The Soul of Truth Read online

  The workers from the tile factory walk in a single file along the mud paths in the fields. The red tips of their glowing cigarettes shine like one-eyed monsters in the dark.

  The earth trembles at the passage of a train. The ceaseless journeys of life. The millions who travel everyday by the trains. To work. To home. To death. How many unfortunate lives have found blessed relief under those huge wheels? The rumbling, relentless, jerky movement of the train symbolises life itself. The eternal journey. The goodbyes. Always painful.

  Someone opens the gate and comes through. The beam of a torch plays with the shadows.

  That slight, stooped figure, walking with a limp… Naanu uncle!

  Even in this amorphous existence, his sight brings me great happiness.

  Leaving his old, worn slippers outside, he climbs up to the verandah. Seeing him, Malu, who was sitting on the verandah, gives a shy smile and runs in, calling out to Oppol.

  Oppol emerges, smiling with obvious relief at seeing Naanu uncle.

  “Thank goodness you are here!”

  “I wouldn’t have left all of you alone in this situation if it wasn’t urgent. Thankfully, the lawyer got everything sorted out yesterday, and the court ruled in our favour. So I could come back today. What will Appu’s soul think if I don’t help now?”

  “Uncle, we are so happy to see you.” Radhika comes out to greet him, with Vishnu in her arms. “Come in. Shall I get tea for you?” Radhika takes the bag from his hands.

  “No. It is already late. Let me take a bath, pray and then I will have dinner.”

  They walk into the house, still talking. Naanu uncle has that magic with him. He livens up a place. Suddenly, my house seems like a home again. Whenever he visits, he would take care of things like in his own home. Responsible. Caring. Sincere. Loving. It was as if Achen was again back with us. To see him resting on Achen’s recliner is so reassuring.

  He was always sensitive and considerate. He would help anyone in need without hesitation. But if he felt that his presence was no more required, he would take leave from the scene quietly without any fuss careful not to leave a bad taste anywhere.

  He is Amma’s first cousin—his mother was my grandmother’s younger sister. He had five siblings, three brothers and two sisters. All his brothers are now dead. Two of them died very young in a boat accident. That grief caused his mother to have a stroke. And despite all kinds of treatment, she was dead in two years’ time. Now, he has only two sisters. One of them, Ammu aunty, is unmarried and lives with Naanu uncle at the family home. The other sister, Nalini aunty, is married and settled in Kochi.

  Achen had some land near Naanu uncle’s home. Naanu uncle took care of that. Achen trusted him implicitly, and Naanu uncle never betrayed that trust. Once when I was little, Achen took me with him, when he went to oversee the harvesting. I loved the place. And since then, most summers, I used to spend a week out on the fields with Naanu uncle. During the harvest season, he lived in a little thatched barn right next to the fields. It was tiny, with just one bedroom, a kitchen and a room to store the paddy.

  Uncle was a good cook. I loved his onion sambar. Somedays, he would even make omelette with duck eggs. It was a treat.

  The mornings were spent supervising the harvest. Uncle transformed into a proper landlord then. Hawk-eyed, yelling at the slackers, making sure that no one stole any paddy. The ladies who came to work were amused by my presence. “Has the little master come to supervise us too?” They would tease me.

  At night, we slept together on one bed. Uncle always told me stories from mythology. I loved hearing him, and would drift off to sleep. But some days, uncle went to sleep first. That wasn’t very nice. His snores would keep me awake for hours. And then I would be scared by all the tiny scrambling sounds in the barn. It was always noisy because of the rats. When they ran over the roof, sometimes dust fell on us and that scared me even more.

  There were rat traps laid all around the barn. In the morning, it was quite the job to take the trapped rats to the water and drown them.

