A Beautiful Dusk...
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
AN UNKNOWN FRIEND
The roads were wet from the rains that lashed the city the whole of the previous night. It was still drizzling early morning when Priya, with an umbrella to protect her from getting wet, walked onto the morning roads to get a rickshaw to take her to the station from where her train leaves at 6:55 a.m. She had a 45 minute travel to her office in the other part of the city. As the climate was cool and damp due to the continuous downpour there was hardly anyone on the roads at that early hour. Just the she saw a cycle rickshaw coming that way and waved her hand to stop it. It stopped and she got in.
The rickshawallah was young, nearly about her as she observed, and she reached the station ten minutes before the train's departure, earlier than usual. At the station entrance, while she was searching for change to give the rickshawallah, he engaged himself in buying some flowers to keep on the cycle. From the flowers he bought, he offered Priya a rose. She smiled, took it, said thanks, gave him the fare and hurried to catch the train.
She reached her office ten minutes before eight and hit the computers. She was just 22 and was working as assistant editor for a monthly magazine in the city. Her passion for writing and reporting things had led her to do her bachelors in journalism and immediately after completion of her degree she had been offered this job, which she accepted. Along with the job she was also pursuing her masters. A diligent and hardworking girl with a pretty face and short stature, she was liked by everyone in the office and had gained praises for her work.
She caught her evening train at 4:30 and reached her evening class at 5:30. After the two hour class she either walked home or took a rickshaw. And today as it happened she got the same cycle rickshaw that she had traveled in the morning. The rickshawallah chatted lightly as he pedaled on, "Where do you work in the city?"
"For Times Magazine. Office is in the eastern part of the city." "Oh! So you are a press worker!" She smiled a little smile. After sometime he asked, "You didn't like the flower I gave you, did you? I can't see it on your hair."
Priya mumbled some excuses saying she left it in the flower vase in the office and that she liked roses while she had actually lost it somewhere on her train journey. He dropped her at her house. "Goodbye." "Goodnight"
The next morning it happened so that Priya got the same rickshaw. During the course of the journey he told his name to be Ahmed and that he had come recently to the city in search of job. He also told her that his family were originally Pakistanis but had settled in India after the partition. By then they reached the station. As he did yesterday today too he bought her a flower. She put in her hair to show that she liked it. He smiled. She too smiled, said goodbye and left to get her train. After a tiresome day and a long lecture at the evening school, she was happy to wave down the first rickshaw that came by. "Oh! Its you again" It was Ahmed's rickshaw again. "So, how was your day?" he asked her. She related her day's events, telling him about the incidents that she went to cover and the people she met. As they reached her house, he asked her "Should I come tomorrow morning?" She smiled. "Ok, I'll be here tomorrow morning at 6:30. Be ready. Bye. Goodnight." "Thanks. Goodnight."
As said he came to pick her up the next morning and also brought her back in the evening. During their trips they got to know each other better. Sometimes he gave her free trips. Sometimes she gave him loans of small amount when he asked for helps and gave him occasional treats of "vada-paav" and bhel.
This became a routine and often Ahmed would cancel other customers asking for ride so that he could be on time to pick up Priya. Their acquaintance soon turned to friendship. In the morning they used to have a cup of tea at the station before parting ways for their day and in the evenings they had snacks at the wayside eateries. Occasionally on weekends when both were free, they used to roam in the city or go to the beach. For the new-comer Ahmed, Priya was a friend, guide and philosopher to him in the new and vast city while for Priya, Ahmed was a kind of friend and brother to her in this place, far from her home.
She looked forward to see him waiting for her at the gate of the station and he took pleasure in buying her flowers every morning. It went on for more than 6 months.
One day as usual when she came back after her day, she couldn't find Ahmed or his rickshaw at the station. She waited for him at the station nearly half an hour thinking he must have been caught up with other customers. When he didn't turn up even after half an hour, she took another rickshaw home. She wondered what must have happened to Ahmed. I'll see him tomorrow morning and thinking this she went to bed.
