious. But seconds before he lost vision, he could see in the wall clock. The time was exactly 1 o’clock! He instantly realized everything, but could not react before falling out cold.

~3~

The wall clock timed 2 AM. The distant church bells rang twice.

The other door knob rotated and the door flung open. Julie came out of her room. Her eyes were already pink; having cried for long hours now. She was feeling hungry too and knew Alex would feel the same. She thought that they can talk over the dinner and settle things, like always. She wanted to forgive Alex for every mistake of his – once more. She was certain to be able to resolve this issue and move on. She came near his door and peeped inside. The sight was bloodcurdling!

“Al, my dear!” she screamed and ran to him. She took his head and put it on her lap and burst into tears. She anticipated nothing of this sort and she was almost broken. The body of her husband lied in front of her, almost lifeless.

~4~

It was 5 AM now or the wall clock in the St. Joseph’s nursing home was running slow. Julie sat in one of the benches near the Operation Theatre, holding her head with both her hands. The hands were still stained in blood. She wished not to look back at the world again. She held herself guilty for all the tragedy that was brought into her life in the last few hours. She just wanted to die.

“Mrs. Fox, he is out of danger now. You can meet him in some time, once the nurses finish up.” The doctor said calmly, coming out of the Operation Theatre and wiping his hands. She looked up, for the first time in some time. Her eyes found a reason to glitter again. She wanted to thank the doctor, but then she almost lost the strength to speak.

“By the way, Mrs. Fox,” the doctor added, “Inspector Smith wants to see you for a moment. He is waiting at the reception downstairs. Take care of yourself.”

Her voice was sinking. She needed attention herself; but the thought of getting her husband back was strong enough to hold her upright. She was worried that the police will interrogate her, but then she was stronger now than ever before.

“Thanks doctor,” said Julie.
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Prompted at:
1. ABC Wednesday Round 4: M for Mistake
2. Sunday Scribbling #158: Scary
3. Three Words Wednesday: 3WW CXXXIII (Allure, Perch, Vivid)
4. April 14th edition of Heads Or Tails! Week #86: HEADS - "Reason"

Thanks to all the blogs for prompting so wonderfully!

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The Last Meeting

That was the last time I saw him. He was almost breathing his last, when I arrived. His family was waiting outside his suite in the hospital; crumbled and broken. Ismail came to me and I could see it in his eyes.

“Sudipto, he is…”

I held his hands tightly. He was about to burst into tears; but then, he was the eldest male in the family now. The last thing he could do was to cry. I went to his mother and bent down near her. She saw me and looked away; holding the end of her sari and biting it she started to weep. I glanced at Dolly, Ismail’s sister. She looked at me too, more in distress. I wanted to go in and meet him.

“Ismail, may I go in and sit near him for some time?”

His mother looked up at me as if she wanted to tear me apart and kill me. She still thought it was my ploy and I was responsible for whatever has happened to Md. Haroon Anwar Nawab, her husband. I looked at her too, but I had nothing to say more. I was helpless. If she does not let me to enter, what would I do?

“Yes, you can go in. The doctor said it is fine if anyone goes in; but, don’t make any noise. He must be sleeping.”

Ismail told all these staring at his mother. She was weeping all the time; she did not utter anything. I took out my shoes and got in to a pair of hospital sleepers and a gown stacked in front of the suite. I opened the door and moved the curtains with minimum of sound and got in. It was a stunning sight inside the suite. Everything was so marvelous. The atmosphere was covered in white marvel and the pearly look inside was so pensive. There was only one window and the soft afternoon sunlight was coming in like rays from the heaven! The light rays were flirting with the furniture and the other medical instruments in the room. The tree outside made it look like they were playing hide and seek. I wished if it was not his hospital suite!

I tiptoed towards his bed and sat beside him on the stool. I did not make a noise, but somehow I knew he felt my presence there. He was motionless. The Holy Koran-e-Sharif was on his chest, and his hands were folded over it, as if he was praying to the Lord in these last few moments. The sunrays were falling on his head and his white hair was shinning like white marble. I sat there, listening to the silence that wrapped me from all around.

