The Soul of Truth

by Shaji Madathil

  “Uthaman! Good to see you back. I was just thinking of you since classes will start tomorrow. So many folks in the village were saying good things about you. It seems you are one of the favourite teachers among the students, and now all of them want to be in your class!” He laughed heartily. “Teaching is a great responsibility. After all, you are molding young, impressionable minds. And you are doing a great job. You have all my blessings.”

  I felt so grateful to Father. Not only did he give me an opportunity, but he always made me feel good about myself. A truly good person!

  I bid him bye and walked back to the lodging. On the way, I met Cornelli. He had come in search of me. He got off the cycle and beamed.

  “Sir, you are back! I had gone to the lodge yesterday as well and checked. Pappan sir said that you would arrive only today.” It was a joy to watch his unabashed happiness at seeing me.

  “Pappan is back? I didn’t see him.”

  “He has gone to the town. He will be back soon.”

  “Okay. So how are you? It was very nice reading your letter, with all the news of the village. I had sent a reply. Did you get it?”

  “Yes. Last week.”

  He started walking with me, pushing his bicycle.

  “How is everything at home? Amma, achen, sister?”

  “Same. But one good thing happened. Father Berthold had a talk with my achen, and scolded him a lot. He has been behaving better after that. Not drinking too much. But still, some days, it is the same. Then, I threaten him that I will tell Father.” He smiled.

  “It will get better, Cornelli.” I patted him on the back. “How is your sister’s tailoring?”

  “Good, sir. She is the best.” He beamed.

  “Good. This year, I want you to be the best student in the school. Will you try?”

  “Sure, sir!” He sounded confident, and I smiled.

  “Bye for now, sir.” He mounted the cycle and rode off.

  ‘Poor kid!’ I murmured to myself.

  “Uthaman!” Someone called from behind.

  “Hi, Pappan! Cornelli just told me that he had seen you earlier.”

  “Yes. I had to go to Kozhikode to meet a friend. How was the vacation?”

  We soon reached our lodgings, sharing gossip and news on the way.

  That day, we were all in a festive mood. After dinner, everyone sat down to play cards. I didn’t know how to play and supported the players as an enthusiastic observer. It was nearly midnight by the time we settled down to sleep.

  On the way to school the next day, the children greeted me happily.

  “Sir, you will be our teacher this year too, right?” That was Molly, a bright student. She was also very good at sports. I smiled.

  Everybody was happy to be back. The first day went by quickly.

  In the evening, I went for a stroll with Pappan. He was good company. We could talk about anything. Usually, we visited the library and read until dark. The electricity was unreliable. We depended on kerosene lamps. It was a good thing that we lived with the ration-shop manager and never faced a shortage of kerosene.

  The village went to sleep at nightfall. Not many people came out of their homes after dusk. Vehicles too were rare, except for the huge lumber trucks and jeeps that passed along the highway.

  The silent evenings were especially invigorating in their abundant natural beauty. I could sit for hours just watching the moonlit mountains in the distance, the gentle breeze evoking tender thoughts in my lovelorn heart. The great poems of love were always playing silently in my heart and lips, and I scribbled down my own lines in a little notebook.

  The days passed by quickly.

  I always awaited the letters from home—from Oppol and Ruby.

  Ruby’s was full of tears and anxieties. And unending love. It broke my heart every time.

  Oppol’s was full of advice and news about home and village. It was a balm to my heart.

  It was the annual festival at the famous Jagannath Temple of Thalassery. Since it was the weekend, Pappan and I decided to attend the last day of the celebrations. The festival was famous for its fabulous fireworks display.

  It was fun wandering the grounds. When the fireworks started at dusk, we tried to get to the highest point—which happened to be on the railway tracks—to get the best view. But it was too crowded, and when we realised we were better off watching it in peace from below, we turned back and climbed down to the temple grounds. Just then, we heard a big boom and loud screams. We were suddenly pushed down by people falling on top of us. We had no idea what was happening! We got up in alarm!

