by Ruskin Bond
He walked for about five minutes without any particular thought. Then he was thinking about Rajendra and Urmi. Rajendra reminded him of his own son, they must be of about the same age. Virendra felt a pain from the thought that his son could not make it to any top technical university; he had to be reconciled to a small regional engineering college in the distant south. He wanted to study physics; he could not. Then he wanted to study electrical engineering; he could not. Now he was studying chemical engineering; that was what he could get into. From an aspired academic orientation, it was going to be an altogether different industrial orientation, but little could be done. Virendra was morose for quite some time; it took him time to accept that it was difficult to have two academic persons in a row from the same family. His son was intelligent, and was also hard working, yet. . . . But he was not an isolated example, Virendra knew so many young people whose ambitions did not get fulfilled. He tried to imagine what the long-term effects of such failure would be on these young people.
There were now more lights on the power-plant building. There were several high poles on the top of which there were red lights. Overall it looked very imposing. Virendra recalled that in some places in the country there were power and drinking water shortages, there were often unscheduled power cuts, rationing of water, and people lived without electricity, sometimes without light at nights. People around here had not faced that difficulty. It could be worse.
It was dark now. He was unable to see the path any longer, but he did not find it a problem. He had walked on this path before, although the last time he came was about a year ago. Despite the fact that it was only a dirt track, it was quite even. It had no curves and turns; it went straight to the power plant. There was a low barrier which ran along the right side; so there was no risk of his walking into the canal. And straight ahead, though at a distance, stood the power-plant structure; if he aimed at that there was no way he could go in a wrong direction, no matter how dark.
He continued to walk, now quite briskly, in the darkness. Round and round his thoughts were coming back to the same point, of his failure. What could he do? He could sacrifice his own life; he could kill himself. But what difference would it make? It would make little difference. There would be some commotion in the university; no member of the faculty had ever taken such a step. But there was always a first time for everything. There had been cases where students committed suicide. The first one was shocking, it caused a tremor through the community, but soon it passed, everyone forgot about it. Newspapers probably would run a news item, more people would come to know about it. But there had been in the past suicides by scientists out of frustration; that also was not new. He remembered the scientist from the agricultural research laboratory. But he had left a suicide note. Virendra would of course not leave any such note. When it is over, it should be simply over.
He thought about his students. What would they do? There would be grief, Virendra thought, both shock and grief; they would be numb for a long time. But slowly, over days and weeks they would recover, some other supervisors would offer to guide them, and soon they would get distributed and start new work again; ultimately they would be reconciled with the lost time.
There would be a sudden jolt and trauma in the Department, but it would know how to handle it; there were several cases of sudden death in the past, it now knew the mechanism of going through it. One of his colleagues had suddenly died, and there was one visiting scientist who came on an academic visit and suddenly died here. Virendra imagined his own funeral from the experience of past incidents. His body would probably lie in some room in the hospital, then it would be taken for post-mortem to the city, then brought back here and lie for an indefinite period. If his relatives were to come, they would probably put him on ice, flowers would come, and then the long wait would begin. Quietness in the room, there probably would be tears in some eyes—who would cry?—and then with the beginning of fatigue in the living there would be increasingly frequent inquiries about the time the funeral procession would actually start. Virendra knew exactly the small truck he would be taken on with a few people sitting around him—who would they be?—and the university buses which would take the mourners.
What would happen to the family? Somehow he thought of his son first. He was grown up, he would be able to take care of himself; he was already on his own in a way. He would have enough money to just take care of himself through his studies, and he would take care of his mother also. He did not need Virendra any more, he would be all right. What would his wife do? It would be terrible for her. For a woman in this country, who knew little about the external world and lived a homely, quiet, reasonably peaceful, even if unexciting, life this would be an unmitigated blow. Virendra had given her nothing in life, and this would be the ultimate cruelty. But she would not be homeless, she had enough support from her parents' family; she would probably go back to her home town and be among her relatives. She talked so little, Virendra could not imagine much more than her general grief. Virendra thought about his daughter, and immediately choked. How would she take it? She could not take it, she was too young for all that. How could a child who has known to recognise her father take his loss? This death was not worth dying, at least voluntarily.
He warmed up at this thought. It was now totally dark, he could not see what he was walking on, but he was now walking quite fast, almost marching assertively. He decided that he would not give up so easily. This failure was not of any magnitude to cause him to submit. He would give much more fight, his determined students were with him, he could go very far. He would not offer the pleasure of his failure to his adversaries, at least not so soon, and so easily. He would try. . . .
Suddenly Virendra's next step did not find ground. His body tipped forward, and something hard hit his right shoulder. He felt that his head was below his body. For a while he was in the air without any support, and then his head crashed against something as hard as rock. For an instant he felt an excruciating pain, and then he lost consciousness.
In the world above, there was little change. It was dark around as a while ago; at a distance the power-plant lights shone, the billowing smoke from the chimneys was only barely visible in the faint glow that surrounded the plant, the stars were visible in the sky, but there was no other movement. It was not absolutely quiet, yet there was no perceptible sound. The sights implied there was life all around, but it did not show anything.