But next morning when he didn't come, Priya panicked. But she didn't have any number or address to contact him. So as usual she went to office. Since she had waited for Ahmed to come, she was late in reaching the office. There she came to know that the police had killed a terrorist in an encounter in the suburbs of the city. The chief asked her to cover the news.
Priya along with the magazine photographer went to cover this news. They reached there within 20 minutes. Priya went to interview the police officers while the photographer went to click pictures of the corpse. The officers there presented their evidence and related how they had zeroed on in the terrorist who along with some others were planning for a bomb blast in the city. They said that they were on the look out for the others in the gang.
It was only after the interview when Priya went to join her colleague that she lost a few heart beats. Her face went white with shock and she wanted to throw up. The body that lay before her was that of Ahmed. She got a jolt and couldn't believe that Ahmed could be a terrorist. She couldn't move for sometime. When she left the place her grief and shock was beyond words and tears. She didn't speak a word to anyone when she reached the office, but went straight to her desk and typed the article which she had been assigned. She took a half day and went home early. The chief agreed as she looked really pale.
As her train arrived at her destination, she got down, hoping to see Ahmed standing there with his rickshaw, smiling, waiting for her to join him. She sobbed and only a dry gasp left her when she couldn't find his face. She walked home. As she reached her doorstep, she found a bunch of red roses on the threshold. She wept, tears flowing down her cheek for the first time that day, as she bent down to pick up those flowers, left by some unknown friend.
The rickshawallah was young, nearly about her as she observed, and she reached the station ten minutes before the train's departure, earlier than usual. At the station entrance, while she was searching for change to give the rickshawallah, he engaged himself in buying some flowers to keep on the cycle. From the flowers he bought, he offered Priya a rose. She smiled, took it, said thanks, gave him the fare and hurried to catch the train.
She reached her office ten minutes before eight and hit the computers. She was just 22 and was working as assistant editor for a monthly magazine in the city. Her passion for writing and reporting things had led her to do her bachelors in journalism and immediately after completion of her degree she had been offered this job, which she accepted. Along with the job she was also pursuing her masters. A diligent and hardworking girl with a pretty face and short stature, she was liked by everyone in the office and had gained praises for her work.
She caught her evening train at 4:30 and reached her evening class at 5:30. After the two hour class she either walked home or took a rickshaw. And today as it happened she got the same cycle rickshaw that she had traveled in the morning. The rickshawallah chatted lightly as he pedaled on, "Where do you work in the city?"
"For Times Magazine. Office is in the eastern part of the city." "Oh! So you are a press worker!" She smiled a little smile. After sometime he asked, "You didn't like the flower I gave you, did you? I can't see it on your hair."
Priya mumbled some excuses saying she left it in the flower vase in the office and that she liked roses while she had actually lost it somewhere on her train journey. He dropped her at her house. "Goodbye." "Goodnight"
The next morning it happened so that Priya got the same rickshaw. During the course of the journey he told his name to be Ahmed and that he had come recently to the city in search of job. He also told her that his family were originally Pakistanis but had settled in India after the partition. By then they reached the station. As he did yesterday today too he bought her a flower. She put in her hair to show that she liked it. He smiled. She too smiled, said goodbye and left to get her train. After a tiresome day and a long lecture at the evening school, she was happy to wave down the first rickshaw that came by. "Oh! Its you again" It was Ahmed's rickshaw again. "So, how was your day?" he asked her. She related her day's events, telling him about the incidents that she went to cover and the people she met. As they reached her house, he asked her "Should I come tomorrow morning?" She smiled. "Ok, I'll be here tomorrow morning at 6:30. Be ready. Bye. Goodnight." "Thanks. Goodnight."
As said he came to pick her up the next morning and also brought her back in the evening. During their trips they got to know each other better. Sometimes he gave her free trips. Sometimes she gave him loans of small amount when he asked for helps and gave him occasional treats of "vada-paav" and bhel.