The sunrays on you
Calling me so much,
My hands shiver
Dying for
your touch.
And I am listening
To the silence in here,
Your sight
invites me
To come more near.
Will I ever know again
What you wanted
to say?
I don’t know this even
If you want me, this way!

Suddenly, his hands moved. I felt so, but I was not sure. A couple of fingers tried to rise as he extended his hand. I went close and caught it.

“Father, it’s me, Sudipto!”

His eyes opened a bit and from the slightest of the aperture he looked at me. I was all tears when I saw him that way. Probably he tried to smile – I would never know if he smiled that time.

“I have come back, father. I will take care of Ismail, Dolly and … and Amma too. You can count on me now.”

I could feel his hands strengthen the grip. I knew he wanted to tell something, but I never heard anything.

“Father, I’m sorry for all what I have done.” There was a long gap. “Please forgive me.”

I held his hand with both my hands. I knew he was taking his last breaths and I wanted to call out to his family waiting outside, but I could not leave his hand – not again – not anymore. His eyes were closing, but he was able to move his fingers. I wanted to hear him speak, but perhaps I never would. I could feel that these were his last moments and I was short of words. A renowned wealthy writer, who has published so many novels and poems of himself, was now searching for words – mere words with which he creates so much of fan following and fame, were not enough today to talk to his own father!

A last few words came out of my mouth, “I love you, father!” and his lips moved. This time he smiled and I could see it. My prayers were heard. Perchance, he had forgiven me. I was so happy. I pulled his hand near me to kiss them, when his hand dropped! It was all over. His hand dropped on the Koran-e-Sharif and I thought, maybe this was how God wanted me to be close to Ismail, Dolly and Amma. I never called her ‘Amma’ like Ismail and Dolly, but I always felt her to be the same.

I stood up and walked towards the door to call them in. It would be hard for them to hear it, but they must have anticipated the same by now. I was sad that my father died, but somehow, I was happy. Was that weird? I still wonder! While I was opening the door from inside, a quick thought came to my mind:

A moment in love is worth more than an entire loveless lifetime.
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Written as Prompted in:
1. Tell a Tale: Week # 4
2. One Single Impression: Prompt 58 (Listening)
3. 3 Words Wednesday: CXXXII(Flirt, Ploy, Stunning)
4. ABC Wednesday: Round 4: L is for.... Last Meeting

A footnote: Writing short story is fun and I really like it. But at times, the words fail to convey many things. A person from my part of the world will understand that Sudipto is a Bengali Hindu name while Ismail and Md. Haroon Anwar Nawab are Muslim names. The story is of a person who comes to see his dying father. He is a Hindu, while his father and the family is Muslim. He might have converted to a Hindu or may be off a different Hindu mother. This is the backdrop, which was not much clear from the story. I think it may not be clear to people reading it from different parts of the world. So, I wanted to mention this here.

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An Appointment

“I had a crush when I was in college,” she said as she was cleaning the morning dishes.

He did not notice. He was too busy browsing through the morning paper. It looks like the market was to go down further. He sipped on his juice and looked deeper into the editor’s column.

“He is here today; on a business trip; wishes to come down. I called him for lunch.” She pulled the chair next to him and sat with a bang and a futile frown on her face.

“Did you hear that?”

“What? Oh! Yes, I did.”

She smiled holding the last end of her sari and trying to chew it. He stands up throwing the newspaper on the dining table and looks busy.

“Ok, I’m off now.”

He prepares to leave. She extends his briefcase as he fastens his tie. She came till the door to see him off.

“What should I wear?”

“Anything!”

Her eyebrows came closer. He could perceive it.

“I mean, anything that would look great on you. After all, you are my wife and moreover, you two might be meeting after a long time, isn’t it sweetie?”

“Yes, after eight years almost!” she exclaims.

He moves towards his car, but stops before getting in and comes back to the door, where she was standing.

“You look good in anything you wear,” he extols her. She smiles at him; her eyes were dreamy.

“Ahem! You did not ask me to come back early today.”

“Oh! Yes,” she says as if she wakes up from a dream. “Come back soon darling. I will ask him to stay back till you come so that you can meet him. Try to come early.”

