“Be careful.” I cautioned them.
“Oh, we are experts at climbing trees. You two keep a lookout and warn us if someone comes by.”
They climbed the tree noiselessly.
“Just get a few chunks of the fruit in the bag and come down quickly,” I whispered.
Karim stood close to me. He was shivering slightly.
“Uthaman, I am scared!”
“Scared! After causing all this trouble?”
“I know. I am sorry. But sometimes, the hunger is so bad I feel my stomach is burning. But now I don’t feel it. I am more scared thinking of what will happen if the principal finds out. Remember how he thrashed Moosa last week?”
A light suddenly came on in the principal’s room. “Uthaman!” Babu’s urgent whisper reached down from the tree, alerting me.
“Oh, no! What if he comes out?” Karim hid behind me.
“Babu, Ravi, stay there. Don’t make any noise.” I whispered and looked around the tree at the principal’s room. ‘’Please God, don’t let him come out!’’ I prayed fervently.
God chose to ignore this. The principal’s door opened, and he stepped out, flashlight in hand. We held our breaths. He must have woken up to go to the bathroom. We hoped he would soon be back in his room and fast asleep. Yes, he trudged towards the bathroom, and soon returned, walking back to his room. Just as he was about to close the door, the branch on which Ravi was sitting snapped, and he fell down with a soft thud. The principal stopped and turned. He shone the flashlight at the tree. We quickly tried to hide behind the tree, but he must have sensed the motion. He kept the beam trained on the tree and walked towards us. He has seen us! We were frozen to the spot!
“What are you doing here?” He sounded stern.
“We came out to pee.” Ravi came up with a quick answer.
“Do you pee under the tree?”
“No, we were walking this way when Ravi stumbled and fell.” That was Karim.
Just then, a piece of jackfruit dropped from above. The principal shone his torch upwards and saw Babu sitting rigidly on the branch.
The principal was livid.
“Come down, you rascal.” He said through clenched teeth.
When Babu joined us sheepishly, the principal looked around at us and then stared hard at me. “You too, Uthaman?” I simply wished the earth would swallow me up just then.
“There are outsiders in the school this night. I don’t want to make a scene here. Let’s go to your room.” The principal was trying to control his anger. He didn’t want to wake everyone up and bring shame to the school.
When we walked to our room, the principal bolted the door and switched on the light. Joseph sir sat up, looking disoriented.
“Joseph, do you know of anything that just happened?”
“Sir?”
“Your charges had gone outside in the dark to steal a jackfruit from the tree. Right when we are holding a camp in the school and want to set a good example to the others.”
Joseph sir looked around angrily. “Uthaman, you are supposed to be a good boy. You too went along with this?”
“Sir, Karim was hungry…” I tried lamely.
“So? You will climb a tree at midnight to get jackfruit? What if you had fallen and injured yourself? What if someone from another school saw you? What would have they thought about the discipline in our school? Did you tell Joseph sir that Karim was hungry? Did you come to me for help? No. You were irresponsible.”
I was ashamed of myself.
The principal turned to Karim. But before he could utter a word, Karim burst into tears and fell at his feet. “Sir, please forgive me. I was so hungry. Uthaman, Ravi and Babu only wanted to help me. Please don’t punish us.”
The principal looked at him for a long moment and then sat down on one of the benches.
“Sir, please sir, if you make this public and punish us, everyone will call us thieves.” Karim was still bawling.
“Well, what else should jackfruit thieves be called? Police?” There was a twinkle in the principal’s eyes. We relaxed— cautiously.
He turned to Babu. “Where is the plastic bag you had in your hand?”
“I left it under the tree, sir.”
“Go, get it. Anyway, you spend so much effort getting the fruit, let’s not waste it.” He laughed.
“What should we do with them, Joseph?”
“Forgive them this time, sir. They won’t repeat this. If this comes out, it will be an embarrassment for the school, and especially for me. I should have been more vigilant. I am sorry, sir.”
“Okay. You are lucky that you got Joseph sir and this is a camp day when I don’t want any extra hassle. I am forgiving you just this once. I hope you’ve learnt a lesson and will never repeat this kind of shameful behavior!”
We nodded vigorously, relieved he was not mad at us anymore.
He got up to leave. On the way out, he turned, “Uthaman, come with me. There is a loaf of bread in my cupboard. Get that for this hungry boy. What a night!” He walked away shaking his head.
We couldn’t believe our luck. To escape without any punishment after being caught by the principal must have been a record for the school. Nobody else ever knew of our little escapade, not even Ruby. That was a sacred secret between us four friends.
A few months later, one fateful morning, we heard that news. Karim had hanged himself in his room.
The pain, the despair, the guilt, the police, the questions, the procession, the people, the tears, the nightmares, the ‘’whys’’… my dear friend, my Karim.
Later, we lost one more of our classmates—Moosa was killed in a road accident.
Benny. Karim. Moosa. The unbearable losses of my childhood.
The Twenty-Fourth Night
Moths circle in ecstasy around the flame of the oil lamp on the verandah. And are singed by that very same flame! Living without care; unconcerned about death even when cheek to cheek with it. Aren’t humans too like these silly beings?
