Room in our Hearts and Other Stories

by K L Chowdhury

  ‘But we are not causing them any harm, are we? There must be some other reason.’

  ‘No, we are not causing them harm. Nor should we fear them. Nor assign any meaning to their occasional appearance. Just leave them alone. Maybe worship them like you did last time,’ he said teasingly.

  They laughed; the tension eased. But Mrs Sharma was not prepared to accept that the snake confronted them twice without there being some meaning to it.

  The intervening two weeks saw them busy with the onerous task of winding down from one home to move into another. Dr Sharma got in touch with a lawyer to check the legal aspects of both the deals. His wife packed most of the clothes into suitcases, and he shoved his books and journals into two trunks. The movers would pack the bedding, matting, carpets and other furnishings a couple of days before moving. They informed Shyam Lal Raina about the imminent sale of their house that would enable them to make him a down payment after which they would like to move into his house without any delay. He readily agreed, glad that the wait was over sooner than the stipulated four months.

  The date for the sale of the Roop Nagar house was fixed in consultation with Raj Chopra, the buyer. On the eve of the transfer, the lawyer came over to give final touches to the sale deed and asked the parties to reach the law courts early. After he left, the Sharmas seemed unusually thoughtful, now that the whole process was reaching a climax. Though they did not express it in many words, they felt sad to be moving in a few days. But the die was cast and all they could do was console each other that partings are always poignant, be it of a loved one or a cherished home.

  In a bid to lift their spirits, the best place to go to was the temple. Dr Sharma hadn’t been there in a long while. He thought he owed an explanation to Aap Shambu for quitting the place, which seemed like desertion by a devotee. This would be their last visit together to the temple from their Roop Nagar home. It was already past the aarti time, and the temple would be quiet; they would have the sole audience of the lord.

  It had been a hot evening, but a cool breeze started blowing just then. The sun was setting fast in the west. There was hardly anyone on the street except the last of the temple regulars hurrying home. A koel sang a soulful note. Bulbuls chirped and flitted fiercely from one tree to another in the final gambol before retiring to their night perches.

  It was a refreshing walk to this temple, which has an interesting legend woven around it: In ancient times, a cowherd who let his cow free to graze in the dense woods found her udders empty every time she returned home. One day, he followed her and found his cow spraying milk from her udders onto a large oval stone. He believed that the stone had cast a spell on his cow. He brought his heavy axe down in anger on the stone. The stone cracked. Blood oozed from it. The cowherd instantly lost the function of his right arm. Ever since, the stone is worshipped as the lingam of Aap Shambu.

  Inside the temple, the Sharma couple sat in front of Aap Shambu, decked in floral wreaths, earthen lamps lit in a circle on the low rim of stones around the lingam, gentle fragrance rising from incense sticks. A soothing silence reigned. They sat near the lingam, touched it with their fingers and carried the touch to their eyelids, feeling blessed. They closed their eyes in meditation for a while and circumambulated the lingam before walking up the 10 steps to the sanctum sanctorum of mother Durga, to whom they paid their obeisance, and then to all the enclosures of the deities in the walls of the temple, bowing in front of each.

  It was a soulful experience. Retreating reverentially backwards a few steps to say adieu to Aap Shambu, they turned towards the side gate where they had left their shoes. Right there, almost blocking their path, they were stunned to see a cobra, coiled on the floor, the neck straight and up, the hood open. They didn’t move, didn’t speak a word and just stood there, holding hands. The snake stood its ground, mesmerising them. It seemed like a long silent conversation between them and the reptile.

  ‘Are you thinking what I am thinking?’ Mrs Sharma asked her husband.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That the Nagraj really wants to speak with us.’

  ‘I agree with you, finally. I, too, believe it wants to convey something important.’

  ‘What could it be?’

  ‘Only Aap Shambu knows,’ he replied and turned to the cobra with his palms joined in reverence. ‘What are you trying to convey, Nagraj?’

  The snake flicked its tongue a couple of times.