She tells all these in haste. He looked at her wistful eyes and grinned; and moves again towards the car and stops and turns back.

“What is his…”

“Hmm… Mainaak. Mainaak Sutrodhar.” She almost shouted the name.

He smiles; turned to the car and drove away to office with varied thoughts in mind.

It was almost noon. The environment was frozen and silent like a desert. The main door was closed as usual. The windows were unusually closed too. He came back from office abnormally earlier today. He walked up to the main door and raises his hand to press the calling bell; but then he thought to take a peep in if possible. He checks the windows nearby, but they were closed. There was no chance of him to have a look in. he left the idea and came back to the main door and pressed the door bell.

Ting tong! Ting tong!

Absolute silence! No one attended to his calling. He pressed the bell once again. Same result. His wife has this knack of sleeping in the noon; but then, today she was to be busy with her friend.

“Did she get too busy?” The thought itself startled his mind and he pressed the calling bell a few more times, when the door flung open.

His wife comes out with a dreary face, wearing a bath gown and the weirdest dyed face pack. He almost fainted; but was relieved too, for unknown reasons. His distress and reprieve were both visible on his face.

“Come in,” she smiled and moved away from the door.

“I forgot my meeting…”

“…files?”

“Yes; my meeting files. These are very important, so…”

“So you thought to return home and take them yourself.”

“Yes, absolutely! How do you guess?”

She bursts into a huge laughter, as if she is in a circus and he was the best clown in the town. Rather, she was looking like a clown herself and he was looking like a lost kid. He did not know if he should laugh, but tried to join her in her mirth. She could see all of it in his face.

“Darling,” she says as she hugs him, “you are the best husband in the world and the cutest too.”
He is still speechless; trying to avoid the face pack and hug her.

“Where is your friend? He was supposed to…”

“Wish you a very happy April Fool’s Day, love. I love you.” She keeps on laughing as she utters those words.

“I love you, too.” He hugs her tight; her face pack was all over his face now, as they kiss.
...

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Written as Prompted in:
1. Tell a Tale: Week # 3
2. 3WW CXXXI (Crush, Knack, Varied)

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Kissed and Left

The door was left open, as she rushed in and hugged him. Nobody cared about the door. There was no time, you see. She threw her belongings on the ground near the door and ran and jumped on him and they hugged. They separated to have a look at each other. He still had the paint brush in his hand and the apron was dyed in all colors. He kept the brush and the tray on the stool and looked back at her. She was quivering in anticipation. He took her by her fingers as she closed in. Their eyes met; the palms held each other as he pulled her towards him. Moments later, their lips locked and they were immersed in to the ecstasy. Their saliva mixed as the lips rested on each other, sucking harder and deeper. She stood tall on her pencil heels to get closer. She took his head in her palms and pulled him towards her. He bent to give her the reach. Eyes closed. He held her by her waist and the palms started to move up her backless top feeling her skin to her hair. His fingers went into her short hair and touched the skull. The hair came out of the fingers like waterfalls. A few drops of paint from his fingers tinted a few strands. He moved a bit further and felt her ears and neck. His fingers stopped by the touch of the wrinkled skin. Suddenly he could feel that she was old. He never felt this all these years – not even for once. Her breasts were pressed against his masculine, young and strong stomach. Her stomach was stuck to him too. He could smell her sweat, the pungent smell of her hair and even her bathing cologne. He pulled her even closer. Soon, they were gasping for air, but they did not leave each other.

The environment was so. The mood was so. The ambiguity was so. So much so, that they felt absolutely nothing while being in each other. Only God knows how long they were in that position. Her hands were searching all over his body, for something lost ages ago. He was searching for the same in her mouth; but neither of them could give results to their hunt. They were going crazier with each passing moment. They were getting more candid with each fleeting second. They separated momentarily and they pulled each other to the closest possible extent once more. He entered her hair with his nose – trying to smell her for as long as possible – trying to retain the smell for as long as possible. He has always loved her hair; more when they were long, touching her waist. He kept on snuffling her as he came down to her neck on to her cleavage to her stomach and still father down. She stopped him by his hair and pulled him up. They kissed again. They hugged again. They got lost in the bliss – again!

