And now when this man arrived half-dead, I ran for the village doctor immediately. I had to save him, fate had given me the opportunity to square my debt. But it’s an isolated village, you see. The nearest what we had for a doctor was an old man in his late sixties. He didn’t have a formal degree but knew his tricks of the trade fairly well. The old man had a daughter who was studying medicine. She was studying in a medical college in Shimla and was visiting his father for winter holidays. I quickly explained them the situation, even a medical illiterate like me could tell it was a case of hypothermia – but how serious, it was for the experts to find out.
As a basic precaution I had already changed his cloths and wrapped him with thick blankets. The young daughter announced that we had to take him to the city hospital. But considering that it was snowing heavily and we were practically cut-off from the rest of the world, we had no choice but to take care of him till the morning. We knew what we had to do, our job was simple – we had to keep him alive through the night. The old man took some herbs out of his shaggy shoulder bag, and started to mix them to make a potion. The girl was sitting by the man’s side, studying his face. Perhaps she was trying to determine how much life the man still had. After a moment she took his hands, clasped them and started rubbing them between her hands. Was it a standard medical procedure or was she just trying to warm him so that we could wake him up?
Meanwhile, I thought I could find something about him so that we could at least contact his family later. His backpack was unusually light for a man who was hiking in the Himalayas in the cold unforgiving night of December. The bag contained four objects, yes only four objects:
1) A 500 ml water bottle.
2) A detailed hiking map of himachal.
3) A dead torch
4) A thick sheet of paper bound together
There was no ID, no permits, absolutely no way to identify who he was. The only piece of paper he had were these loosely bound sheets, he didn’t even have money with him. It made me wonder what his real intention was, was he lost just as I got once? Or was it pre-determined, he pushed himself to the extreme so that he could meet death eye to eye. The thought disturbed me.
I ruffled the sheets, and there wasn’t anything in between as well. So, I kept it away on the wooden table just next to the David Copperfield and sat down on the chair watching the duo. It was interesting to see how the father, a non-traditional practitioner, was instructing his daughter, a student of western medicine. They were doing what they could with their limited resources. Then as if it suddenly flashed on me, I got up from my chair and picked up the bundle of sheets. I carefully observed it, it was a manuscript!
I am a writer myself or you can say I used to be one. I wrote a book anonymously and got nothing but anonymity. I quit my cushy day job to pursue full time writing but to speak the truth nothing much came out of it. I hit rock bottom and gave up everything and settled here in the remotest part of the country – trying to find inspiration. And now I had a script lying on my hands and I begin to wonder, “What if?”
I poured a drink for myself and sat down on the rocking chair by the fire. With great interest I opened it, the manuscript bore no title, and neither there was a name next to the author’s column. I refilled my glass and settled down. The night was long and a life hung in the balance. I took a deep sigh and I began to read.
Chapter 1: A feast in Pune
We were somewhere towards the end of the monsoon and it was drizzling, the rain drop fell on the ground and a petrichor rose filling the air around us. Despite the Delhi traffic I had managed to reach Lodhi Road in time. And since I had enough time I allowed myself to engage in one last pleasure.
“A smoke please” I said to the man sitting tight in the small box shaped shop. He stared at me for a good half a minute, before handing me one. He didn’t ask me which one I preferred, neither did I instruct him. To tell you the truth I never had a favorite - I had never been a regular smoker. Any brand was okay with me as long it tasted like burnt ash in my mouth and filled my lungs with balloons of smoke. I smoked only to calm my nerves. The feeling of something worse inside me always took away my fears and put me at ease. With each drag of the cigarette I knew I was dying, what could be worse then, huh?
To say that I was feeling nervous would be an understatement – I felt terrible, perhaps worse. It was a big day for me. I had an interview in few hours with one of the most prestigious IT firms in the whole country. An organization where I only dreamt to work, it was an opportunity I had been waiting all along. But it was an anticipation of the unknown and a fear of success that worried me.
The drizzle had now turned into rain, the sweet smell of earth had disappeared. I ran to my left to take shelter under the tree near me. I was taking long drag and watching the world go by. The traffic didn’t seem to stop, everybody was going somewhere. It didn’t matter if that somewhere was or wasn’t worth going to.
“One Gold Flake” A voice appeared, breaking the chain of my thoughts. It was soft, and it was carefree. I got curious; it was a woman’s voice. “Sorry” the shopkeeper said, “I gave the last one to sir” He said shaking his head toward me.
“Oh! shit” She said irritated. I wondered, what bothered her? Was it just a smoke or was it something else?
With short strides she paced toward me, she wore a heel – not too high though. I was standing with my back against the tree. I jerked my torso slightly. Was she really coming for me or was she just looking for a shelter.
She felt no discomfort as the rain drenched her. The short walk felt like a long track. She appeared to me in slow motions, she leapt in the air, her hand rose to cover her head with the book she was carrying. One end of her yellow chunni fluttered in the monsoon wind, and her bare skin flashed looking out of the wet, plain white kameez.