Virendra Chauhan did not die. He did not suffer even impairing injuries. After a long time when he regained consciousness, at first he could not make out where he was. It was dark all around when he first opened his eyes. Only after some time, as he kept his eyes open, could he see some stars at a distance. He felt his back wet, and it hurt as he made a slight movement. He felt his left cheek moist and mushy, and his feet bare. There was a throbbing pain at the back of his head. Slowly he could make out a dark horizontal barrier above which the sky was lighter. He faintly recalled that he had been walking. He guessed that he must have fallen from the elevated path that bordered the canal; the dark horizontal barrier therefore must be marking the top of the path. His back ached again; he closed his eyes and let himself go.
That night when he returned home, it was nearly eleven o'clock. He rang the bell, Parvati opened the door, and her reaction seeing him barefoot, full of mud, was of shock. But she was not given to asking; she moved to one side and waited. Virendra did not say anything either. He slowly entered and walked towards the bathroom. While entering the corridor he looked to the left; in the inner large room little Suraj, Parvati's grandson, had fallen asleep on the floor. In the evenings Parvati always brought along with her someone as company, so that she was not alone when she returned. In the bathroom Virendra first switched the light on, bolted the door and then turned the water tap. Water gushed out to fill the bucket underneath and went on overflowing and spilling.
Virendra looked at the mirror. It was a messy face. Mud, but no blood. With the fingers of his right
hand he touched the back of his head which was still moist. It gave him a burning sensation. He looked at the fingers, bringing them close to his eyes. It was a mixture of mud and blood. Not terribly bad though. It could be cleaned up at home, he would just wash it with a lot of water; there was no need to go to the hospital. Virendra looked at himself in the mirror again; he thought he looked pitiable. He felt relieved that it was not any worse.
Parvati had already left a change of clothes in the bathroom. After a prolonged bath and change of dress when Virendra emerged he looked altogether different. He went to the corner bedroom; there from the table he picked up a germicidal lotion; he took a few drops on a piece of cotton wool and applied it on the back of his head. It smarted; his face distorted and it remained that way until the burning sensation subsided. He went to the cupboard, opened it and took out the metal box that contained medicine; he took out a couple of analgesic tablets, put them in his mouth and swallowed them. He went to the kitchen, took a glass, filled it with some water from the tap and drank it. He found Parvati heating up something in preparation for serving the meal. He walked into the front room. There he found the door to the front lawn open. It meant that Parvati had already placed an easy chair and a low table on the lawn. It was dark, and he had to look carefully to spot the chair. In front of it lay a square black table. Virendra sat down, took his slippers off, and stretched his legs on the table.
The locality had already become quiet, most had already gone to sleep. Virendra sat as usual facing west, facing the row of mango trees, although in the darkness the trees were not visible. A light breeze was blowing. Virendra looked up towards the sky. It was dark; the moon was either not up or had already set. There were only stars, stars in constellations, stars in galaxies, and planets. He saw the Great Bear tilted to the north of the zenith, and Scorpio to the south of the zenith. He could spot the orange-red Mars towards the western horizon. Virendra thought how remarkable it was; apparently steady, different distances away, projected on the celestial sphere, they were quietly and almost imperceptibly moving. There was a draught of cool breeze. Virendra closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The breeze swept past him, under the damp hair his head felt cool.
Parvati brought his meal. He withdrew his legs from the table and placed them on the grass. The grass was already a bit damp. He liked it. He finished the meal unmindfully, but without thinking anything in particular; he felt too tired. Parvati took away the bowls and plates. From inside he heard the sound of Parvati waking up Suraj; they were going to eat. After some time, Virendra did not know precisely how long, Parvati and Suraj came to the porch, turned the light on, and Parvati said they were leaving. Suraj was up but his eyes said that he was still in half sleep; Virendra guessed that the little boy would walk home holding Parvati's hand but with his eyes closed. Before leaving she turned the porch light off. Soon they were gone.
Virendra was also feeling sleepy. He had had a long day. His body was still aching, the back of the head once in a while mildly throbbed with pain, but both were tolerable. He had taken the medicine; it would do its job. Virendra again put his feet on the table. He looked up. On a high branch of the eucalyptus tree on the road he saw the silhouette of a comet's tail. It probably was the resident peacock's plume. A meteor streaked through the sky. Virendra did not wish anything. What could he have wished anyway? Somewhere at a distance a brainfever bird was calling incessantly. Probably it would call through the night. Virendra was looking at the front part of the sky, and was feeling drowsy. He remained that way for a long time, he did not realise that he fell asleep in between and then woke up. He did not have clear thoughts any more, his primary feeling was of sleep coming to his eyes and then receding, like gentle undulating waves.