  That was also the time we were supposed to relieve ourselves. I was so used to the privacy of my toilet at home that I just couldn’t relax enough to defecate in the open. I could pee, but I could not poo. Just when the urge came, someone would come walking that way, and I would freeze. I think in all the days I spent with Naanu uncle, I might have actually moved my bowels only once or twice. Oh, the relief when I got back home. But Naanu uncle just couldn’t understand my shyness. He used to sit there, happily humming a tune to himself and didn’t seem bothered by who saw him at all. He had words of wisdom for me too, “Appu, if you see someone coming, just close your eyes, and carry on with your business.” They were new experiences and fun days.

  Years later, Achen sold that land. Amma was against selling it, but Achen felt that it was asking too much of an ageing Naanu uncle to take care of our fields too. Later, when we sold the land adjoining this home as well, we suddenly became totally dependent on others for all our food. Now we buy everything, from rice to vegetables to milk, from the nearby shops.

  When I think of those plentiful days, when we had more produce than we could use, I feel guilty.

  Inevitable change. Or is it really inevitable? What did we gain by that change? More money? Money that we then spend on buying substandard produce from the shops?

  Unpleasant thoughts! They make me uncomfortable. Oh, how are you to understand my discomfort? It is cold, colder than death.

  I feel helpless in the face of the innumerable questions that time poses me. What did I gain? What might have I gained had I used my time on earth differently? No, this is not the time for such debates. This is the time for me to concentrate on just one thing, my goal—my salvation. This is no picnic. This is a one-way journey, and I have to strengthen my soul to endure the hardships of the travel and pass the ultimate test.

  Fireflies twinkle in the dark. Are they blessed with that unique, tiny radiance just to attract partners? Or is it a light to our own darkness, cleaving a path through foggy memories to the past? The more I try to forget, the more I am drawn in.

  The power of love which connects heaven and earth.

  That first long walk to my high school with Achen.

  Our village is surrounded by fields with narrow mud paths in between. The houses with their lush yards surround the fields. The high school run by the Catholic Church was located at the very end of that mud path, a good half an hour walk from our home.

  The path was surrounded by luxuriant greenery and bountiful nature. On one side was a famous sarpakkavu, considered the home of many species of extremely venomous serpents. Nobody ever went in there. It looked dark even in the blazing afternoons with large, spreading trees and mud mounds. Beyond that were beautiful pineapple plants. The smell of those flowers was enticing.

  We walked along the narrow path in single file, Achen in front, and me behind. We were headed to the house of Varghese sir, the math teacher at the school, who was Achen’s schoolmate. We reached his home, surrounded by a high boundary wall. The iron gate had the warning: Beware of dogs. We could hear ferocious barking inside. It drowned the sound of the calling bell. After sometime, the door was opened by a short, dark man. He looked at us questioningly. But when Achen introduced himself, he was all smiles and apologised to Achen for not recognising him at first. He escorted us in, and we seated ourselves on a comfortable sofa.

  Sir fascinated me. He was wearing only a dhoti. His chest was covered with dark, curly hair. A gold chain glistened in that forest of hairs. The hair on his head was completely shaved off. But long curling tufts of hair peeped out on both sides, from his ears! He resembled a bear more than a human!

  While Achen and he were recollecting their bygone school days, I sat looking warily at the dogs in the kennel. There were two of them. Black with red eyes and lolling tongues. I was worried that any moment they might break open the kennel and come rushing at me.

  Suddenly, a lady in traditional Christian d
ress walked in, carrying a tray with glasses of cold lemonade and roasted cashew nuts. She smiled at me sweetly before turning away, and I relaxed.

  Achen was now talking about my school admission. When Varghese sir turned towards me, I was scared again.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Uthaman.”

  “I will get the admission ready for Uthaman. You need not worry about that. He can just come on the first day of school, June first, and join the classes. You should study well and make us proud.” He said with a small smile. I decided he is not too bad after all.

  When we bid farewell, he accompanied us to the gate.

  “Varghese was always first in the class for math. I am glad he will be your teacher. Make sure you study well.” Achen said on the way back. Soon, it got too hot.

  “Appu, walk close so that you are under my umbrella. This heat is not good for you.” Achen tried to slow his steps to match mine, but even then, it was difficult to keep up with his big strides.