The moon is waning. It is close to a new moon. The full moon, which a few days ago had flooded the land with light, is now just a sliver of pale light. Full and empty; perfection and imperfection. The changing phases of the moon instructs the world that nothing is permanent, except for change.
The lamp flickers and goes out. This is not a good omen. The wicks are supposed to be made carefully such that an oil lamp, considered the sign of prosperity, never goes out by itself. But in a bereaved family, who can be bothered with such traditions?
Sumathy comes out on the verandah and takes the lamp inside. She pauses to look at the dark gate, searching for the one person who is always on her mind. Robin. Is he coming? To her disappointment, there is no shadow moving in the dark. Robin is sensible. He doesn’t want to feed any unwanted gossip by visiting too often. Sumathy knows that too. But that doesn’t stop her from feeling disappointed. She feels a sudden, unexplained anger towards Naanu Uncle who is keeping her beloved away from her. Who can fault her? Robin fills her thoughts, and she resents anything or anyone she perceives as standing between her and her love.
One person’s right is another person’s wrong.
My body is now in the terminal stages of decay. Soon it will be mere manure for this soil on which I had walked with pride. The end. The silencing of the tick-tock of the heart. The numbing of the five senses. The quietening of the ceaseless electrical impulses in the brain.
When warmth leaves the body, the soul rises from it.
That is the end of all beings in perpetual search of the meaning of life and death.
I loved the past. Indeed, it will be correct to say that I dwelled in the past. The future worried me. And I forgot to live in the present.
I scribbled down my past in my diary. A habit I had started when I first met Ruby. I tried to hide my writings from everyone. But Oppol found it one day while cleaning my room. That evening she came to my room.
“Appu, I found your diary by accident. I should have stoppe
d reading when I realised that it is your personal stuff. But I was so fascinated by your thoughts and writing that I didn’t. I am sorry. But as your elder sister, I’m glad I read it, in a way. Appu, I hope you know the difference between dreams and reality. There are always two sides to everything.” She paused and then continued.
“I loved your language and your imagination. But I worry if you are mature enough to correlate your dream world with the harsh realities of life. You can dream. But all dreams will not come true. For that, we also need blessings and luck. You are still a child. We can’t hope for the blossoms of spring all the time. We have to endure the heat of summer and the cold of winter. I don’t know if you understand all this.” She smiled. “But you should keep writing. I have a feeling that one day you will be a very famous writer. For that you have to learn and study well now; this is the time when you are supposed to do that. Do you understand, Appu?”
“I think so,” I answered quietly. I wasn’t entirely sure what she was getting at.
“I have seen Ruby at the temple. She is very pretty and a good girl. But you can marry her only if you grow up to be a smart young man with a good job and a steady income. Don’t let love distract you from your studies. Or else, you will lose your life and your love. Am I making sense, Appu?”
“Yes, Oppol.” I was feeling very shy and uncomfortable.
Oppol gently raised my face. I was surprised to see that her eyes were brimming with tears.
“You are the hope of this family. Please don’t shatter those hopes. Don’t gamble with your life, Appu.”
I felt my eyes overflowing too, and suddenly I felt a change in my perspective; as if this was the end of my carefree life. I realised that there is a huge gap between dreams and reality.
I started searching for answers to my dilemma in books. I read a lot. About life, love, duties, fate, hope, disappointment, death. I felt incomplete. I realised that no knowledge can replace experience. The black letters were getting too heavy for me.
I knew.
I knew of the futility of love.
But I kept loving her.
No philosophy could keep me from surrendering to her.
The first day of our last year at school, I waited for her on the path, to walk together to school. She had promised to give me all the letters she couldn’t hide in the tree-hollow.
We were again in the same class, class ten, B division.
That evening, when we were alone, she quickly handed me a bundle with a shy smile.
How well I remember that night; the frenzy with which I read and reread her letters. Each word was precious. It dripped with the honey of love, and I got drunk on that nectar.
When Oppol noticed the light in the room late at night, she came in to check. I quickly tried to hide the letters. She couldn’t have seen them, but there was a naughty twinkle in her eyes when she asked me not to stay up too late studying.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Even in the dark, I could see the letters, the trembling words, the rosebud mouth whispering, the delicate hand scribbling.
That last school year went by in a flash.
Before the year ended, we had a school excursion for five days. They were unforgettable days. Even the most well-behaved kids gave in to the magic of those days. Laughing, teasing. And everyone seemed to be in love. Fresh, young love. Eyes exchanged stories that words could not. And it didn’t help that our two supervising teachers, Ajayan master and Sulaja teacher, were also hopelessly in love with each other!
On the return journey, most of my classmates were in tears; it was, after all, the end of an era. The pain translated into golden words on the autographs. Bleeding hearts masquerading as red roses on pink papers.
On the last day before the study break started, we had our farewell party. The teachers, who till that day had scolded us at every opportunity, hugged us tightly, blessed us and wished all the very best for our future. Nobody wanted to leave. It was with such a heavy heart that we left our school that day, turning back, again and again, to look at that beloved building, with brimming eyes.