At the dead of night he got up. He felt that he must go indoors and sleep. The celestial sphere had rotated some more by then. Mars had set, the question mark of the Great Bear was now upside down. The Milky Way with its billion stars was up. He took first the table and then the chair inside. He closed the porch door, switched off the light of the front room, then of the main entrance. He entered the large room. Parvati had already made the bed. He went and turned the light off. In the darkness he approached the bed, sat down, and then stretched himself. The room was dark, outside it was dark, through the western window a rectangle of the dark sky was visible. Through his sleepy eyes he could count there five stars; he wanted to try to recognise them but he could not, his eyes closed slowly.
EIGHT
THE LATE AFTERNOON SKY WAS STILL WELL LIT, WITH THE western horizon changing colour from blue to pink to orange. But Virendra was not noticing any of that; he was somewhat unmindfully watching the southern horizon while sitting on a slab of stone under a young golmohur tree. The place was just south of the mango grove Pavarika. The southern sky was still plain blue, little touched by the waves of colours in the west. His gaze was fixed on the few small stationary waves of mountains in the distant horizon. He was holding a small dry twig in his right hand; once in a while he would look down and apparently concentrate on it; between his thumb and the forefinger he would slowly twirl it a few times in one direction then in the other, and watch the fork generate paraboloids in space. He was pensive. In front of him, as far as he could see, there was nothing else but nature, but from somewhere there were occasional sounds indicative of human activity nearby.
He had done his daily work dutifully; nothing had been left for tomorrow. He could not say that he executed them with enthusiasm, but that part was not within his control. He now wanted some detachment from his duties, and he had chosen a lonely spot for the purpose. He had no record of the time he had already been sitting there, but it could have been close to an hour. In his mind he had decided that he would sit there until it became dark, and then get up and join the others for the evening activities.
Suddenly, while he had his head down and was in the middle of executing a twirl, he noticed the appearance of a long shadow of a human figure on the ground in front of him. It came slowly from the right, and stopped in front of him. He was quite unprepared for any visitor in that seclusion, so he was taken by surprise. He followed the shadow to the right and looked up to find the silhouette of a tall man wearing a monk's robe. Even in the silhouette he could immediately recognise him to be his teacher Jnanadeva. Virendra did not have time to think anything further; he spontaneously rose to his feet and bowed his head.
'I was taking a walk in the West Court. From a distance I saw you sitting here; I thought I would come and see you,' Jnanadeva said slowly and gently.
Virendra bowed again but did not say anything. He stood there lowering his head.
'Vidushaka, I have been watching you for several weeks. Despite the excitement in the air, you have been unusually grave and serious; it seems you are almost in agony. It appears that something is seriously disturbing you, but for some reason, you are not expressing it. So I thought I would speak to you when you were alone.'
Virendra listened to Jnanadeva, but he could not first understand why he was addressing him as Vidushaka. He remained quiet for a while as he pondered over this, then realised that surely it was all right. Vidushaka was, after all, his name. He then thought about the sentiment Jnanadeva had just expressed, and had a mixed feeling; he felt uneasy that someone else had detected his inner thoughts, yet at the same time he felt pleased that at least someone was concerned about his unhappiness. He still did not look up; with bowed head he said politely, 'You are very considerate.'
Jnanadeva listened to Vidushaka attentively. When he was through, Jnanadeva waited for a while and said, 'Shall we sit here?'
'Whatever you say,' Vidushaka said.
They both sat down on the stone slab; Vidushaka waited until Jnanadeva sat down, then he also sat down. Vidushaka sat on the left and Jnanadeva on the right. Vidushaka lowered his look to the ground; Jnanadeva first looked straight at the distant horizon where the sky met the string of mountains, scanned the horizon to the left, then all the way
to the right, and then he looked down at the ground just in front of him. He looked up straight again. Addressing Vidushaka indirectly he said, 'The Emperor Asoka's recent visit here is of great significance to the future of our Vihara.' Jnanadeva probably expected that Vidushaka would say something, picking up the thread of his comment. But he did not say anything; he remained silent and continued looking at the ground.
Jnanadeva continued, 'The incident was momentous. How rarely does an emperor take such an active interest in visiting a university and a monastery! Such a mighty ruler of the entire subcontinent submitting humbly to scholarship. It is a matter of great joy and much hope. I can foresee that with his generous assistance the university will grow to much prosperity. Large numbers of scholars will come from all over the world. Much knowledge will be in the ambience, and it will be a matter of great satisfaction to all of us who are at this formative stage of this university. It has found the firmament; it will now continue to enlighten the world community of scholars forever. It is a time for quiet rejoicing; it is also a time for dedicating oneself with greater responsibility to this cause.'
Vidushaka still did not answer. Jnanadeva remained silent for a while, waiting in case Vidushaka responded, but there was no sign of that. It occurred to Jnanadeva that Vidushaka would not volunteer any comment, unless directly urged to do so. He changed the mode of his initiative.
'You are quiet. Do you disagree with me?' Jnanadeva asked.
Vidushaka did not find a way to remain quiet any longer. He said politely, 'Not entirely.' But he still did not raise his head.
'Where exactly do you find that you cannot agree with me?'