  Only then we realised that a train had come down the tracks just then, and had crushed the people watching the fireworks.

  It was their bodies that fell down on us! Flesh and blood clung on to our clothes.

  For a few minutes, no one understood what had happened. In the deafening sound of the fireworks, no one had heard the oncoming train or the screams of the victims.

  We were devatated when we realised the magnitude of the tragedy and the narrow escape we had! What if we had found space on the tracks and stood there watching the fireworks? We might have been one of the broken bodies. We were overwhelmed both by a sense of relief and guilt.

  The festive mood quickly turned tragic. Screams of the hurt and sobs of the bereaved filled the air. The sirens of police and ambulance vans were deafening as rescue started pouring in. Before long, we got a jeep that was going our way and somehow reached home.

  State mourning was declared the next day and all institutions were closed. It was an unspeakable disaster.

  Many people heard about our close encounter and came to visit us at the lodge. Pappan and I felt drained after multiple recounting of the terrible incident. Though we only had a few scrapes on our body, we were scarred for life. I can never forget that night.

  Cornelli came running early in the morning . “I remembered you saying that you will be going to the festival.” He panted, smiling with relief after reassuring himself that I was all right.

  The accident was the topic of discussion everywhere. It took a long time for everyone to get back to normal.

  So many events in life that are inexplicable. . . I still feel that I had escaped death that day only due to the blessings of God and my loved ones. A brief respite until that fateful afternoon in Bahrain.

  Pappan and I became even closer after that incident. How couldn’t we, after facing death together?

  Some days we used to walk along the winding path behind the lodge to the forest. It was a remarkable experience to be in the lap of the majestic and caressing menace of that dense forest. The narrow mud path was choked on either side by thick bushes. The tall trees kissed the sky high above us. The sun struggled to pierce the thick foliage. It looked dark even during the afternoon.

  There was a special kind of quiet there. A silence beyond silence. Full of bird cries and rustlings but with a mysterious impenetrability. We loved those walks.

  About a kilometre inside the forest was the clearest brook I had ever seen. The water was crystal clear, tumbling over huge black rocks. The gurgling music of flowing water rang through the air. And the water! It was so pure and cold.

  We usually turned back after an hour’s walk. As much as we loved it, we didn’t want to get lost in that jungle. “We can be murdered here, and not a soul would know.” Pappan used to joke.

  Yes. The forest. Extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily dangerous.

  One day, we took a small detour and reached the remnants of an old, dilapidated temple. There were broken pillars and broken idols. We were amazed. We noticed scattered feathers around the ruin and guessed that foxes had made their home there.

  “Looks like an old Shiva temple,” I whispered.

  “Maybe. It might have been destroyed by the army of Tipu Sultan.” Pappan delved into history.

  “Shall we explore?” I was very curious.

  “Are you crazy?” Pappan stopped me. “Can you imagine th
e variety of serpents that must be living undisturbed there? If you get bitten here, you are sure to die before we can get to a hospital.”

  He made sense, but I was fascinated. I tugged at the huge aerial roots hanging from a nearby tree.

  “Hey, these are very sturdy. Can I swing over the ruins and have a closer look?”

  Pappan looked at me as if I had gone completely bonkers. “What is wrong with you? Do you think you are Tarzan? If you swing on this, you will probably fall down and break your legs too on top of getting bitten by serpents!” I couldn’t help laughing at his words.

  “But isn’t it sad that this ancient temple is left to decay like this? Why doesn’t someone take care of it?” I felt bad. I was imagining a time of splendour when this very same temple must have witnessed grand festivals and royal visits.

  We walked back home. That night we were both so tired that we fell asleep right after dinner, not bothered by the raucous card players.

  By the time we woke up, the others were already getting ready for the day. They teased us. “Our two masters are in pursuit of their secret, wild dreams!”

