The Soul of Truth Read online

  “Radhika, I was in love with a girl. And she with me. With all our hearts. For years. We had dreamt only of a life with each other, till death did us part.” My eyes were fixed on Radhika while I told her everything about Ruby. But she looked only at the sea. She listened to all that I was saying without moving a muscle.

  When I finished, she turned to me with the sweetest smile, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Appuetta, dearest. How I wish I could lessen your pain! This was fate. You and Ruby should have been together. You were meant to be together, for life. But fate decided otherwise. I am sorry, Appuetta, but I can’t help but feel disappointed about how you contributed somewhat to this cruel fate. Even more than Ruby, you should have known how her father would react when you left her alone for years. Distance is not an excuse. You took life too much for granted. A few letters confirming your love and dedication, a promise to her father, maybe, would have given you your life’s love. But now…”

  All my self-restraint broke down. I sobbed like a baby. Radhika was upset. She was like a mother, soothing a hurt baby.

  Through broken sobs, her voice reached me. “Appuetta, I understand your pain. Really, I do. But now I am your wife. Please don’t forget that you are crying for your lost love in front of your wife. You are a gentle soul, Appuetta. That is your failing. Do you think I didn’t know about Ruby and you before now? Don’t you know that every person in our village knows your story? I have seen the two of you together at so many places. And before our marriage, my mother had told me everything she knew about you. I had attended Ruby’s wedding. Even there, the guests gossiped about the two of you. You know our people. They are so adept at making mountains out of molehills. You must be the only one who thought it was a secret. It was almost a denial for you. It need not be anymore, Appuetta. I wanted you to open up to me so we can start our life without any secrets. First love can never be forgotten. But Appuetta, please, for the sake of your Radhika, you should forget Ruby and accept me as your love. I have only you in my life. Please don’t make me cry, ever.”

  Her voice broke. I gathered her to me in a fierce hug. In that moment, I felt as lighthearted as the floating clouds and as full as the surging ocean.

  “Radhika, dearest love, you are my precious treasure!” I murmured into her neck.

  That night, we walked back, hand in hand, into our own world of love.

  Now, in this cold desert, I feel so alone!

  The coffin with my name and address is already here. This morning, there was a stream of friends and colleagues to see me one last time and pay respects. Even through this shroud of nothingness, I could recognise them, hear their sobs, feel their distress. “Today you! Tomorrow me!” “Only thirty-nine years.” “Too young to go.” I remain as an unforgettable sadness in everyone’s heart.

  The mortuary attendants take out my body, wash it and dress me in my own clothes. Strangers most intimate. I am laid down in the coffin, looking crisp and fresh. Then they drench me in perfume, an unfamiliar smell. Will my family always associate this perfume with death?

  Once the casket is packed and sealed, the workers hang about, waiting for Rajan to arrive with the vehicle to take me to the airport cargo office.

  The rain starts again. The pale dawn straggles into the corridors of death like a grieving ghost.

  My final day in Bahrain, my dreamland. In the shimmering light, the temptress still holds me in her deadly embrace.

  The Sixth Night

  It is a full flight. After the initial bustle, people are settling down for the long haul, watching movies or napping.

  In the hold below, my body is in a deep, frozen sleep. I hang in the air above my body. Even though our bonds are already severed, I realise I can’t stay away from my body for long. Old habits die hard.

  The past, the present and the future—three horses gifted by time. From one to the other, life races ahead with the agility of a thoroughbred. The rider is always on the present horse but with eyes fixed on the future one. Sometimes, he casts a quick glance backwards. The past horse is way behind, getting smaller in the distance. And yet, capricious and unpredictable, sometimes, it eerily catches up with the present when least expected. The future waits for the rider, beckoning, alluring and well-fed on dreams and fantasies. Many a rider falls by the wayside; the future horse, just a tantalising mirage. I have joined the ranks of those defeated riders.