  It was Mrs Sharma’s turn to ask, ‘Please, dear Nagraj, let us pass.’

  The snake flicked its tongue again.

  ‘He speaks through his tongue. There must be a meaning to it. Let us go back in and ask the priest,’ he suggested.

  ‘Let’s.’

  Dwarika Nath Shastri, the priest, was surprised to see them back again. ‘Have you left anything behind?’ he asked.

  ‘We came to seek your guidance, Shastri Ji.’

  Dr Sharma recounted the details of the three cobra sightings. ‘What could be the reason, Shastri Ji, what could it mean?’ he asked like a child seeking answers from a teacher.

  The priest gave it some thought. ‘Frankly, I can’t think of any reason. I don’t even know if it means anything to sight a snake hereabouts.’

  They were dismayed but persisted with their query.

  ‘A snake materialising three times, is that not extraordinary?’ Dr Sharma asked.

  ‘Is there anything on your minds?’

  ‘Not really, but we are in the process of selling our house and moving to a different locality across the Tawi. We have been busy for quite some time negotiating these deals. It has been stressful. We possibly are somewhat high-strung as a result,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Why should you leave? People would give anything to own a house here.’

  Dr Sharma explained the circumstances.

  ‘One would normally not think too much about sighting a snake now and then. But it appears there might be a meaning to the manner your path has been almost blocked, as you explain, at three different places.’

  ‘When I recall, the cobra waylaid us—sorry for the expression—every time we took a step in firming up either the purchase of a different house or the sale of our own.’

  ‘It does seem providential. I feel Aap Shambu does not want you to leave Roop Nagar,’ the priest declared.

  ‘But, it is the Nagraj…?’

  ‘Come on, you know Aap Shambu is Lord Shiva’s manifestation. The Lord wears Nagraj all the time around his neck. Don’t you see the connection?’

  ‘But the sale deals have been drafted. There is no going back.’

  ‘When are you going for the legal formalities?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Why don’t you think it over; change your mind?’

  ‘It will be wrong to go back on my commitments with two persons. We have paid an advance for the house we are moving into, and the buyer of our house is making the down payment tomorrow.’

  ‘You can offer your apologies and call off the deals.’

  ‘We will forfeit the advance we paid for the house we are moving into if we back out.’

  ‘Nothing is more important than your peace of mind.’

  The Sharmas looked at each other in confusion.

  ‘The Lord’s ways are strange. He has a solution for all the problems. Go home and relax. Think about it carefully. We don’t want you to leave; Aap Shambu will miss you.’

  ‘Thank you, Shastri Ji.’

  ‘You have my blessings. May Aap Shambu guide you!’

  The priest walked them to the gate. The cobra was gone. They put on their shoes and started walking home. Night was fast descending. The west was sprayed with a fading crimson; a full moon was rising on a clear sky in the east. The stars appeared so low you could pluck them with your hand. Roop Nagar looked lovely and peaceful. They walked in silence, overwhelmed by the scene.

  They had dinner and went to bed without any more discussion. It was a night of strange dreams, but they
both woke up fresh and in an unusually cheerful mood.

  ‘We are not going to sell this house,’ Dr Sharma, pulling his wife near, whispered gently in her ear while they were still in bed.

  ‘We are not going to move from here at any cost!’ she echoed tunefully and threw her arms around him in a way she had not done in months. They were in complete unison, having made up their minds without exchanging any thoughts after coming out of the temple the previous evening.

  ‘That is right; we aren’t moving. I have thought over it. In a year’s time, I am going to wind up the trans-Tawi lab, and upgrade the lab here in Roop Nagar. It is providential that I still retain the lease.’

  There was excitement in their hearts as if they had found a lost treasure. In a sudden flurry of activity, Mrs Sharma started unpacking and Dr Sharma phoned his lawyer, advising him to cancel the deal. He phoned Raj Chopra informing him of his decision, and apologised for having raised his expectations. He phoned Shyam Lal Raina to tell him that he would not buy his house.