Suddenly, the car waiting outside shouted – beep, beep! There was sudden break and they parted. They looked in each other’s eyes. The eyes were dripping in need and got wet as well. There was a sudden realization in both the pair of eyes, but they just did not want to let it go. He tried to push her away, but she was adamant. She just pressed unto him more. He held her by her arms and shook her. A few locks came upon her eyes, nose and lips. She looked at him from within those. He moved away the hair locks with his finger and looked away, still holding her with one hand. He could not look at her anymore. She looked up at him and burst into tears. She held them back for a long time – real long time. He left her. She came close and slapped him. He kept looking down; did not utter a single word. She turned and walked away. She picked her belongings as she approached the door and looked back at him. A flyer fell off. He looked at it. It was her passport. She quickly picked it up and ran outside.

It was almost evening and the dusky rays of the Sun outside filled the sky with the perfect shades of sorrow. He came reluctantly to the doorway as she approached the car. She neared it, as her daughter buzzed from the driver’s seat again. She hurried into the car. She looked at him one last time from within the dark window panes, but he could not see her. A few drops came out of her eyes. A few more came out of the driver’s eyes too. She looked at the man in the colorful apron, standing lifelessly leaning on the doorway. She waved at him; he did not feel like waving back – he did not. She grinned and wiped the tears in her eyes and pressed on the gas. The car zoomed away!

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Fugitive Parent

“Where is Dad?” Little Shelly enquired as she got up from bed and strolled into the kitchen, searching for her parents, still rubbing her eyes with her tiny little pearly hands.

“He’s gone,” her mom replied.

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Two hours ago.”

She opened her eyes full and looked at her mother. She was almost shivering, as she was washing the dishes. Her hands trembled as she took a dish in her hand. Was she crying? Shelly never could understand. She wanted to comfort her, but then mom never wanted anyone near her when she was upset. She did not dare to go nearer.

Shelly went to the bathroom and climbed the stool there to take her tooth brush and paste. The sight of the pink brush with Winnie the Pooh inscribed on it always makes her happy. She murmured within, “Good morning, Pooh!” Someone replied from somewhere, “Good morning, Tiger!” She was going into her dreamland again, as she inserted the brush in her mouth and started brushing. She was not a kid now, and she knew how to brush. The Doc showed her the other day, so she can do it all by herself. She finished her brushing and came out of the bathroom, washing her face with her red towel. It was so soft!

She peeped in the kitchen. Mom was talking over the phone. She was restless, it was vivid. The long cyan chord of the phone was swirled all over her body. She was in a deep conversation. She had her little finger playing with the chord, more in anxiety rather than in sorrow. She moved from one place to another in quick succession and was looking at the wall clock frequently. Shelly went in and sat on the dining chair. The sudden noise startled mom. She looked at Shelly and the phone trembled off her hands. She untwined herself from the bondage of the chord and put down the phone, rather hastily.

“Porridge?”

“Yeah…” Shelly replied, reluctantly.

Mom poured some porridge from the pan to a small bowl and offered her the same. She took her little spoon and started nibbling at the content. She looked at mom.

“What happened, mom?”

“When? I mean, nothing” She uttered and turned her back towards Shelly, as if she was busy again. Shelly could know mom was in distress, but her little heart failed to understand anything. She ate the porridge and finished the glass of milk. Mom did not cuddle her today – nor did she say good morning! That was so unusual and so not welcomed. She crawled down the chair and walked towards her room. She looked back. Mom was looking back at her too, over her shoulders. She wanted to run towards mom and hug her tight; but, she did not. She turned back and walked. She could hear mom dialing again. She felt sad, but she never knew if she should feel that way!

Little Shelly was playing in her room all the time since then. Mom never came in – nor even once. She was so much engrossed in her games that she did not realize the time. Maybe that feeling of freedom and alcove indiscipline got the better of her. She was playing and messing up with all the things there and she was not once stopped. Shelly was happy, when she heard the calling bell ring: London Bridge is Falling Down. She got up and hurried towards the main door. Mom was already attending to it. A tall and dark man came in, as mom moved away from the door. Shelly could clearly see the man rushing in and trying to grab her mom, when mom stepped back and both of them looked at her. They were not talking to each other. The man looked at mom and gestured with his fist, “what?”