  By the time we reached home, both of us were drenched in sweat. Oppol brought us two tall glasses of buttermilk. Oh, it was heavenly! Cool and refreshing with mint, lime, curry leaves and green chillies.

  “How is school, Appu?” Oppol asked.

  “It is good. But it is a long walk.” I answered. The school could be seen from Varghese sir’s house.

  “What do you mean ‘long’? It is just half an hour walk. I used to walk double that to get to my school.” Achen interrupted.

  That summer went by quickly.

  The first day of school. As usual, it was heralded by the monsoons.

  I got up early, took my bath and got dressed in the new, ironed uniform. There were lots of students from our village attending the same high school. Most of them were from my old school. There were some new kids too. All of us were in high spirits.

  The lashing rain only added to the fun. We jumped in puddles, scared the frogs and reached the school laughing and bantering. We felt sorry for our friend, the rain. He couldn’t follow us into the class. It almost seemed as if he was whimpering at missing us, and couldn’t wait to join us in the evening.

  Amma had made my favourite lunch of rice and chutney and egg in the smoked plantain leaf. Every morning when she handed me the lunch, she would hold me close, kiss me softly on my forehead and gently remind me, “My dearest son, study well and make your mother proud. Don’t quarrel with other students. Listen carefully to the teachers, and always respect them. If you feel disappointed or angry at school, remember Amma. I am here for you. And I can’t wait for the day when you will be a successful, well-known person, enjoying a well-paid, high ranking job.” I took those words to heart and looked forward to the day when she would be proud of her highly accomplished son.

  Achen had specifically instructed me to meet Varghese sir and get his blessings on the first day of school. Sir was very happy to see me and walked me to my eighth standard class. He introduced me to my class teacher.

  Her name was Sally, a short, pretty lady with a soft voice. The first period was spent in introductions and general instructions about books and lessons and schedules. Towards the end of the second period, a tall man walked into the class, followed by a pretty girl. Everybody stared at the new entrant.

  “She can join classes tomorrow once you have finished the admission process in the office,” the teacher told the man.

  When she turned to go out, our eyes accidentally met.

  Wide, dark eyes.

  For a moment, I felt disoriented, as if I was drowning, breathless.

  Her gaze seemed to go straight to my soul, searching…

  I felt hot and cold.

  A lovely warmth, a soothing breeze.

  I couldn’t understand what had happened to me. But I knew that she changed me, in some imperceptible way. And I couldn’t wait to see her again, the next day.

  It was Ruby.

  Destined to be my love, my best friend, my undying desire.

  Is it her sobs that I hear in the gentle breeze of this dawn? A soulful music? Echoing, echoing, even while I drown in the darkness…

  The Sixteenth Night

  Green melts into black. The flickering lights from the lamps on the verandah shine comfortingly through the foggy evening. The sound of rhythmic prayer chants by the children wash over me in soothing waves.

  The train passing over the bridge sends distorted echoes through the foggy blanket. A reminder of the uncertainties of the night.

  After dusk, there is very little movement on the paths. The villagers retire early for the night. Even the night flowers seem reluctant to bloom now. Are they still numb from the sorrow of losing me?

  Today marked the end of the ritual isolation of my family from social activities mandated by the death of a family member. It was an important day of rituals for the departed soul, and my family had conducted everything to perfection. Everyday I feel thankful that I have a caring family and a young son to conduct the rites for my smooth passage to the afterlife.

  Oppol and Sumathy had woken up early in the morning and cleaned the courtyard thoroughly. They burnt all the trash in a corner of the yard. The courtyard was purified with water mixed with cow dung, and the traditional kolam was drawn with rice flour. The entire house was swept and mopped clean of dust and sprinkled with holy water.

  Everyone had a long, refreshing bath in the river. Sumathy and Vishnu stood ready to perform the rites in their wet clothes. Sumathy applied holy ash on her forehead and then on Vishnu’s.

  The cooking fire was arranged on the east side of the courtyard—cleaned and polished with cow dung.