  Mr Raina was aghast. ‘You are backing out, Dr Sharma?’

  ‘I am sorry, but I can’t help it.’

  ‘In that case, I am afraid, you forfeit the advance.’

  ‘I don’t mind; nor will I hold it against you.’

  ‘I thought you liked my house. Why did you change your mind?’

  ‘Yes, I liked it, but I am in no position to sell my own house at Roop Nagar.’

  ‘I am in no hurry; I can wait until you get a buyer for your house. Besides, you may pay me in easy instalments,’ Shyam Lal Raina offered.

  ‘That is not the problem, Mr Raina. In fact, I had a person ready to put a down payment on my house.’

  ‘Then what is the hitch?’

  ‘The Nagraj.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t get you.’

  ‘The Nagraj doesn’t wish me to sell my house.’

  ‘Pray who is the Nagraj?’

  ‘The cobra.’

  This was mystifying. Had the doctor gone nuts? Shyam Lal Raina had a fascination for the strange and mysterious. ‘Why don’t you come over and let’s talk?’ he suggested.

  ‘There is no point in talking, for I am not buying your house. But if you insist, I can see you in the evening after I am done for the day at my lab. I owe you an apology.’

  ‘I will wait for you.’

  Shyam Lal Raina was deeply impressed to hear the extraordinary tale. He was a person of strong religious convictions. The death of his wife had shattered him but not shaken his faith in Shiva or his belief in supernatural phenomena. She had died of a strange illness that no one had been able to diagnose till the very end. Dr Sharma’s story got him thinking. His wife had worked hard to help him build the house. He could feel her touch in each corridor, each room, each veranda. She would have never liked him to sell the house without having moved in even for a day. They had dreamed of spending their old age in the house; should he not spend it there as long as he could, to cherish her memory? He was 65 and in good health. What was the urgency to move to the USA while he was capable of taking care of himself for many more years? How would he spend his days in a foreign land without her? He had met couples his age that had joined their children abroad; they had felt lonely and depressed, starved of cultural and social interface. Jammu was full of fellow Kashmiri refugees. There was not a day without some excitement—a festival, a community event, a wedding. In fact, there was never a dull day here. If Dr Sharma found meaning in the visitations of the snake, could there be a meaning in this story for him as well? All things and events being inter-connected in the cosmos, it may be that providence had thrown him with the doctor only to alter his decision to sell the house and emigrate. It had taken him 14 years after his migration from Kashmir to feel at home in Jammu. How long would it take in a foreign country?

  Finding him pensive, Dr Sharma asked, ‘What are you thinking, Mr Raina?’

  ‘I am thinking why providence made us meet.’

  ‘One meets people in life for one reason or other.’

  ‘But each of these meetings has a definite purpose.’

  ‘There was a purpose in our meeting, but only for some time. It is lost after I decided not to buy your house,’ the doctor tried to make it simple.

  ‘It was for a different purpose than what you think, Dr Sharma,’ Shyam Lal Raina replied. ‘And I don’t think it will be lost on you.’

  ‘No, it is not lost on me. I realise that I will lose the advance I paid you, if that is what you mean.’

  ‘I am sorry you miss my point completely.’

  The doctor was amused; his host was talking in riddles. ‘And what may that be, Mr Raina?’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asked, dodging the question.

  ‘Thank you, but I must be going now. He stood up to leave.

  ‘Can you please wait a minute? I won’t be long.’ Mr Raina rushed into his bedroom.

  What had this man to say to him now, Dr Sharma wondered. He was getting impatient. His wife would be waiting.There was a lot of unpacking to do to bring order to the house again.

  Mr Raina appeared in no time. He placed an envelope in the doctor’s hands and said, ‘Thank you, Dr Sharma. It was good of you to come.’

  ‘What is it, Mr. Raina?’

  ‘I would like you to open it on reaching your home.’