This became a routine and often Ahmed would cancel other customers asking for ride so that he could be on time to pick up Priya. Their acquaintance soon turned to friendship. In the morning they used to have a cup of tea at the station before parting ways for their day and in the evenings they had snacks at the wayside eateries. Occasionally on weekends when both were free, they used to roam in the city or go to the beach. For the new-comer Ahmed, Priya was a friend, guide and philosopher to him in the new and vast city while for Priya, Ahmed was a kind of friend and brother to her in this place, far from her home.
She looked forward to see him waiting for her at the gate of the station and he took pleasure in buying her flowers every morning. It went on for more than 6 months.
One day as usual when she came back after her day, she couldn't find Ahmed or his rickshaw at the station. She waited for him at the station nearly half an hour thinking he must have been caught up with other customers. When he didn't turn up even after half an hour, she took another rickshaw home. She wondered what must have happened to Ahmed. I'll see him tomorrow morning and thinking this she went to bed.
But next morning when he didn't come, Priya panicked. But she didn't have any number or address to contact him. So as usual she went to office. Since she had waited for Ahmed to come, she was late in reaching the office. There she came to know that the police had killed a terrorist in an encounter in the suburbs of the city. The chief asked her to cover the news.
Priya along with the magazine photographer went to cover this news. They reached there within 20 minutes. Priya went to interview the police officers while the photographer went to click pictures of the corpse. The officers there presented their evidence and related how they had zeroed on in the terrorist who along with some others were planning for a bomb blast in the city. They said that they were on the look out for the others in the gang.
It was only after the interview when Priya went to join her colleague that she lost a few heart beats. Her face went white with shock and she wanted to throw up. The body that lay before her was that of Ahmed. She got a jolt and couldn't believe that Ahmed could be a terrorist. She couldn't move for sometime. When she left the place her grief and shock was beyond words and tears. She didn't speak a word to anyone when she reached the office, but went straight to her desk and typed the article which she had been assigned. She took a half day and went home early. The chief agreed as she looked really pale.
As her train arrived at her destination, she got down, hoping to see Ahmed standing there with his rickshaw, smiling, waiting for her to join him. She sobbed and only a dry gasp left her when she couldn't find his face. She walked home. As she reached her doorstep, she found a bunch of red roses on the threshold. She wept, tears flowing down her cheek for the first time that day, as she bent down to pick up those flowers, left by some unknown friend.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A FRIEND TO TREASURE
This happened many summers before. The schools had closed and it was vacation time. To beat the heat and to enjoy a cool excursion away from the hustles and bustles of city life, me and my cousins along with our Aunt and Uncle went to spent some beautiful days amidst the picturesque Nilgiri hill station.
Dense foggy mist used to envelope the whole area in the cold mornings, slowing melting as the day progressed to give way to mild sunshine and the cool dark evenings. The hills stood majestic surrounding the little cottage we had rented for our stay. The forests and the gurgling stream below gave us the feeling of being in the lap of Mother Nature. It was natural beauty personified. We used soak in this beauty during our many walks through the rounding hill roads. Occasionally the trumpeting of an elephant or the cries of a deer or bear could be heard.
Our cottage was a two bedroom building with a small living cum dining room and a little kitchen. The most fascinating thing I found in the cottage was the hearth place, used by its earlier occupant for warming the rooms. The floor was made of wood to provide more warmth. We were to stay here for a week or so.
The days passed lazily as we lived leisurely and at our own pace. It was soon time to leave. It was our last day of stay in this beautiful hill station. We were to leave the next day. My Aunt, Uncle and cousins had gone out to visit a botanical garden, some distance away. I was not taken as a punishment for playing in the waterfalls yesterday even though Aunt had forbade it and was therefore left with Kittunni Chetan, the caretaker of the cottage. I was angry at that and wanted to go out and enjoy.
I looked for the opportune moment and as soon as Kittunni Chetan had gone to collect firewood, I went out riding the bicycle that we had rented out. It was freedom unknown as I cycled through the winding roads, crossed narrow wood made bridges with the stream rushing below it and went cycling along the small pathways, generally used by people for walking.