  The bonds are broken. I have no allegiance to my body now, except as a memory of the past. Yet I am intricately tied to my body. My freedom and future depend on this body getting its due respect by way of the traditional rites. Once my body is interred according to tradition, I would be free to continue with my onward journey, to meet the creator and be judged according to my deeds. Hindrances to the proper conduct of rituals would jeopardise my smooth travel; paving a way fraught with obstacles. Forty-one nights. I have thirty-six more before the ultimate severance.

  The cold air in the plane envelops each passenger like an armour. But Rajan is sweating. He looks disturbed. While all the passengers are looking forward to getting home, he is the only one who knows of the solitary passenger awaiting his final six feet of home.

  The plane flies with the white clouds, speeding towards its destination. The loudspeaker comes alive, announcing our imminent arrival at Kochi Airport. The atmosphere in the plane suddenly becomes charged—a buzzing beehive. People sit up alert, gathering their belongings, anticipation on their faces. Home beckons.

  Only Rajan looks unhappy. He waits till all the passengers deplane, and then quickly walks to the airport manager’s office to complete the paperwork needed to transfer my body. In less than two hours the formalities are done, and Rajan hands over my coffin to the waiting relatives.

  There is a small crowd of people from home, including Madhavettan, our neighbour Robin, Ruby’s brother; and James, the taxi driver who had driven me home the last time. They had travelled to the airport in James’s car.

  Everyone looks shattered. Not surprising. A very unexpected death. A young life, the sole support of a family, now lifeless in a wooden coffin.

  Cruel fate!

  Irrevocable fate!

  The ultimate truth. Death!

  We come to this world with a cry and depart from it to the cries of our beloved.

  The secrets of life and death. Eternal secrets.

  Which great man had said this? “Your relation to your house ends when your body leaves your house. Your relation to your wife ends when she stops at the graveyard. Your relation to your son ends when he completes the rituals. Beyond that you are all alone. Utterly alone!”

  Like the rivulets flowing in different directions, each life strikes out its own path, only to join as one in death.

  My family. What terrible torments they are going through now. Deepu’s mind must be as paralysed as his body. Sumathy must be fatigued, her dreams shattered. Oppol probably a living corpse. How many losses can a person bear in this life? First her father, then her husband, her mother and now the brother who was the only hope for herself and her two little kids. And my Radhika. Who can ever soothe her broken heart and hopes? What must she be thinking? All her dreams of a life together in Bahrain, waking up in each other’s arms, a bright future for the family and Vishnu. How is she going to bear this pain? Shalu, Malu, Vishnu, tiny lives bewildered by the sorrow that has congealed around them.

  James stands with his head bowed, leaning against the car. Probably reminiscing about the last journey I had with him in the rain, my impatience to get to Radhika and Vishnu.

  Robin touches the coffin and bows his head in a silent prayer. The love of my family and friends swirls around me, touching me, soothing me. I feel a great relief; I am not alone anymore. A sense of peace.

  The paperwork done, my coffin is loaded on to the waiting ambulance. Rajan tries his best to console the bereaved before walking back to the airport. Everyone gets into the car for the return journey. The ambulance with my body follows. My final journey h
ome starts.

  Journeys. From birth to death, from one moment to another, life is awash with journeys. This day is the end of the journey of dreams. Is it the beginning of another one? A journey into the unknown?

  Pain at the loss of love. The sobs of the lonely. Who can offer solace in such a situation?

  My life was too short. The curtain fell before the play was over. The regrets linger. Will that hinder my forward journey?

  The road I travelled is covered with dry leaves, green leaves and unopened seeds. Time will sweep all that away. New life will sprout there. Seeds will become seedlings. They will bloom and bear fruit.

  Circle of life.

  The law of nature.

  Time will keep rolling forward. With not a backward glance.

  No questions about the fallen, or the not fallen, or the ones yet to fall. No answers either.

  Fate, the blind gambler: he positions humans on the chessboard of happiness and grief and moves them to his will, and sometimes casts them out of the game with no remorse.

  Death is a door from this world to the next. Life is a game that leads you to that door.