  Dr Sharma was astonished. He had an intense impulse to stop the car and open the envelope, but the traffic was wild, and he was keen to drive home quickly and relax again like the old times, without having to worry about the sale and purchase that had consumed the past three months and thrown his life out of gear. Reaching home, he found his wife waiting. She had unpacked most of the packages and put everything back in place. It felt like old times again. He changed into easy wear while she made him a cup of tea. As he started sipping, he was reminded of the envelope in his pocket. He tossed it over to her.

  She was surprised. There was a cheque for ₹40,000 and a note that read: Thank you, Dr Sharma, for not buying my house. Enjoy living in your own. Isn’t that what the Nagraj wishes?

  NOTES

  Nagraj – king of snakes

  lingam – symbol of Shiva

  darshan – audience

  koel – cuckoo

  THE NADIMARG SURVIVOR

  Satish Bhat was 41, sparsely built, about five foot six. He had come to see me for the second time in six months.

  ‘How have you been doing, Satish?’ I asked him after he sat in the chair and placed his file on my table. I had prescribed him anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications on his previous visit.

  ‘Thank you, sir, for your advice. I felt fine while I was on the medications you prescribed, but when I stopped, the panic episodes came back with greater intensity than before.’

  ‘Why did you stop?’ I asked.

  ‘I stopped in the belief that I was cured, but episodes of tremor, palpitations and suffocation returned. I am back on the medications and feel a lot better again. I hope I don’t have to take these drugs all my life. That is my worry now.’

  ‘I don’t think so. But a rebound often occurs in such situations if the treatment is stopped suddenly,’ I explained. ‘Is there anything that triggers your problem?’

  He hesitated briefly and replied rather uncertainly, ‘No sir, nothing that I can think of.’

  ‘Any domestic problems, job worries or unpleasant thoughts?’

  ‘You see, sir, this is my second marriage.’

  ‘So? Has the marriage not worked?’

  ‘On the contrary, I am quite happy with Neena. She is a good wife, so good that the fear of losing her the way I lost my first wife consumes me day and night.’

  His words were tinged with sadness.

  ‘What happened to your first wife?’

  ‘She was killed.’

  When he spoke those words, he turned pale, his hands moved up his chest and he held his breath. He sweated profusely and it seemed he was about to faint.

  I help
ed him lie down on the examination couch. Nurse Kiran offered him a glass of water which he took in slow sips and gulps, as if he would choke if he drank it any faster. I gave him an anti-anxiety pill to calm him down.

  It took him some time to recover. I did not think it made sense to press him for more details. I reassured him, asked him to continue the medication and see me in a couple of weeks.

  When Satish saw me again, he was in much better shape. This time he was ready to tell me more about what was going on in his life.

  ‘Well, go on, tell me all,’ I encouraged him as he continued with his story where he had left off the last time.

  ‘Sir, last time you asked me if there was something that triggered my attacks. I am sorry I have been hesitant to open up because the memory of that calamity revives haunting images and brings on the distressing spells. I try to push back the images into the innermost depths of my mind but they return and follow me like phantoms...’

  ‘Go on; tell me only if you feel up to it,’ I said, comforting him.

  He remained silent for a while, as if trying to muster courage to speak. Then he suddenly asked, ‘Sir, have you heard of Nadimarg?’

  A current snaked down my spine on hearing that name. It brought back the horror of the Nadimarg massacre. I remembered the date quite well—23 March 2003. On that night, terrorists had gunned down 24 Kashmiri Pandits in Nadimarg. The full details of that tragic night were still shrouded in mystery.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ I inquired.

  ‘I was born and brought up in Nadimarg,’ he said with a deep sigh.

  Nadimarg was a little-known hamlet in Anantnag, nearly 50 kilometres from Srinagar until the day it surfaced on the terror map of Kashmir. It seemed Satish had something to tell me about that tragedy.

  ‘Did you happen to be there on that horrible night?’ I asked.

  ‘I was there. Five members of my family were done to death.’ His voice choked; his right eye twitched briefly.

  ‘That must have been terrible. How did you escape? Were you not home?’