I was speeding down a slope when the brakes failed and I skidded down. I got hurt and was lying on the roadside, moaning softy because of the pain. I couldn’t get up. It was after about ten minutes that a youth, probably 19 or 20 years old, came that way on his bicycle. He saw me hurt and pulled me up. There was blood coming from the wounds in my knees and elbow. He told his house was nearby and took me there and bandaged my wounds. He also came me glass of tea to drink.
“What’s your name?”
“Divya”, I replied.
“Where do you stay?”
I told him the name of my city.
“Oh! So you don’t live here. You are a tourist. Where are your parents?”
I narrated to him the story of my escape.
He smiled at me and said, “So, you are a prisoner out of the jail. Come, I’ll leave you at your cottage.”
I told him that my relatives would return only in the evening and that Kittunni Chetan being old and nearly blind, won’t miss me; so I had time till evening to roam this lovely place. He agreed to take me around and both of us went cycling.
I liked him very much. He was tall and with a kind and handsome face. He was very nice and entertaining. He helped me forget my pains caused due to the accident by cracking jokes and singing songs. He took me into the forest, showed me the many birds and monkeys and let me play in the waters of the stream. He took me into the tea estates and showed me how tea leaves are plucked. He showed me the tea factory for which he worked. I enjoyed the beauty of the place with this new companion of mine. I was going to be evening and we reluctantly started to return to the cottage.
“Did you enjoy?”
I nodded vigorously to show that I had enjoyed so very much.
“What will you give me for taking you to all these places?”
I said I didn’t have anything to give. And suddenly stopped my bicycle, plucked a wild flower by the roadside and gave it to him. He was pleased.
“I don’t have anyone. Will you be my little friend?”
I smiled.
“You will come again, won’t you?”
I nodded.
“Will you come to see me?”
Yes. I nodded again.
We had come to the gate of the cottage. We said ‘bye, meet you again’, and I went inside. After a while my cousins and Aunt and Uncle came. They told me their tales of sightseeing and adventure. I didn’t speak about my day but just lied that I was watching T.V the whole day.
We left for the city next day early morning. I didn’t see my friend again.
I have come back to this place many times during the past but have never been able to spot him. I have walked along the paths we walked and cycled, have enquired about the tall, fair, handsome young man; but could never find out anything about him. But in my heart he will remain eternally my friend, a dear compassionate companion who had given me a wonderful day to treasure among the hills and the streams and birds.
Dense foggy mist used to envelope the whole area in the cold mornings, slowing melting as the day progressed to give way to mild sunshine and the cool dark evenings. The hills stood majestic surrounding the little cottage we had rented for our stay. The forests and the gurgling stream below gave us the feeling of being in the lap of Mother Nature. It was natural beauty personified. We used soak in this beauty during our many walks through the rounding hill roads. Occasionally the trumpeting of an elephant or the cries of a deer or bear could be heard.
Our cottage was a two bedroom building with a small living cum dining room and a little kitchen. The most fascinating thing I found in the cottage was the hearth place, used by its earlier occupant for warming the rooms. The floor was made of wood to provide more warmth. We were to stay here for a week or so.
The days passed lazily as we lived leisurely and at our own pace. It was soon time to leave. It was our last day of stay in this beautiful hill station. We were to leave the next day. My Aunt, Uncle and cousins had gone out to visit a botanical garden, some distance away. I was not taken as a punishment for playing in the waterfalls yesterday even though Aunt had forbade it and was therefore left with Kittunni Chetan, the caretaker of the cottage. I was angry at that and wanted to go out and enjoy.
I looked for the opportune moment and as soon as Kittunni Chetan had gone to collect firewood, I went out riding the bicycle that we had rented out. It was freedom unknown as I cycled through the winding roads, crossed narrow wood made bridges with the stream rushing below it and went cycling along the small pathways, generally used by people for walking.
