The Soul of Truth

by Shaji Madathil

  For a few more days, I have these nights.

  The nights are alluring. I appreciate her even more now. Many lives depend on the night. Myriad flowers bloom just in the night! A poet has written that the silent nights give God time to think. He must be right. This silence is essential. The days are too noisy to let anyone think. If humans took the time to think, we might have realised the purposelessness of rushing through this precious life.

  The birds in the trees make rustling sounds. Migrating birds. Flying from one end of the earth to the other. How do such fragile beings with such tiny brains execute this tremendous feat? They have leaders. They also have weaklings who fall by the wayside. The rest keep flying with not a backward glance.

  The life of an expat worker is like that of a migrant bird. In pursuit of dreams—for an oasis in the desert. For prosperity in lives. Some win. Most lose. Did I win or lose?

  The rain falls hard, washing away the night.

  The Eighteenth Night

  Naanu uncle and Sreedevi aunty left this evening. But the house is all lit up and looks busy. The accountant from my company in Bahrain arrived this afternoon. He and Robin are inside discussing the financial settlement. My life is being valued in human currency.

  Radhika and Oppol are standing by, listening silently. It is good that Robin is here. Radhika wouldn’t have been able to grasp the fine points of all the confusing information the accountant is imparting. She is very distraught, knowing that it is her husband’s worth that is being discussed. She keeps glancing out of the window towards my grave.

  “My Appuetta.” Her love and grief swirls in waves around me.

  Sumathy comes up to the door and glances at Robin. But he is busy with the accounts and doesn’t even look up at her.

  The accountant has already given them the details of the financial settlement. Now, he hands over a sheaf of papers that need Radhika’s signatures to release the funds. He will be returning to Bahrain tomorrow. After assuring them that he will try to expedite the process so that they would receive the funds as soon as possible, probably within the next three months, he gets up to leave with Robin. He would be staying at Robin’s house tonight.

  Robin is a frequent visitor now. He already considers this family his responsibility. That is a big relief to Oppol and Radhika and a cause of pride for Sumathy. Their marriage is unofficially fixed to take place after my first death anniversary. I am very happy for them but can’t help being a little anxious. One year is a long time. People can change. Circumstances can change. History can repeat. What if Robin and Sumathy get separated and end up like Ruby and me? I can’t even imagine such a crisis. No, that won’t happen. Robin is a much better person than I am. He would never abandon Sumathy to a cruel fate.

  Oppol worries about them too. She keeps cautioning Sumathy. “Wait for a year. In the meantime, don’t destroy the honour of the family.” Sumathy knows what she means. Robin does too. I have faith in their maturity. But sometimes, when I see their shadows rippling together behind the plantains under the cover of darkness, I send silent entreaties to all the ancestors to keep them safe, from grief and gossiping tongues.

  So many dreams hinge on that money coming from my company. Sumathy and Robin’s wedding. Oppol’s dream of a good education and life for my two nieces. Radhika’s dream of a bright future for Vishnu.

  Then, there is Deepu. In his grey world of dead dreams, alone. Even in his enforced loneliness, he had lived through me. I was his hero. Now, he must feel so utterly alone.

  Bursts of light!

  They are coming. The keepers of the souls! To judge me and my deeds. In their midst, my body, Uthaman’s body. Whole and unsullied! I feel a sudden urge to repossess it.

  Even while alive, I was fascinated by the mystery of life after death. What is it? How is it? Where is it? I had researched on it as much as I could. Read a lot of books on the subject. There were lots of opinions. Speculations. But no clear answer. A hot topic of debate but no clear winners.

  Once, Manu master and I had discussed this in detail on the banks of the Periyar.

  “Is there life after death?” I had asked.

  Master’s answer took me by surprise. “No, I don’t think there is a life after death.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe that once dead, our body becomes one with the elements of nature. I don’t think that it again forms a cohesive life to enter into another form or being.”