“I will take care of it.” Mom said, as she turned to her. She ran back to her room and sat amongst her toys.

“Ahem. You wanted some cake, didn’t you, darling?”

“Yes.” Shelly uttered without looking at mom.

“I’ll prepare some for you now. Hmm. What flavor do you want?”

Shelly looked at her. Mom was almost drenched in sweat. She tried to wipe off with her bare hands, but she could not. She was wet. She looked away from her and saw the mess; but she did not say anything.

“Which flavor, sweetheart?”

“Pancake?”

“Yes!”

“Anything.”

“Apple?”

Shelly did not say anything. She looked down again and started to clean up the mess by herself – only managing to clutter some more.

“Ok, then. I will prepare some apple pan cakes for my dearest daughter today. I’ll make it in some time. You better be ready, Shelly. Till then, you can play some more. Ok?”

Mom did not get any answer. She did not even wait for it. She rushed out. Shelly looked up at her mom; she vanished in fraction of a second. She started to clean up again. She could hear a small argument among the weird man and her mom; but could not hear anything. She was surprised, as well as sad, for she did not like the very presence of the man there, in her house.

“Baby, there is a problem.” Mom said, as she came to her room. Shelly looked up. Speechless!

“There is no flour at home. Hmm… Do you mind bringing some eggs from Rosie, down the lane?”

“You mean, flour?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Can you bring some flour from Rosie? Will you be able to cross the road and get to her?”

This was weird again. Mom never let her cross the road alone. Last time, when the school bus changed routes and she had to just cross the road to get in, mom accompanied her. She never let her go out alone. And then…

“Why Rosie? May I borrow it from Uncle Joe’s? He’s just in the next house.”

“NO. Not Joe” mom screamed, almost. “Please get it from Rosie. She won’t mind lending us some” mom added.

Shelly rose from the mess. She walked out of her room. She leered at the weird man as she went past the kitchen. He was taking the biggest bite possible on an apple. He looked back at her and she turned away and hurried towards the door.

“Shelly!”

Shelly stopped hearing her mom’s voice. Mom came after her running and kneeled down in front of her, holding her with both the arms. Mom pulled her towards her and whispered, “Remember darling, mom loves you. And mom will always love you. Please remember this always.” Mom spilled tears as she was telling these.

“But mom…” Shelly stopped as mom left the grip. She looked at mom. She was howling now. She wanted to caress mom and she approached her.

“GO!” mom shouted at looked at her.

This was getting bizarre and she could not make heads and tails of it. Anyways, she turned back and came outside. There was a black car standing outside her drive. The man came in that car, tarnished at a few places. Must be a poor fellow; she thought. She ran down the lane and crossed the garden; she crossed the road and ran towards Rosie’s house as fast as she could, crossing her garden and drive. She knocked at the door with both hands, but no one attended to her call. She screamed; but there was no one. She looked up in despair and found a big lock hanging on the hitch. Rosie was not home. She felt like crying, but she could not. She had to go back to her mom, at the earliest! She ran back. She had just crossed Rosie’s drive when she heard a big roar of a car. She ran faster and came to the roadside. She looked frantically towards her own drive. The black car just started the engine and smoke was coming out of its rear end. She could see her mom getting inside, in the ash coat. The weird man was sitting at the driver’s. Mom went in and sat, and the car zoomed away! She felt lost. She wanted to scream, but she could not. She looked empty towards the car that disappeared at the turn right after Joe’s house. She fell and sat on the pavement there. She wanted someone to hold her. She wanted her mom!

She sat there for some time. Little Shelly – all by herself now. She stood up and wiped her cheeks. She walked slowly down the road, crossed the garden and moved in her drive. The strong smell of the smoke still filled the air there. She felt it. She strolled into her house. The door was wide open. She came in, closed the door behind her and moved towards the dining table. There was a piece of paper on that, beneath the half eaten apple. She took the paper and started to read, with tears oozing out from her eyes.

It started like this:

“My dearest, sweetheart Shelly, I am sorry…”

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