I was speeding down a slope when the brakes failed and I skidded down. I got hurt and was lying on the roadside, moaning softy because of the pain. I couldn’t get up. It was after about ten minutes that a youth, probably 19 or 20 years old, came that way on his bicycle. He saw me hurt and pulled me up. There was blood coming from the wounds in my knees and elbow. He told his house was nearby and took me there and bandaged my wounds. He also came me glass of tea to drink.
“What’s your name?”
“Divya”, I replied.
“Where do you stay?”
I told him the name of my city.
“Oh! So you don’t live here. You are a tourist. Where are your parents?”
I narrated to him the story of my escape.
He smiled at me and said, “So, you are a prisoner out of the jail. Come, I’ll leave you at your cottage.”
I told him that my relatives would return only in the evening and that Kittunni Chetan being old and nearly blind, won’t miss me; so I had time till evening to roam this lovely place. He agreed to take me around and both of us went cycling.
I liked him very much. He was tall and with a kind and handsome face. He was very nice and entertaining. He helped me forget my pains caused due to the accident by cracking jokes and singing songs. He took me into the forest, showed me the many birds and monkeys and let me play in the waters of the stream. He took me into the tea estates and showed me how tea leaves are plucked. He showed me the tea factory for which he worked. I enjoyed the beauty of the place with this new companion of mine. I was going to be evening and we reluctantly started to return to the cottage.
“Did you enjoy?”
I nodded vigorously to show that I had enjoyed so very much.
“What will you give me for taking you to all these places?”
I said I didn’t have anything to give. And suddenly stopped my bicycle, plucked a wild flower by the roadside and gave it to him. He was pleased.
“I don’t have anyone. Will you be my little friend?”
I smiled.
“You will come again, won’t you?”
I nodded.
“Will you come to see me?”
Yes. I nodded again.
We had come to the gate of the cottage. We said ‘bye, meet you again’, and I went inside. After a while my cousins and Aunt and Uncle came. They told me their tales of sightseeing and adventure. I didn’t speak about my day but just lied that I was watching T.V the whole day.
We left for the city next day early morning. I didn’t see my friend again.
I have come back to this place many times during the past but have never been able to spot him. I have walked along the paths we walked and cycled, have enquired about the tall, fair, handsome young man; but could never find out anything about him. But in my heart he will remain eternally my friend, a dear compassionate companion who had given me a wonderful day to treasure among the hills and the streams and birds.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
A Sunset & Another Sunrise
The winding road took me to greater heights. The scene turned more spectacular and breath taking with every hairpin bend I covered. The gurgling river gushing past below, the pine and cedar trees standing tall on the sides and the mist slowing covering the light blue sky, everything added up to my joy and wonderment at the pleasures of life and the beauty of earth and the marvellous architecture and planning of the Supreme one.
I was on a week long holiday to the quiet hills to refresh and rejuvenate my mind from the hustle and bustle of my daily office routine. As soon as I got the opportunity I had escaped into the the arms of the tranquility of nature and the serne and cool woods and mountains. There was a quiet and unspoken plesaure in living admist nature, in lying still in the lap of Mother Nature. How blessed are the people who live here 365 days of the year, I thought, as I continued my climb up.
There was a small temple located at one of the hairpin bends and completely surrounded by trees. I wouldn’t have noticed had it been for the bells clanging in the peaceful environment. I decided to stop by and pay respects.
There was old man sitting there at the feet of the deity. He wore ragged clothes, had long untidy hair and looked like a beggar. But there was a twinkle in his eyes. He continued with his prayers. I roamed around the temple. When I came back to the entrance, the old man had finished his prayers and was watching me keenly. I didn’t know what to make of him. He came upto me asked,
“Sir, You a tourist?”
I nodded my head. The people here didn’t speak much English, I knew, and my grasp of the local language was elementary.
“Sir, I take you around, show you things you can’t see for yourself. You pay me some money... very nominal sir... please sir.”
I didn’t want anybody bossing me around as I went exploring the place. But from his words and gestures I had a feeling that he knew things about the place that no tourist guide manual could tell me. But to take a man who looked as if he was madman, along with me in a wild and lonely place like this seemed a presposterous idea.