I was so lost in my study that I failed to recognize that she was not standing just opposite to me. She had her straight black hair tied back neatly, with a few strands which revolted and decided to flow across her cheeks. Her eyes gazed sharply at me. She appeared very simple and yet there was an air about her; something that you could only feel, only if you were there.
“Do you mind sharing?” She asked. I looked up at her spellbound, and she asked again, “Hey, could I bum your cigarette?”
I couldn’t say no. I looked at her and smiled with all the sincerity in the world. I figured she had an emergency of some sort and this was her fix. We all have a quick fix that we need time to time to get over that moment of personal challenge.
I took a long puff and handed the cigarette over to her, my gaze followed her as she took the cigarette and pursed it between her lips. She took a quick first one and then when she went deep, she coughed slightly. She stole a glance at me, and a smirk floated on my face, perhaps she was just as accustomed as I was with the vice.
“So, what are you upto?” She asked me forcing down her cough.
I had a good look at her, and thought she was speaking to me. She had a thin body with just enough traces of fat at the right places, her face was small and round - kind of a perfect oval to be precise – and a glow emanated from her face each time she spoke. Her dark brown eyes were not too big and not too small, her nose was long and smooth, her mouth was small and her lips worn a light brown shade. Her cheeks were flat, there were no dimples. She was tall, I mean a really good height - 5’10’’ perhaps, heels not including.
I just kept on staring at her, at the risk of being creepy. What could have I done? She was maddeningly beautiful. She was the first thought you had when you hit pubescent. She was the first woman that came in mind when an artist held his brush. She was the first note you imagined when before you laid down your fingers on a piano. She was someone you wished you never met, and she was someone you’d never let go - neither in the flesh, nor in the spirit. She was someone you’d happily go through a lifetime of damnation for. But what I didn’t know then was that all my whishes and all my nightmares were going to be true. And now
when I have seen it all, I’d happily bear the burden of the cross, that she brought, again and again and again…
“Hello?” She said snapping her fingers, “I am talking to you…”
#
A jolt shook me out of my slumber, the train stopped suddenly. I had slept for the most part of the journey and a strange dreamless sleep enveloped me. I felt I saw thoughts - some of my own, some of people I knew - floating over my resting body. It was as if I was under a spell - a window to a collective consciousness.
“What’s going on?” I heard somebody ask, but I felt too lazy to look down from my berth. I decided to continue shut-eye until I reached my destination. It was around ten thirty in the night when the train reached the station, people were hurrying to get down even though it was the last station, I sat there on my berth for a long-long time before I got out, I wanted to be sure that this is what I had wanted.
The reigning confusion at the station reminded me of Delhi. A spate of people sleeping on the bare, dirt ridden floor yet another set of people sitting on the metal benches tightly glued to their seat fearing someone will come and take their place if they get up, and hawkers - from paperboy to chaiwala - shouting their guts out trying to get by through one more day of the miserable existence. Still, this confusion outside was nothing compared to the confusion inside my head, here I was in a completely new and estrange city, to start afresh, to get onto a new journey with a want to do something, but without a clue what that something was.
Now that I had arrived in Pune I could not shake off the memories of Vizag, the time I had there – painful yet fun-filled with friends it gets easier, Sharma and I were quite a team – we didn’t try to be perfect, no pretension, we were just who we were. Then I remembered my manager and the sweetness turned into sourness. He was the biggest reason I took the decision to get away.
With only a sack and a handbag I stepped out of the coach and onto an unfamiliar territory, my eyes sought a familiar face, my old pal Sanju. I wondered how I would recognize him in this crowd when I haven't seen him for quite a while. My cell phone was dead, there was no way I could reach him, I had to rely on sketchy picture that I had in mind, I tried to remember how he looked back then and tried to extrapolate how he would look now after adding five years to it.
It was not long before I spotted someone, there he was or was it someone else, my eyes followed a guy in a black, collared tee shirt, and a loose jeans, he was coming towards me cutting through the crowd with a brisk walk, a broad smiled flashed across his face as he saw me, his arms opened in a warm embrace, a gesture to welcome me, it was definitely him, Pune here I come! Without saying a word, and without giving me a chance to speak, he took me in his bear grip, he hugged me tightly, he was Sanju indeed, the guy was thinly framed, but his arms were definitely strong. He wrapped me with those arms, like a snake coils its prey, I wondered if he would let me go.
“You look great”, he said to me. How did he recognize me among so many people? I complimented him the same, although I couldn't help but notice, the big difference in Sanju now and Sanju then, his hair was gone, his head had vegetation even sparser than the great desert of Thar. And perhaps it was the secret behind his new found coolness.
I was supposed to go the Recreation and Entertainment Center (REC), the bread and breakfast facility by the company, but when I told Sanju that I was coming to the city he insisted that I stay at his place instead. He wanted to make up for the goof up of last time, when in Mysore he couldn’t attend me, probably he felt little guilty about it.
Sanju had a big family, two sisters and two brothers, quite uncommon in an Indian atomic family of these days. Sanju called an auto, me with my two bags followed him. "Wanowrie" He said to the auto-walla, and after a bit of negotiation the deal was finalized in forty rupees, I imagined the place was close-by.