  The weather changed from hot to rainy to cold. I enjoyed my life in that picturesque village. And dreamt a lot. About Ruby. Our future together. And relived the campus life which was our golden time together.

  I missed our college so much. Memories of our lovely time there brought a lump to my throat. How could I forget the young, wide-eyed boy who went there for the first time? How could I forget the moments I had spent with Ruby there? Every raindrop was a reminder of the days we walked together under one umbrella, wet and cold, our souls on fire.

  Weren’t we the envy of our friends?

  One day, Jinu had come into the empty classroom where Ruby and I were chatting in peace.

  “You have been playing this hide-and-seek for so long now. Why don’t you get a hotel room to spend time together? That would have given you some much-needed privacy.” She teased us mercilessly.

  I went pale with shame. But Ruby retorted quickly. “What to do, Jinu? I keep telling Appu that we should. But he is too much of a gentleman.”

  Jinu was stunned and lost for words, for once. She quickly went out of the room.

  I looked at Ruby with a new-found respect. She laughed. “What? Why are you staring at me as if you are seeing me for the first time?” Women!

  The bell rang, and I was roused from my sweet reverie.

  I walked into the classroom and started teaching a poem which was a favourite of mine—“The Wheat Grains” by O.N.V. Kurup. It resonated with my feelings so well that my rendering of those beautiful lines held my class in a thrall. Only when I was done did I realise that Father Berthold was standing at the door, enjoying my teaching as much as the children.

  “Beautiful. Uthaman, you are a natural teacher and poet.” Father congratulated me. I felt so proud!

  That evening, Cornelli caught up with me on the way home.

  “I loved that poem, sir! How talented are these poets. They say so much, so beautifully, in so few lines.” I was pleasantly surprised at how well he grasped the essence of poetry. I knew then that he would grow up to enjoy poems, just like me.

  “That is good, Cornelli,” I said. “There are more poems by O.N.V. Kurup and other great poets in the library. You should check them out.”

  “I will, sir.” He agreed readily.

  The last few days of the year went by quickly—in a blur of classes and exams and discussions in the stuffy lodge room.

  Life is a miracle. Like the throw of the dice, some score jackpots, some tears and despair. Where is the justice in it? Who knows? Who is responsible? No one! There is no point pondering about problems with no solutions. It is best to leave philosophy with the people blessed with good fortune and time to ruminate over it, while the unlucky ones struggle, with no end in sight.

  This night too is done. There is the approaching drumbeat of a new dawn to the east. The end of another dream. My struggling spirit will soon be trampled by the racing chariot of dawn. In the silence that shrouds me, you have been listening to my loudest memories.

  There is very little left now. The very last bits.

  The Thirty-Second Night

  The swamp hens are clucking in the thick undergrowth. The cry of cicadas reaches fever pitch. The night emerges from its white coverlet.

  This cold night invites me to cuddle up with warm memories. The stars in the sky twinkle mischievously at me.

  Memory.

  Nothing can change it.

  It can’t be tempted with false promises.

  It is fluid, ephemeral, yet indestructible.

  My last days at Kolayad were fast approaching. Two years went by in a blink. By the end of this academic year, my tenure would be over, and Ravindran sir would return to take over his duties.

  I had known of the temporary nature of my job. Yet, now I felt so much a part of this simple village and people that it hurt to think of leaving them. Some were very close to my heart— Father Berthold, Cornelli, Pappan, my colleagues, students, roommates… I had to say goodbye to all of them soon. The school didn’t have any vacancies that could be offered to me.

  One of those nights, I tasted alcohol for the first time in my life. The feeling! The taste! It was so new. I liked the numbing, weightless, disembodied sensation that took care of my burdens at least temporarily. I’d had many opportunities for this initiation before, and had resisted all of them. But that day, I gave in. And to my surprise, I found that I didn’t regret it.