Finally I gave in, my heart wanting to unravel all the secrets of the place I had fallen in love with. And my choice didn’t seem wrong. The guy knew some English and, yeah, he had a clear idea of the layout and topography of the place. He took me through ravines and caves, muddy paths along the woods, steep climbs and cliffs; but all the while I enjoyed. I was mesmerized by the simple beauty of the place, the multitude of geographical features and the loveliness of the whole place.
Every time a bird chirped or an animal growled in the distance, the oldman could quickly and easily tell me which creature was it. He taught me ways and means to spot animals and also how to keep safe from wild animals and beasts. We met spotted deers, wild sparrows and naughty monkey during our trail. Along our walk he enlightened me to his life. He introduced himself as the person who was once the landlord off this whole hill town, the proud headsman of this beautiful heaven and how he had been ousted and forced to be in exile. He spoke of how he longed to come back, how poverty and starvation during the years of his exile had given him a ragged appearance and how good knowledge of every nook and corner of his home town and its woods had enabled him to return to his beloved place.
I didn’t know how much to belive of all these. I had serious doubts of his mental stability. I remained quite for the rest of our walk and let him do the talking. He spoke at lenght about the mysteries and beliefs of the place, of the people and his own life entwined with the wiledrness of the place.
We watched the sun go down from the best view point in the whole locality. The sky turned orange-red and the sun bid us adieu till the next dawn. We walked back down to the village. We reached the place I met the old man.
I pulled out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and placed it in his outstretched palms. They were wrinkled and dirty.
“Thankyou sir... You good and kind. May God bless you and give you long years. He calling me now. You come back here again and again... It is a nice place. I no there next time you come, but you still enjoy. Your money will cover expense of my funeral. Thankyou... bye,bye sir. Have a good night.” He went back to the abode of God just as I had met him there, at the same place.
As I walked back to my hotel room I still pondered on the words of the old man. He had spoken wildly, maybe out of jest or sorrow, but from his talks I had learned that he was neither dumb nor could he be completely mad. But what was it about my hundred rupees covering his final rite expenses,I wondered.
Dinner was a quiet affair and there was a bonfire afterwards. I went to sleep late, but it was not easy to come by. The old man’s voice kept ringing in my ears. I woke up at the crack of dawn and decided to go to find him and may be go too see the sunrise with him.
I put on my jacket and started my climb uphill. At the temple premises I met him, there was no trace of him. There was a woman quitely sweeping the temple compound. I enquired about the old man.
She told me he had died at midnight last day and that some youth had taken his body to cremate it somewhere in the woods. His body was found in the ravine nearby. Nobody knew how he died. Some said he committed suicide, some put it to accidental fall. There were wild rumours about him.
It was as if something my sub conscious mind feared would happen had happened. The woman further informed me that the old beggar had managed to get a 100 rupee note ,which was found in his pocket,and that it had helped them to cover for his final journey, as he had no relations here.
I thanked her and continued my walk alone. My previos day’s companion eternally lost from the face of the Earth, removed from the place he loved so much. But I continued my walks, mind heavy with thoughts, uncomprehensible feelings at the loss of some one whom I hardly knew. But somewhere it struck, the brevity of life and spontainety of the end as I continued my walk to catch a glimpse of yet another time, the sun rising in my life.
I was on a week long holiday to the quiet hills to refresh and rejuvenate my mind from the hustle and bustle of my daily office routine. As soon as I got the opportunity I had escaped into the the arms of the tranquility of nature and the serne and cool woods and mountains. There was a quiet and unspoken plesaure in living admist nature, in lying still in the lap of Mother Nature. How blessed are the people who live here 365 days of the year, I thought, as I continued my climb up.
There was a small temple located at one of the hairpin bends and completely surrounded by trees. I wouldn’t have noticed had it been for the bells clanging in the peaceful environment. I decided to stop by and pay respects.
