The Soul of Truth Page 3

  However, I had wanted to get home so badly that I had hoped against hope that the boat would still be here.

  “I will take you to a good hotel, sir. You can rest the night there and we will get back here early tomorrow morning.”

  “All right. I am feeling quite tired. Let’s go.”

  The headlights struggled to break through the torrential rain. I took the mobile phone out to call Radhika and saw I had missed a call from her. The rain had drowned the ringtone. Just as I started to press the button, the screen lit up and displayed Radhika’s number. A surge of intense love, and disappointment at not being with her passed through me as I took the call.

  “Are you nearly here, Appuetta?”

  “I am at the boat jetty, but there is no boat, Radhika!”

  “Don’t worry, Appuetta. I was afraid it might be so. Please stay at a hotel in town today, and get here in the morning when the boatman arrives.”

  “Okay. Is the baby sleeping?”

  “Yes. He knows you are coming. I have been talking about it all day.”

  “I so wanted to see him and you today itself, Radhika!”

  “That is okay, Appuetta. Just a few more hours. Spend the night at a good hotel, have warm food and sleep well.”

  “Hmmm….But Radhika…”

  “Yes, Appuetta?”

  “I don’t think I will be able to get any sleep in the hotel room tonight.”

  Radhika’s laughter came tinkling down the phone. It took all my self-control to stay put in the car and not try and get back to her, braving the fury of nature.

  “Where in the Gulf are you, sir?” The driver’s voice startled me.

  “Bahrain.”

  The car fell silent again.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “James.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Very near to your house, sir. You might know my mother, Chittedathu Mercy. I know you very well, Uthaman sir.”

  “Oh, I remember. You were a little boy when I left for the Gulf.”

  I remembered the skinny boy, always fishing by the side of the river.

  “Your father?”

  “Father died three years back. Mother is also not very well.”

  James stopped the car in front of a decent-looking hotel in town. He got the bags out of the boot as I checked in at the reception.

  “James, let us eat, before you leave.”

  We were both ravenous and finished the food in no time.

  “I will be back by seven, sir. The boatman returns only by then.”

  I was exhausted by the time I entered my hotel room. The shower was refreshing but sleep eluded me. And disturbingly, it was not Radhika who kept me awake. It was the tear-stained face of Ruby. Ruby in her green wedding sari…

  Will I ever escape the furnace of burning memories?

  “Appuetta, will I have the fortune to hold your baby in my arms, to feed him, to sing to him? Or are all our dreams in vain?”

  She had looked deep into my eyes and asked one day.

  “No, Ruby, don’t even think such thoughts. All our dreams will come true one day.”

  Where are those dreams now? Shattered into a thousand shards. Pricking and hurting at every instant.

  No! Why am I thinking this way? Radhika! I should be thinking only of Radhika and our son. How many times have I taken the decision never to test my love for Radhika? She loves me unconditionally, with all her heart. She deserves nothing less than my wholehearted devotion.

  The next day was our son’s “annaprasan” his first rice-eating ceremony. His first taste of everyday food—the salty, the bitter, the sweet, the savoury…the taste of life. I could imagine how his little face would contort with the first taste of the strange flavours. It brought a smile to my face. And I slept.

  I woke up to the sounds of crows. It was already morning. James was waiting.

  As the car moved over the familiar roads, I felt like my younger self. The blue hills in the distance stood shrouded in fog. Smoke snaked into the morning sky from the mud houses of the tribals on the hills. The tribal people made their living out of cows, selling milk. The entire village depended on them for good, unadulterated milk.

  When we reached the jetty, boatman Pappachan was clearing the water out of the boat. It was a fair-sized boat that could seat around thirty people. But when the river is full, Pappachan wouldn’t let that many people get in. The risk of capsizing was high, more if people were not careful, especially when climbing aboard or disembarking.