  “But why not?” I was not ready to give up so easily.

  “Appu, my father is dead. So is my sister. And my dear Minu. I believe that all of them have returned to their original elements in this nature. I don’t believe that they still exist as my father or my sister or my daughter.”

  “But master, haven’t you heard the priests conducting the rituals inviting the souls of seven generations to come to the ritual site and accept the offerings?”

  “Appu, do any of us know our ancestors up to seven generations? We know our father and grandfather, and maybe our great-grandfather. Do you really think all these ancestors are waiting in heaven to be invited by their unknown successor so that they can come down to earth and partake of the offering? From heaven? What about from hell? Will they be allowed to leave hell for that? And will they go back to hell after the ceremony? Appu, does any one of us, even the most divine priest, have the power to stop a life from leaving its body? Then, how can we expect to have the power to summon the souls at our will?”

  “So, you think all the thousands of people who take part in the death rituals are fools?”

  Master smiled. An enigmatic smile.

  Is there an afterlife or is there not? I was bewildered.

  Suddenly I remembered something. “Manu master, I saw you and your son performing some rituals on this riverbank two weeks back.”

  “Yes. My son was doing the rites for my daughter.”

  I stared at him, and both of us burst out laughing.

  “Appu, what I believe doesn’t matter. The fact is that I love my daughter like my own life. Once a year, when I offer her food through her little brother, when the priest chants her name for my son to repeat, I feel the presence of my daughter. Whether she actually comes to partake of the offering or whether it is just a stray crow, in my mind, my daughter comes to me, one day every year. And that gives me immense peace.”

  Manu master was trying hard to control his emotions.

  “Yes. Faith and belief-hey make a big difference, master.”

  “It does, Appu. All these beliefs that have been handed down through generations, these are not empty promises. This is the core of our existence, for a peaceful and disciplined life. When we understand them, accept them and shape our lives around them, they give us the energy and the will to live. Gifts from the past, to be enjoyed and passed on to future generations. Even superstitions can give us solace to an extent. However, we should also use our common sense not to fall into the traps set by greedy godmen and women. A faithless mind will be empty. Unless and until it is filled with higher thoughts, there is the danger that it can slip into amoral practices. Isn’t it best to stick with what is known, our age-old practices?”

  He was right. Nobody knows what exactly happens after death since no one has come back from the dead to explain it. Even scientists believe that life is not just contained in the physical body, that the spirit of a man is not destroyed by the death of his body.

  A flower becomes a fruit, a fruit contains the seed which grows into the plant that flowers again. The flower withers, the fruit rots, the plant dies, but the circle of life continues.

  My family is now almost back to normal. How quickly have they adjusted to my absence.

  A rush of memories . . .

  Will I ever forget the sweet face that I had adored since childhood?

  The second day of eighth grade.

  I was the first one to get to class. When I turned around after putting my stuff on the desk, I saw her walking in. For a moment, I stopped breathing.
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br />   She walked to her desk, arranged her bag and books and then turned to me with a slight smile. What a vision she was. Beautiful long hair, let loose and tied at the end with a few sprigs of tulsi. Dark green silk skirt with a thin golden border snaking around her slender ankles. White blouse. A touch of sandalwood paste on her smooth forehead, above the black bindi. A bead necklace circling her elegant neck. And the eyes! Doe eyes made even more attractive with dark kohl. Intense, twinkling eyes.

  She felt my adoring look, and a slight flush spread on her face. But she held my gaze, and I felt numb with unknown emotions.

  “What is your name?” I was startled. She was asking my name! That was her voice. I started sweating profusely.

  “Don’t you have a name?” Now, she was openly laughing.

  “Yes. Uthaman.” I somehow managed to stammer. What is wrong with me?

  Suddenly, she was right in front of me. My God! How did that happen?

  “Was anything taught in class yesterday?”