  Sreedharan priest lit the lamp with five wicks. He got the sacrificial grass and herbs, sesame, paddy and raw rice and arranged them in the right order. He then cut up the grass and herbs, mixed them with the other ingredients and rice in a wide-mouthed vessel called uruli, added water and placed them over the fire.

  The windows of Deepu’s room were left fully open so he could watch and take part in the ceremonies.

  The paperboy threw in the newspaper. Sreedharan priest picked it up and ran his eyes over the headlines with a cynical smile, before putting it aside.

  Oppol and Radhika were busy getting everything ready for the priest to start the puja. Robin had obtained the list of required items from the priest, purchased everything and brought them over last evening.

  Everyone was waiting for the rice to cook. The firewood was still wet from the rains, and so the fire was not very strong. It smoldered. The smoke made everyone’s eyes water, even Vishnu’s. Naanu uncle gently positioned him so that he wouldn’t get the smoke in his eyes. Poor baby. In the early morning chill, he was trembling in his wet clothes. He usually doesn’t take a bath in the river. He goes there only rarely with Oppol. Radhika never takes baths in the river either. She was shy of bathing in public and preferred the privacy of the bathroom.

  My son. So little. And yet, performing such important, responsible rites.

  Vishnu is a lively child, but not naughty. That is a solace for Radhika. He never gave his nursery teacher a reason to complain. Even when the other kids engaged in noisy squabbles, he preferred watching them, rather than joining in. After my death, he seems to have grown even quieter.

  He knows that his father is no more, but he is not old enough to understand the full implications of that loss. He is only following the instructions from Sreedharan priest and Sumathy aunty. I feel thankful that I was blessed with a successor to perform my rites. I had done the same for my parents, but then I was an adult and was fully aware of the responsibilities and consequences.

  Vishnu seems to be a loner. Radhika used to say that he prefers playing by himself and never talks much about the other children in the nursery. The only friend she had heard him mention was a girl, “Anamika”.

  Once Radhika had asked him about his friends.

  “Vishnu, who do you talk with in the class?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Who do you
play with?”

  “No one.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like anyone.” He answered disdainfully.

  “Why?”

  “They are always fighting with each other.”

  “Even the girls? Don’t you like the girls?”

  “Yes. I like Anamika.” He answered with a shy smile.

  “Oh, Anamika! Is she pretty?”

  “I don’t know!” He sounded irritated.

  “Yes, I know! She is pretty!”

  “No. Nimmy Jose is pretty!”

  “Now, who is that?” Radhika asked in surprise. “Don’t you talk to this Nimmy Jose?”

  “I try to. But she never talks to me. Always ignores me or stares at me with her big, round eyes. Princess!” Vishnu was getting really angry at the memory of his first rejection. Radhika, Sumathy and Oppol couldn’t stop laughing.

  Sumathy tried to placate him. “Don’t worry, Vishnu. When you grow up big and handsome, this Nimmy Jose will come begging to talk to you. You should ignore her and behave like a prince then.” He had nodded happily at that pleasant thought.

  Sreedharan priest checked the rice. He looked satisfied that it was cooked enough and ladled it onto a plantain leaf, spreading it out so it wouldn’t be too hot to shape into balls.

  “Those who’re performing the rites, please wash your hands and feet once more and approach me,” he said.

  Oppol washed Vishnu with a bucket of water from the well. Sumathy washed as well and came to stand beside the priest.

  The priest sat on the floor and asked Vishnu and Sumathy to sit down opposite him.

  “While I recite the prayers for Vishnu to repeat, you can make the rice into two balls. It must be cool by now, but still, be careful.” Sreedharan priest instructed Sumathy.

  He began chanting the prayers, which Vishnu repeated diligently. Sumathy rolled the rice into two perfect balls.

  “Now, meditate the name and star of the deceased, and offer these balls to him. Then you can stand up.”

  Sumathy and Vishnu followed his instructions. Radhika was weeping silently, wiping the tears away with the edge of her sari.