  Once

  It was not Pappachan. It was his brother Vakkachan who steered the boat that fateful day. The river was pregnant with the monsoons. As the boat got close to the shore, a few passengers got up in a hurry. The boat lurched, and three women fell overboard. One of them hit her head in the fall and sank immediately. Nobody could rescue her from the swirling waters. The other two were pulled up to safety. The body of the woman who drowned was carried by the river and was recovered only two days later, about six kilometres downstream.

  “Uthaman sir! How come you are here?” Pappachan was surprised to see me so early in the morning.

  “I got here late yesterday evening. You were already gone. So, I spent the night at a hotel in town.” I replied. James put my bags in the boat with Pappachan’s help and bade farewell.

  “I leave by five o’clock. In this rain it is not safe to ferry people in the dark. Don’t you remember what happened with Vakkachan? Poor man. He was so scared that for a long time he refused to do any more ferrying. We can’t take any chances.”

  The boat was relatively empty, and we reached the opposite shore quickly. I felt an immense love gushing through me for my village and its people.

  Three autorickshaws were waiting at the jetty. Pappachan helped get my bags tied to the roof of the first one.

  “How long will you be here?” He enquired while I paid him.

  “Three weeks.”

  The auto sped through the narrow roads. I drank in the familiar sights. We turned a corner and I almost stopped breathing. Where was Ruby’s home? There was a blue tarpaulin stretched over concrete pillars where her home had stood once.

  “Where are the people who used to live in that house?” I tried to sound casual.

  “They sold it to a realtor, and now it has been bought by a developer I hear, to build an apartment complex.”

  Gone! That familiar sight, too, was gone. I felt my heart contracting in anguish.

  The luggage on the roof of the auto attracted a bit of attention, and some people peered in with curiosity.

  The roadside teashop looked just the same. The village meeting point. A place for older men to come together in the morning to drink steaming hot tea, read newspapers and share all the news in the world.

  The auto turned in at the open gate and stopped in front of my home. Oppol and Sumathy were waiting in the courtyard. Radhika hurried out with the baby. “I am home.” My heart swelled with love and happiness.

  “You look tired, Appu, and have lost so much weight.” Oppol’s love always had the sound of motherly care and concern.

  The baby stared at me in confusion.

  “Mon, it is your father. Here.” Radhika tried to hand me the baby. But he turned away and clung to her harder.

  “Hmmm, you should have come earlier and more often to see your son. That is why he doesn’t recognise you.” Radhika teased.

  When Sumathy tried to pry him from Radhika’s hands, he started crying in earnest.

  “Shhh… It’s all right, mon. He will soon get used to you, Appuetta. He is normally very friendly.” Radhika consoled me. “Come inside. Very soon, he won’t leave you alone for even a minute.”

  After a shower, I went to the puja room and prayed in front of my parent’s photos. The fresh flowers and the lit oil lamp lifted my spirits. Again, I felt a surge of love and gratitude towards Radhika who was taking such good care of my family even in my absence.

  Deepu was still sleepi
ng. I walked into his room, engulfed by the smell of oil and medicines, as always. Oppol and Sumathy came in with me.

  “He has been a bit feverish. Must be the rain and cold.” Sumathy’s voice woke Deepu. His drowsy eyes lit up at the sight of me.

  “Etta! When did you get here?”

  “Just now. Couldn’t cross the river yesterday.”

  “Oppol had told me.” He sounded tired. I sat by his side and smoothed his hair. He couldn’t stop smiling. I could feel tears pricking my eyes.

  “I wish I could come to the temple too.” His words fell into painful silence.

  “Appuetta.” Radhika was at the door. “I have everything ready for the temple. We haven’t invited many people. Just our neighbours and my family. Here are your clothes. Let me go and get the baby ready.”

  We walked to the temple. My hungry eyes devoured the beauty of my village. On both sides of the narrow path were thick, green shrubs with abundant flowers. Radhika was pointing out each to the baby and Oppol’s daughters, who were walking on either side of her. I glanced at Radhika. She seemed like a little girl herself—lively, lovely and full of curiosity. My fortune!