  In the gathering dusk, enveloped by the delicate drizzle, the car moves through the roads, followed closely by the ambulance.

  The trees crowd in. The sky looks openly inviting. Is my next home up there? I have no idea.

  We reach the familiar banks of the Periyar. Small crowds have gathered on both sides of the river, waiting for my arrival. When the ambulance is sighted, the boat immediately starts towards us. The air feels heavy with grief. The big hopes of a small village that hinged on one man have turned to ashes; a smog of despair smothers my people.

  He was a friend, a brother, a helper to all. Before he left for the Gulf, he was the soul of the village. Always at the forefront of the aspirations of the village. The smiling image of Uthaman has now become a focus of intense grief. The silence that follows the sirens of the ambulance is absolute, unbreakable.

  My coffin is transferred from the ambulance to the boat. There is a quiet reverence in the precise movements and the hushed speech. Once the body is safely lowered into the middle of the boat, Robin, James, Madhavettan and a few others get in and the boat is pushed off the shore.

  “When is the burial?” the boatman asks. It is not Pappachan. This man is a stranger to me.

  “Early morning tomorrow.” Robin answers in a croaky whisper. It echoes emptily in the wind. The night birds repeat it.

  Nature is still. Not a leaf is moving.

  A sob in the dark. Who can it be? I don’t know.

  I am no more a part of this world. I am just a silent witness.

  Beyond human comprehension.

  Beyond sound and touch.

  Beyond hopes and desires.

  All my senses have become one with nature.

  Like a small boat tossed by huge waves.

  Like a fallen leaf blown by the wind.

  Like a song ending in a sob.

  The lost life of Uthaman has numbed this village.

  The boat reaches my shore. The coffin is lifted carefully and borne on the shoulders of some men. The crowd follows. A silent, grieving procession. People have also gathered in front of the houses on either side of the small path. They look upset and bewildered. People much older than me, witnessing the sudden death of a young man.

  A huge crowd meets us at the house. Wreaths and flowers all over the place. Some men are busy digging my grave on the north side of our property. It feels surreal. Seeing the place where I, or rather, the body of what I was, Uthaman, will sleep forever—to become one with the earth.

  In the normal course, I would have been cremated. But I have died too young, when elders in the family are still alive. My Oppol! Local tradition dictates that I am to be buried.

  A pandal has been erected on one side of the house. The pallbearers carefully lower the coffin onto two benches laid out together at the centre of the pandal.

  Robin and James take the lid off the coffin. There is an involuntary movement among the surrounding crowd. They must have been worried about the pungent odour of a decaying body. But the smell of perfume fills the air. The last, graceful gift of the mortuary workers; yet, it is still unable to completely mask the faint, lingering stench of death.

  Heartbreaking sobs rend the air. Radhika and Oppol are being led to the coffin. Sumathy is following like a walking statue. They are almost unrecognisable, dishevelled in shock. They sit next to the coffin, more like corpses themselves.

  Suddenly, uncontrolled sounds of grief fill the air. It is Deepu. Trapped in his immovable body, in his room, he can’t suppress the agony at the death of his elder brother through whom he had vicariously lived all these terrible years. His eyes and ears to the world outside his room. Deepu’s sobs unleash a flood of anguish. Radhika and Oppol break down—beside themselves with grief. Radhika falls onto my body, her thin frame racked with uncontrollable sobs. I look around. There isn’t a single dry eye. Even strangers are sobbing at this terrible loss of a young life, the anchor of a family.

  My eyes come to rest on a familiar form, standing apart, leaning against Deepu’s window, and sobbing silently.

  Ruby! My Ruby.

  The one who had all the rights to my life once, is now forced to stand apart like a mere acquaintance.

  She is trying her best not to lose control. But her anguish flows out in uninterrupted tears. She cannot afford a scandal. Not in this little village, where everyone knows everyone else’s affairs. Our love was well-known. Right now, there will be sharp eyes watching every move of hers. Even in this helpless form, why do I wish to be one with her, to soothe her anguish, tell her that I am here, close, very close. No, I can’t. I shouldn’t. I am not allowed these few days to live out my unfulfilled desires. They are only meant to ensure my soul a smooth journey to the afterlife.