  After the drink, we were all in a great mood. We decided to go for the late-night show at the local movie theatre. The panchayat officer, Murali, got us the tickets easily. It was a romantic drama, a beautiful tragedy. We loved the film. The only problem was that we came back feeling depressed at the fate of the star-crossed lovers. That night I wet my pillow crying over them, and myself and Ruby. The pain stayed with me, for days, months, years . . . even now.

  I felt a compulsion to record my life at Kolayad. I started writing my diary again.

  It was at this time that I took note of the seductive smiles of Rajalakshmi, our English teacher. I knew she was interested in me but I had so far ignored the signals successfully. But, now, as it was almost time for me to leave, she was more open in her affections, so much so that I finally had to tell her about Ruby and our love. She was embarrassed after that and began avoiding me whenever possible..

  I was relieved that I cleared her misunderstanding, but deep inside me was there a twinge of regret too? She was very pretty. Well behaved. Employed. The only daughter of a rich father. If I had nodded a simple ‘yes’, my life would have changed its course dramatically. I could live in comfort all my life.

  But would that life have been worth the treachery I would have committed to my Ruby, the girl who had loved me from childhood, who was still waiting for me patiently? No. Never. I brushed away the tinge of regret without a second thought. If I have a Grihastashram, it would only be with Ruby.

  I didn’t go home that Onam. It was a difficult decision, but my presence in the village was only going to make Ruby’s life more difficult. While I was at school, she was at least free to write to me. I did miss Oppol and Deepu and Sumathy but explained to them that coming home for just a few days vacation was not worth the hardships of the long, arduous journey .

  Pappan stayed back too. That added to the joy of a peaceful vacation.

  We went to the library a lot and enjoyed long hours of quiet reading. I realised how much I missed the books during the busy working days.

  Every evening after dinner, we spent time together, discussing current affairs or films or music. Pappan could sing well and also played the flute beautifully. I became an ardent admirer of his talents. But our favourite pastime was the walks we took together in the afternoons, taking different routes everyday. The forest remained one of our favourite haunts.

  I could never have enough of those tall, majestic trees, the wildflowers in brilliant colours
with their exotic fragrances, the bubbling brooks, the multi-hued birds…

  One day we went past the ruins of the old temple. There was a clearing beyond it, and I was surprised to see pamphlets scattered around.

  “What is this? Is this a meeting place for naxals?” I was shocked to see the incendiary writings on the pamphlets.

  Pappan looked calm. “It looks like it, doesn’t it,” he answered. “But can we blame them? Don’t you think the current political system is so corrupt that it needs to be completely overhauled? Isn’t revolution necessary for freedom?”

  I looked at him in confusion.

  “They have study classes here at night. I have attended some of them.” He continued placidly.

  I couldn’t believe it. Pappan! The pleasant, smiling, friendly teacher. A naxal!

  I remembered that Pappan often went out at nights saying he needed to meet someone in town.

  Pappan seemed totally oblivious to my bewilderment, and didn’t seem interested in elaborating on the subject. He was already walking forward, talking of other things.

  “Look, Uthaman! A peacock.”

  What a grand sight that was. A peacock was standing in full glory with his tail feathers spread out. It was just amazing. Seeing us, he flew up to a low tree branch. The beauty of God’s creations!

  We were amazed to see some bobbing bundles of grass coming towards us. Only when they came closer, we could see the legs of the ladies carrying the bundles on their heads. We couldn’t help laughing.

  “These women must be really brave to go so deep inside the forest to cut grass.” I marvelled.

  “Yes. They are. Also, they probably feel safe with those sharp scimitars in their hands.” He always had a reasonable explanation.

  Very soon, we came across one of the numerous little streams that flowed down the hillocks there. We rested for sometime in the shade. I washed my face and had a long drink of the cold water.

  Pappan had suddenly gone very quiet. I listened too. There was the sound of breaking branches. Elephants! Should we be worried, I looked at him apprehensively. But Pappan seemed to be looking at something else atop the trees as if mesmerised. I turned to look.