  Oppol and Sumathy followed. Oppol looked faded. Sumathy glowed in her beautiful sari. My younger sister was an enigma. She always seemed content. No complaints or demands. Going through life with a smile. Oppol kept reminding me that she was now a young lady and it was my responsibility to get her married to a good boy. Yes, it was my duty. Rather, my privilege, and I looked forward to doing it to the best of my ability.

  Radhika’s family and our neighbours were already at the temple. The festive atmosphere, chatting and sharing news, made me realise what I miss every day in Bahrain and, for a moment, I wished I never had to go back to the Gulf.

  The priest arrived and the rituals started. I sat down with the baby in my lap. Surprisingly, he complied without a fuss. When the priest advised, I whispered into his tiny ears, “Vishnu, Vishnu, Vishnu.” And then took a small ball of rice and fed him a tiny portion. I felt as if I would burst with love and pride. Glancing up, I saw Radhika’s smile, and a familiar sadness and a bleary face subsumed me. “No, no,” wept my disobedient heart.

  It was late afternoon by the time we reached home after the function. Everyone had lunch. I fed Deepu myself.

  After the guests left, I opened the bags and distributed the gifts. It was such fun to watch the little ones squeal with joy and the adults twinkling at the presents. The whole house was in a celebratory mood. Very soon, Vishnu too lost his inhibitions and warmed up to me. I laughed at his antics and wished with all my heart that I could stay with him all my life. Just the thought of leaving him in a few days’ time and not being a part of his growing up kept tearing at me.

  At dusk, I walked to the temple. It was peaceful sitting by the side of the river and watching the devotees worshipping unhurriedly.

  Once upon a time, this was a favourite place to meet Manu master. Oh, the topics we used to discuss. It was pure joy listening to his world view and expanding my own mind in the process.

  When it got dark, I got the offering from the priest and returned home. On the way, many people smiled and stopped to speak. It was unsettling when I couldn’t recall some of the faces and names.

  A familiar cacophony erupted from the trees. The crows and the bats. The crows claiming the bats’ home for the night, or the bats fighting the crows returning to their homes? Survival of the fittest—I thought with a grim smile.

  My eyes wandered off to Ruby’s old home. I could only see the huge tarpaulin-covered concrete pillars there. The graveyard of our dreams…

  Three weeks seemed to go in three seconds.

  When it was time to return to Bahrain, was consumed by grief, haunted by the thought of leaving Vishnu and Radhika behind.

  But when I turned back for a final goodbye, it was Sumathy who caught my attention. My little sister. The quiet one. Like a tiny lamp, not very noticeable, but always spreading light and warmth nevertheless.

  “Sumathy, is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “No, Etta. You take care of yourself.”

  “You too, mol. My next homecoming will be for your marriage.” I laughed. Sumathy blushed.

  But now…

  So many broken promises.

  I thought there was enough time. No. I have run out of time. Totally. Without any warning.

  Suspended in the cold air in this mortuary, how helpless do I feel? How useless.

  Regrets. Remorse. All my fault.

  The Fourth Night

  Dusk approached with the muted steps of the mortuary worker, accompanied by the PRO from my office. A taciturn Sudanese. He seemed nervous and kept glancing furtively to where my body was kept. It was a part of his job description—this final arrangement for bodies to reach their homes scattered all over the globe. Each visit to the mortuary must remind him of his own mortality. No wonder he always looked a bit out of sorts, and startled at the slightest sound.

  He showed some papers to the worker, both of them signed the forms, and then he left with visible relief. Who can blame him? Nobody would want to linger in this room of death, with its uncomfortable cold. A numbing, crushing cold.

  Is it possible that my body be transported tomorrow? That would be a blessing for everyone, especially for my family waiting at home. A frisson of joy surged through me. Is this a shadow of the anticipation, the excitement I used to feel when I planned my return trips? Yes, even in this gloom, my spirit longed for the one place—my home, my one and only home— where now my final resting place awaits, six feet under the soil.