  Take courage, I whisper to myself. Ruby doesn’t mean anything to you now. You are Uthaman’s spirit. Not his weak body. You have to focus on what is important, and that is not of this world. A whole new world awaits you.

  Ruby and her two children live with Robin now. Her husband was killed in a car accident sometime back. I remember hearing the shocking news while in Bahrain. She cannot afford to let any rumours spread about herself and Uthaman; she cannot be tied to a hopeless past.

  Robin was always her strength and support in the family. He was my friend too, a silent witness to our love. But he never gave any indication of approval or disapproval from his part. He loved Ruby, and would have supported her in any decision of hers. It was I who had betrayed her.

  People are gathered in small groups. From the scattered whispers, I hear that Robin is about to be engaged. To Sumathy! What a big surprise! A pleasant one. Even in this incorporeal form, I can feel the intense relief of knowing that very soon Sumathy will be safe in the capable hands of Robin.

  When did this happen? How?

  It doesn’t matter. The news soothes my burning soul. Sumathy is safe. Robin is a good man. Strong and sincere. Sumathy will always be cared for in the most loving manner. He is a much better person than I am. He wouldn’t throw Sumathy to the mercy of fate as I did with his sister. Thank you, God.

  Vishnu!

  He is running excitedly in the pandal. For him, the crowds and the bustle mean a celebration. He runs to Radhika and looks bewildered at not getting the usual attention. Once, he approaches my coffin curiously but thankfully he is too small to see its contents. He laughs at the people and runs off merrily from one person to the other. I can see he is breaking everyone’s hearts with his innocent ignorance of the terrible tragedy.

  The crowing of the roosters signals the approaching dawn. It is time for the final rituals to bury my body. The priest is ready. It is Sreedharan pujari, the best priest in our area. He is a perfectionist; never compromising on the proper way of performing the traditional rites, and yet frugal and careful not to burden the family with unnecessary expenditures. A scholarly priest, old-school, n
ot like some of the new-fangled ones who have no respect for traditions.

  The ground is prepared. The labourers have finished digging the hole. It is made to a specific measure—six-feet long and five-feet deep. The final resting place has to be perfect, though for the soul the body no longer means anything. The body has to be buried with measured offerings of salt, sand, holy ash, camphor, henna, khus and sandal paste in the prepared hole.

  Everything is ready. Paddy, rice, darbha, coconut, plantain leaves, bronze vessels, lamp, iron scimitar, all are laid out for the priest. He signals for the rites to start.

  My body is taken out of the box and laid out on plantain leaves on the floor.

  The clock strikes five times. It is dawn.

  The rituals start. After a brief prayer, the body is transferred carefully to the plantain leaves placed in the hole. Vishnu stops playing and watches curiously as I am lowered into the grave. He recognises his father. He is confused. When did Achen come home? Why is Achen lying down? Why are his eyes closed? Why are these people putting him in a hole? He runs to Radhika. She holds him to her in a fierce hug. Anguished wails reverberate in the bleak dawn.

  The priest and his helpers continue with the rituals conscientiously. The body is covered with sand, followed by salt, holy ash, camphor and henna leaves—these are repeated in the same order till the hole is completely filled. On top of the mound, the wreaths and flowers are placed.

  Vishnu is standing by the graveside to complete the rituals. Sumathy has given him a bath and he is wrapped in a new, wet towel. He looks bewildered but Sreedharan priest explains things to him patiently; Sumathy helps him complete the rituals without a mistake. They know the importance of properly performed ceremonies to facilitate my onward journey. Once everything is completed satisfactorily, the priest breaks a coconut and spills the water in the direction of the east and the west.

  The crowd starts dispersing slowly.

  The petromax that was used to light up the graveside rituals is taken back and hung on the verandah.