There was old man sitting there at the feet of the deity. He wore ragged clothes, had long untidy hair and looked like a beggar. But there was a twinkle in his eyes. He continued with his prayers. I roamed around the temple. When I came back to the entrance, the old man had finished his prayers and was watching me keenly. I didn’t know what to make of him. He came upto me asked,
“Sir, You a tourist?”
I nodded my head. The people here didn’t speak much English, I knew, and my grasp of the local language was elementary.
“Sir, I take you around, show you things you can’t see for yourself. You pay me some money... very nominal sir... please sir.”
I didn’t want anybody bossing me around as I went exploring the place. But from his words and gestures I had a feeling that he knew things about the place that no tourist guide manual could tell me. But to take a man who looked as if he was madman, along with me in a wild and lonely place like this seemed a presposterous idea.
Finally I gave in, my heart wanting to unravel all the secrets of the place I had fallen in love with. And my choice didn’t seem wrong. The guy knew some English and, yeah, he had a clear idea of the layout and topography of the place. He took me through ravines and caves, muddy paths along the woods, steep climbs and cliffs; but all the while I enjoyed. I was mesmerized by the simple beauty of the place, the multitude of geographical features and the loveliness of the whole place.
Every time a bird chirped or an animal growled in the distance, the oldman could quickly and easily tell me which creature was it. He taught me ways and means to spot animals and also how to keep safe from wild animals and beasts. We met spotted deers, wild sparrows and naughty monkey during our trail. Along our walk he enlightened me to his life. He introduced himself as the person who was once the landlord off this whole hill town, the proud headsman of this beautiful heaven and how he had been ousted and forced to be in exile. He spoke of how he longed to come back, how poverty and starvation during the years of his exile had given him a ragged appearance and how good knowledge of every nook and corner of his home town and its woods had enabled him to return to his beloved place.
I didn’t know how much to belive of all these. I had serious doubts of his mental stability. I remained quite for the rest of our walk and let him do the talking. He spoke at lenght about the mysteries and beliefs of the place, of the people and his own life entwined with the wiledrness of the place.
We watched the sun go down from the best view point in the whole locality. The sky turned orange-red and the sun bid us adieu till the next dawn. We walked back down to the village. We reached the place I met the old man.
I pulled out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and placed it in his outstretched palms. They were wrinkled and dirty.
“Thankyou sir... You good and kind. May God bless you and give you long years. He calling me now. You come back here again and again... It is a nice place. I no there next time you come, but you still enjoy. Your money will cover expense of my funeral. Thankyou... bye,bye sir. Have a good night.” He went back to the abode of God just as I had met him there, at the same place.
As I walked back to my hotel room I still pondered on the words of the old man. He had spoken wildly, maybe out of jest or sorrow, but from his talks I had learned that he was neither dumb nor could he be completely mad. But what was it about my hundred rupees covering his final rite expenses,I wondered.
Dinner was a quiet affair and there was a bonfire afterwards. I went to sleep late, but it was not easy to come by. The old man’s voice kept ringing in my ears. I woke up at the crack of dawn and decided to go to find him and may be go too see the sunrise with him.
I put on my jacket and started my climb uphill. At the temple premises I met him, there was no trace of him. There was a woman quitely sweeping the temple compound. I enquired about the old man.
She told me he had died at midnight last day and that some youth had taken his body to cremate it somewhere in the woods. His body was found in the ravine nearby. Nobody knew how he died. Some said he committed suicide, some put it to accidental fall. There were wild rumours about him.
It was as if something my sub conscious mind feared would happen had happened. The woman further informed me that the old beggar had managed to get a 100 rupee note ,which was found in his pocket,and that it had helped them to cover for his final journey, as he had no relations here.
I thanked her and continued my walk alone. My previos day’s companion eternally lost from the face of the Earth, removed from the place he loved so much. But I continued my walks, mind heavy with thoughts, uncomprehensible feelings at the loss of some one whom I hardly knew. But somewhere it struck, the brevity of life and spontainety of the end as I continued my walk to catch a glimpse of yet another time, the sun rising in my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