  Here, my body readies itself for a mass invasion by worms. Here, sound and light break all barriers and flow unchecked. The burning homesickness of expatriate life is smoldering like embers.

  Today is the day of souls. The day all souls return to the final resting place of their bodies and the life they left behind on earth. The souls flood in—to open the knots of truth, to feel the pain of realisation, to let go of the molten lava of grief. I can feel the presence of countless souls from times long gone, returning for another glimpse of the world they no longer belong to, to remember and relive the relations they had on earth.

  Two souls come floating into the mortuary—a mother and a baby. They had died in a car accident a week back. The husband had died in the hospital later. His body is still in the mortuary. He rises up to greet them. The sound of anguished sobs fills the air.

  The husband narrates their story to me.

  “We are from Rawalpindi. I come from a poor home but worked hard to build a life for myself and my family. Luckily, I got a good job in a petroleum company in Bahrain and, within two months, I could bring my wife over. Life brimmed with joy and content. Our home was a slice of paradise. And within a year, our blessed little angel joined us to complete our happiness. We considered ourselves the luckiest, the happiest people in the world. Last week, I had promised to get home early so we could have a fun evening out, dining and shopping. I was driving the car, and my wife and daughter were in the back. From nowhere, a big black truck smashed into our car. My wife and daughter were thrown out onto the road, and before I lost consciousness, I saw that damned black truck crushing them to nothing. When I came to my senses, I was in the hospital, both my legs amputated and was told the terrible news that now I am all alone in this cruel world. I wanted to die at that moment. But the doctors and nurses kept me alive. When my friends came to visit, I requested them to make arrangements for my last will. Both my parents were already dead. And I have no siblings or close family. The few relatives I have are vultures, and I had no intention of satisfying them. I made a will bequeathing all my wealth to an orphanage at my hometown. After that I willed myself to die, and here I am. Today, I am with my wife and daughter again, and this is the only heaven I ever want to be in.”

  The three of them glide out as one.

  The next spirit is an elderly Sri Lankan.

  His is a story of betrayal—by his
own son and daughter-in-law.

  “I was a widower, a small farmer in my village. Life was not rosy, but it was my life, and I gamely stuck it out. My only son was married and settled in Bahrain with a well-paying job. My daughter-in-law was also an educated woman. They had three kids and started facing difficulties with childcare, when she also started working. The money was too good. They loved the double income. That is when they suddenly remembered the elderly father at home. Bring him over. The children will have somebody to take care of them all the time, that too their own grandfather. The perfect solution. No more pangs of guilt for having left the elderly father to fend for himself, either. Once they realised the advantages, the planning and execution was swift. There were incessant phone calls to convince me; even the babies called, asking for the granddad to come over quickly. And when I put up objections of old age, disabilities, leaving all that is familiar to me and travelling so far, they always had pat answers. Everything was for my well-being. Finally, it was decided that my daughter-in-law would fly down and accompany me to Bahrain. In my heart, I knew that it was a mistake. But there was no way out of it. I tried to make the best of the situation. But imagine, an old man, who is in the twilight of his life, having to take care of three energetic children. My son and his wife were rarely at home. Now that they had an unpaid full-time babysitter, they raked in overtime pay and delighted in their fat bank balances. I loved the children and so never complained, though for them I was more like a pet and a servant rolled into one. One day, I had opened the door to take out the trash, when the youngest one ran out, followed by the two others. I panicked and ran after them. For them, it was a game, for me it was life and death. It was the height of summer, and by the time I caught up with the child, I was gasping and collapsed right on the roadside. My son lied to the authorities that I had no living relatives back home. So, I was cremated in the public facility here with no proper rites or rituals, doomed to an eternal life of wandering. This is the price of sacrificing my life for my only son.”

  His voice tapered off as he wandered into the gathering gloom.

  The generation gap. The shifting attitudes. The changing times. The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. But the minds of men are never constant. We are becoming more selfish by the day. Where will this end?