  Where is my tongue? I just couldn’t say anything. Here is a girl, a girl I have seen only twice in my life but who seems to have been in my dreams forever, asking me a simple question, and I was gasping like a fish out of water.

  “Uthaman…” she sounded slightly concerned.

  “Err…only some notes in English poetry.”

  “Can I borrow them, please? I’ll quickly copy them before the teacher comes in.”

  I fumbled in my bag and finally found the notebook.

  “Nice book.” She commented on my neatly covered new notebook, and opened it.

  “You have a very nice handwriting. My writing is terrible!” She looked at me with laughter in her eyes and added, “But there is a saying that people with good handwriting are cheats.”

  “Ayyo, I will never cheat.” The words tumbled out even before I could think.

  She laughed, like tinkling bangles, and I felt I was floating on a rainbow.

  She suddenly looked concerned. “Hey, I was just joking. Did I hurt you?”

  Hurt? If this was hurt, I would like to be hurt all the time, I felt like confiding in her. But, again my traitorous mouth could form no words. She gave me a smile and walked to her seat to copy the notes.

  I marvelled at this girl. How easily she had walked into my heart and established herself. How could she talk like that when she was meeting me for the first time? I thought all girls were shy. How wrong I was.

  She was busy copying the notes. Meanwhile, a few more students walked into the class. Before the bell went off, she walked over to hand back my book.

  “Thank you.”

  My hand was trembling when I took the book from her. But with a new-found courage, I asked her, “What is your name?”

  “Wow! Finally. I thought you would never ask.” She laughed. “Ruby.”

  Our eyes met and lingered for a moment. I was the first to lower mine. Her eyes were so intense; I couldn’t bear to look into them for more than a few seconds. I felt caught up in myriad unknown emotions again.

  What was this? I had seen girls before. She was not the only girl in this class. Then, why did I have these strange thoughts about her?

  No, I didn’t have answers that day but I was very disturbed throughout. I couldn’t concentrate on the lessons. I deliberately tried not looking at her, but I found my eyes straying again and again. By the afternoon, I was left exhausted. When the bell rang for dismissal, I felt the fear of imminent loss. How could I let her out of my sight?

  When she walked away with her friends, I was absurdly sure that she would turn around and look at me, as I had seen in some films. But she didn’t. I almost felt betrayed. I hoped she would turn back at the bend of the road. She still didn’t. I felt weak with desperation.

  ‘Appu, what is wrong with you? Are you feeling so desperate just because a girl didn’t turn to look at you?’ It was my mind admonishing me. As if it didn’t know! ‘Appu, are you in love?’ Now, my own mind was making fun of me.

  “Yes. Yes! I am in love.” I felt like shouting to the whole world.

  “Yes? What yes, Appu?” It was my friend. I hadn’t realised that I was actually voicing my musings.

  “Nothing,” I muttered in embarrassment, trying hard not to betray my inner turmoil. My friend kept staring at me, looking mildly puzzled.

  From that day on, I always tried to reach school first. But it wasn’t of any use. She never came early enough for the two of us to be alone again.

  I wanted to ask her why she didn’t. I wanted to beg her to please come early so that we could be alone for sometime everyday. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. How could I? What right did

  I have?

  I was living in a dream where I didn’t know where I ended and where she began. Her smile, her eyes, her presence, her voice… I could feel them at all times, awake or asleep.

  With a sweet shock, I realised I was hopelessly in love. That I loved her with all my heart. More than anyone else in this world. More than myself.

  She was my secret. But sometimes I wanted to shout out that secret to the whole world.

  Many times, I was tempted to confess this to my friends. But I knew the dangers. The gossip would spread like wildfire. I would get in trouble; she even more so. And worse, she might never forgive me for sharing my feelings with my friends. I couldn’t risk that.

  We had talked many times, but while she seemed at ease with me, I always felt like an idiot in front of her. Sometimes I couldn’t even answer her properly and that irritated her.

  “Why don’t you say something, Uthaman?” She had asked me many times.