The study holidays were a grind. We crammed as hard as we could. What for? Just for good grades. Did any of that knowledge help me face the practical difficulties of life at any point? I don’t think so. But still, there is no doubt that education makes us what we are.
What we can’t learn from books, we learn from life. We learn we can never fulfill all our dreams. We learn that our thoughts and actions rarely match. We learn that life is one long deception.
No one can prise my past away from me. It is so intricately tied up with the smiling face of Ruby in our class photo, hanging in a frame on the verandah. The burning embers of my love for her will never die.
Finally, it was the dreaded exam time. The reckless wept, the meek triumphed, hard work paid off. It was a week of unbearable stress.
Then, just as suddenly, it was over.
We walked out of the school gates for the last time as students, hearts heavy with a sense of loss. In search of new horizons, new pastures, new atmosphere, new colleges, new friends…
We suddenly became strangers in our own school. The wide-open grounds, the narrow corridors, the square courtyard, none of these was ours anymore.
The long summer holidays tried to make us forget our grief. There was always something new to keep us interested. First, it was a group of cycle artists. Then it was the season of the duck farmers with their huge flocks. And then there was the library, which Ruby and I made our secret rendezvous. We exchanged books and letters with no one being any wiser.
The hot summer mornings were spent in the pond. Sometimes I spent the whole morning there with friends, coming out only in time for lunch, and that too after Amma shouted for me.
“Are you a buffalo? Do you want to live in the water? Why can’t you come out after your bath?”
Finally, by the end of May, our results were declared. There were some unexpected failures, but most of our friends passed. Ruby and I were among the toppers. We went together to collect our marksheet from the school. It was a bitter-sweet experience. There were the congratulations and blessings of the teachers and the feeling that we no longer belong there.
Ruby and I discussed our future on the way back.
“Uthaman, we should go to the same college.”
“Yes, Ruby. We should.”
When we reached the turn to Ruby’s house, we felt a crushing sense of loss, as if we were at a turning point in our lives. We felt the fragility of the thread holding us together.
I saw that Ruby was tearing up.
“Uthaman, we will be together, right? We will go to the same college, won’t we? What if we can’t?”
“Ruby, please don’t cry. Someone might see.”
“What if we don’t get accepted by the same college?” she asked again.
“That won’t happen. We will be together.” I tried to reassure her.
Someone came along the path. Ruby quickly started walking towards her home. It was Mustafa, Achen’s partner in farming.
“Did you get your results, son?” he asked.
“Yes. I have passed.”
“Oh, very good. So, now you will be going to the big college in town.” He laughed and walked away. By then, Ruby had gone out of sight.
We used to meet regularly. Usually at the post office, where we went to send our college applications. We made sure we applied to the same colleges. We met sometimes at the library or at the temple. She always looked startled and anxious and shy about meeting me, each reaction a testimony of her love for me. And I revelled in that love.
The wait to hear from the colleges was pure torture. The postman was the most anticipated person in our lives at that time. Finally, one day, while I was watering the plants, I heard the ring of the postman’s cycle. I ran out. My palms were cold with sweat when I took the envelope from him.
Yes! It was the interview letter. From the most reputed college in town. This was our dream college. I hoped
Ruby also had received the same invite. I couldn’t wait for the evening to go to the library and meet her. One look at her face and I knew that she too had received the invitation to interview. We couldn’t stop smiling that day.
From the next day on, we attended the evening puja at the temple regularly. Ostensibly, to pray for the interview, but surreptitiously just to see each other. Even then, I had more faith in the goodness of man than God.
I was a Gandhian by then. I firmly believed in his principle of seeing, hearing and performing only good. Such a simple faith to live by. But now, people complicate everything. So much so that it seems those three iconic monkeys have retreated forever into the deep forests.
It is so difficult to live without faith. How can we explain everything in this vast universe with our small brain? We can’t. That is why Rabindranath Tagore had said that a mind that depends just on its own acumen is like a knife without a handle—bound to cut the hand that holds it.
The night is over. The rooster welcomes the day. The crows fly out of their nests in search of prey. The relentless churning of time. An old story, retold every new day.
The Twenty-Fifth Night
The golden sunset has disappeared into the all-encompassing darkness. The tall palms shake in the wind—in the darkness they look like demented heads swaying to soulful music from afar.
Who is playing the flute at this hour? Whoever it is, he is very good. The sound evokes tender emotions in me—painful, and yet delightful.
The contradictions of love! Unbearable pain. Overwhelming joy.
Why not stay away from that pain? Why fall prey to sleepless nights and broken hearts?
But who can resist Cupid when he takes aim with his arrow? The Cupid that is our own heart. Who can resist that sweet pain? How can anyone go through life without ever tasting that bitter-sweet elixir? Isn’t love the axis that turns this earth? Isn’t love the thread that connects all living beings? Isn’t love the power that can break the strongest and mend the weakest?
The music stops. Having stirred my thoughts, the night quietens.
The Soul of Truth Page 17