The road was hell bumpy, and the auto was shaking so bad that it felt as if I was put into a giant washing machine. “Stop it” I must have yelled at least thousand times in my mind. But as our journey continued and I got used to the hammering, the calm river of my thoughts began to meander again. I wondered how much they all would have changed by now, I wondered how much Sanju had changed in all these years. I felt little nervous at the prospect of meeting his family, would they or would they not accept me? Their father had a private job at pharma company, they moved quite early to the city and so had a house for them instead of living in an apartment. The house looked quite big actually, three bedrooms and a large kitchen, it was a dream of every middle class family. Her older sister was there, she was watching a movie on the computer with her headphones on. The other three - two brother and a sister - were playing cricket outside, the much younger brother complained how Sanju left soon after taking his batting. He was still the same guy, I couldn’t help conclude.
I was exhausted by my travel in the second class, it was the middle of summer very hot and humid. Despite the tiredness I still had some energy left, for Sanju, after the food we talked as we lied on the hard wooden bed with a thin mattress. We reminisced about old times, about old friends, about old places, and about old flames that formed our childhood memories. We talked about the standard who was doing what, some were there, and some were reaching there while some were completely lost. I wondered where I’d figure in all this?
I put on the music on my old Nokia phone, Beatles was playing my favorite song – Imagine. I felt a certain chill every time I played this song and that's why I only listened to it at very special, very particular moments. And this was a special moment, I had so much to look forward to.
Our conversation drifted from shore to shore, he told me that he had been planning to start a social entrepreneurship. I too had ideas in my head but they were bit different, I told him that I was thinking about writing a book. He asked me if I was really serious.
“Yes, I am very serious” I replied.
“What are you writing about?” He asked.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” I asked back.
“Why would that be a rhetorical question if you are writing, ain’t you? He replied.
I nodded.
“Then you must have a story” He said.
“Story!” I said to myself, I had none. Truth was I had ideas but I couldn’t conjure something solid, what I was looking for was perfection, I didn’t want to write another Romeo or Juliet, or inspector Space Time or a detective with drinking problems, I wanted to write something entirely new, something that has never been written before, something that has never been thought before.
Our conversation then drifted, we talked about this girl, she was a girl from our high school, pretty she was, her name was Charu. I remember how bad he felt, when he had to leave the school, young love, they were still getting to know each other at that time. He told me he hadn't forgotten her a bit, he still remembers her smile though her braced teeth, her big brown eyes behind her spectacles. Love that never was, would I be able to reconcile mine?
We laughed as we reminisced why he has to leave school in the first place, he was involved in a gang fight, he was not a leader and all but more like was swept away in the wave. During those days our school was being increasingly divided into gangs or nations as they use to call them. Everybody had to be in one, it was something you couldn’t escape, it was other thing though that some took it seriously and some didn’t.
Infact that girl Charu was the very epicenter of the ruffle, she had a problem with a guy from other school; after school while going home this guy would often tease her, first she took it more like a compliment, she had not had such attention in the past. One fine day – Raghu one of the guy from Thieves of Baghdad nation, the same one that Raghu belonged spotted it, he came to her rescue but was beaten black and blue later by that that Romeo’s nation. All that spiraled into a big theft in that Romeo’s house, police came in and all, Raghu was suspended from school, at that time Raghu’s sister was a senior, she called in for help – and this guy, my friend, what was his
name, Jaat, he was quite smitten by her, he made it a personal mission and confronted the romeo nation, result – blood bath, Jaat’s blood mostly. Charu couldn’t stand anymore and she attempted a suicide or so everybody thought when she embraced poison, it was only later found out she fancied a wild mushroom. I always had a feeling she was just a drama queen. Anyway, somebody spread a rumor that the dying girl was calling for Sanju. Though I am sure she was trying to convey something else, perhaps the deadly mushroom species that she had for tea. And that’s how the young blood Sanju got all wrapped up.
“What do you think? Did she ever like me?” He asked.
I did not have any answer, but I replied affirmatively.
“Yes, she did, that look in her eyes, didn’t you see that? That couldn’t be but love”
I thought that would perhaps make him happier, but I was wrong he grew even more anxious - one thing that you knew was yours and yet you couldn’t have it. Nothing more frustrating than that! He told me that he couldn’t contact her, the telephone number was changed and he lost her forever. I blinked in a silence approval, as if I shared his grief. Truth be told, I had her number, but I had decided to keep it with me. I couldn’t understand myself why I didn’t want to give him – but it was just as it was – plain raw truth.
That night I had a dreamless sleep or at least I couldn’t remember it when I got up, it was important as I was about to begin on a journey both new and significant. I had to get up quite early to catch the morning office bus, it was still six o’clock when I got off the bed. Queuing for the bathroom, brushing my teeth at the sink, waiting at the breakfast table - I felt kinda like a zombie going through the motions.
Sanju’s brother was watching me intently as I stood in front of the mirror trying to put on my contacts; he didn't ask me anything but had a puzzling expression on his face as if he had seen a man-boob.
The Lost One: Story of the One who ends it all (Shiva the Destroyer Book 1) Page 11