  “Nothing.” I could only stammer. And that would set her off laughing.

  I found it hard that she couldn’t understand my inner struggles whenever she was near. Sometimes, I felt that she knew. I ascribed meanings to her glances, her shy smile when we crossed each other on the corridors, but did she love me as I loved her? I had no idea.

  She was friendly with everyone and was the most popular girl in my class. I knew that many other boys liked her immensely. They competed for her attention but she was not particularly fond of anyone. And that made me happy.

  I realised that, increasingly, I was getting distracted. My days were filled with hopes of a glance from her. My nights were sleepless, and when I slept, my dreams were full of Ruby, only Ruby.

  Even Oppol noticed the change in me. She was concerned and worried that I had quarrelled with my classmates. I had a hard time convincing her that everything was all right at school.

  I decided then. I needed to know how she felt about me. For that, first I had to let her know how I felt about her. Love letter!

  Even the thought of it made me go cold with apprehension. What if she got angry? What if she hated me after that? What if she complained to the teacher? Imagine being called to the principal’s office! Imagine Varghese sir’s disappointed face. What will Achen say? Yes, it could go horribly wrong. But the more I pondered about it, the more I felt that I won’t be able to live without knowing what she truly felt. I had to risk it, come what may.

  I still remember that day so clearly. It was a Wednesday.

  After dinner, I retired to my room and sat down with the biology book. I tore a slip of pink paper from a writing pad, inserted it into the biology book and started writing, one ear alert to anyone walking in.

  My hands were trembling uncontrollably. My throat felt dry. My first love letter!

  Dear Ruby,

  I don’t know how to say this to you. I wish I could have said this openly to you, in person. But you know, whenever I try to speak to you, I get all nervous and tongue-tied. I don’t think I will ever be able to tell you what I want to. That is why I thought of writing this to you.

  Ruby, I love you! I love you very much! I love you the most in this world! I can think only of you. I have never felt this way about anyone before. I don’t think I will ever feel this way about anyone else. I see you in everything. Even when I try to study, I can only see you
r face in the books. Am I going mad, Ruby? If so, my love for you has made me mad. And I love this madness too.

  Do you feel anything like this for me, Ruby? Or am I hoping in vain? Please give me an answer. Not through a letter. Directly. If you are shy to say it out loud, just give me a smile. I will know then. But please, Ruby, don’t say that you don’t like me. I will die.

  Forever yours,

  Uthaman

  P.S: Please tear this letter and throw it away once you have read it.

  Done! I was panting. My throat was parched. I was sweating profusely even on that cool night. I got up and drank a whole jug of water.

  I read the letter a few more times. I almost tore it up. Finally, I folded it in four and kept it safely inside the book. That night I fell asleep hugging the book that held my life.

  The next day, after lunch, when Ruby came into the class, I asked her for her biology notebook. “Just for a minute. I want to clear a doubt.”

  “Uthaman has doubts!” she laughed and handed me her book.

  I pretended to look through it, quickly inserted the letter in the middle and gave it back to her. I hoped against hope that she wouldn’t notice that my hand was shaking.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my lessons that day.

  The next day, she came into school earlier than usual. But my classmates were already there in the room. I slowly turned to look at her. She was looking at me! Is she angry? I couldn’t decipher her steady gaze. I gave her a shaky smile. And she smiled back! Like all the flowers dancing in the spring sunlight! My heart gave a whoop. Yes! She loves me. I felt as if the whole world was bright and beautiful.

  After that day, we became close. We were careful not to let others notice our special friendship but whenever we could, we talked and walked together, and in between exchanged glances and smiles.

  Love! Is there anything more precious than that? Even today, memories of that love glow like an undying flame inside me. And lost love is like aged wine, more and more precious as time goes on. Do I hear the Songs of Solomon in the approaching dawn?

  Are they the whispers of lovers? Or the sobs of lost love?