The Soul of Truth

by Shaji Madathil

  The man, Uthaman, six feet under the soil, is already being forgotten by the living.

  That is the natural course of things. The fate of all ordinary human beings. A silent passing into the fog of the past. A short history. Alive for just a few seasons. To be replaced by the new.

  Who can challenge time?

  Who can change fate?

  The night birds are singing. No sleep for those sweet singers.

  We are like them. Night creatures. Hiding during the day, emerging only in the dark.

  The barks of the dogs mingle with the howls of the foxes. They echo from the hills. Those foxes might even be rabid.

  The fearsome dark grows like a giant.

  The ashoka tree is full of flowers. Sturdy flowers. They can withstand strong winds. Long may they do so! May they not be like me—a weakling uprooted midway through life.

  It was my second day in Bahrain. I woke up to the sound of cooing pigeons and calls from the mosques.

  I was still in the grip of the dream I had just seen. I shook myself awake and was ready by the time the PRO came to accompany me to the office. I filled out all the remaining paperwork.

  Then, the waiting began. I couldn’t wait to get the visa and start my job and, more importantly, get out of the smelly hole I was living in now. I didn’t like anything about that place. I also found it difficult to find the right kind of food. I was never greedy about food; I ate frugally. But here, the portions were huge and too rich, the sight of which sometimes nauseated me. At times, I preferred to go hungry rather than eat the strange dishes.

  Finally, after three weeks, I got the employment visa and the work permit! Oh, the joy that surged through me that day!

  The first thing I did was to move to the company quarters. I had my own space finally. It was peaceful, and my happiness knew no bounds.

  My only worry was about my family that I had left behind. I missed everything about my home and village. The searing heat of the Gulf made me long for the cool air of my home.

  I spilled all my thoughts and longings and love and grief in the long letters I wrote home and to Ruby. The replies came, pregnant with love and reassurances, tears and demands.

  Ruby and I communicated regularly about everything. We even wrote in detail about the dreams we had. Those were hopeful days. Dreaming of a wonderful future. The letters were my precious possessions. To be read and re-read. I also had some old photos—Achen and Amma’s faded wedding photo and some of my school and college photos. They filled my heart when I longed for home. They lay on my lap and smiled at me. Those smiles were enough to keep me going.

  Soon, I got to a be a favourite with my colleagues and superiors. I am not sure why, but people liked me in this foreign land. I thanked God for that.

  The day I got my first salary in Bahrain; I still remember that vividly. What a feeling it was. It was so much more money than I had ever seen! I was bursting with pride when I wrote and posted that first money draft home.

  Fridays were the official holidays. That was a day I always slept in. Or watched the world from my terrace. I could see a large ground where men played cricket. I was surprised at their enthusiasm—playing in that hot sun. The lanes were full of people, coming out after their prayers in the mosques. That was the day people usually called home and visited each other. They were, however, back to work the next day.

  My life became almost mechanical—quarters and the office. Workdays and Friday. The days rolled on relentlessly. Soon weeks, months and years passed.

  I changed. It sometimes surprised me, but mostly I didn’t care. I did regret that I was not reading as much as I used to. Those days all that I read were the work documents and the letters from Ruby and home. These letters always reminded me of my duties—and how unending they were. When I solved one problem, new ones inevitably cropped up. Nine in place of one! Suddenly it hit me. What Nooruddin had warned me about on my second day here. The Gulf is a trap. Once in, you can never escape. It is a whirlpool. It will suck you in even as you struggle against it.

  Now that I was settled in my job, I kept thinking of Ruby and a life together. I had twinges of disquiet, being so far away from her.

  Someone has said that love is a quest. So true. My quest was almost over. I knew what I wanted—Ruby as my wife. What was the point of prolonging the obvious? My heart kept asking me to claim her as soon as possible, but my brain came up with excuses. “It is not yet time. You have just started a new job. You have no savings. Asking for a long vacation at this time may not be encouraged by your employers. They might even terminate your job. You can’t take that risk. Also, how are you going to find the huge amount of extra money for the airfare, and the marriage ceremony? Focus on your duties now. Marriage will happen in due course. Anyway, Ruby is yours, she will always be there for you.” In that battle of wits, my brain won, always.

  I soon made some good friends. In that loneliness, they were my source of good cheer. One of them soon became my best friend.

  Haneef.

  He was more like a younger brother to me. He was an orthodox Muslim from Pattambi. He came from a very poor family and was also caught up in the grind of suffocating duties and responsibilities. He wanted a sympathetic ear, and I was happy to give one. One loner to another. We bonded quickly.

  He must miss me so much now! Dear friend, you are not alone. Whenever you need an ear, a shoulder to lean on, I will be there. With you. Always.

  There are only limited holidays in the Gulf. Fridays and then the holidays to celebrate festivals like Eid. No unexpected holidays like trade union strikes or hartals like back home. Haneef and I made good use of the available holidays to explore the city. We watched football matches and horse and camel races.

  During our travels, we also realised that all was not rosy in the Gulf. We saw manual labourers working in the scorching sun. We saw the long queues of expatriates waiting at the banks to send their meagre savings back home. We heard stories of desperation.

  And we shared our stories. Haneef also had a sweetheart waiting back home. He was also deliberating on how and when to go and marry her. I gave him good advice. I stressed on him the importance of claiming his love before it was too late. When I realised that he was short of money to buy the ticket home, I and some other friends helped him, despite his protests. He made the trip and married her. There was not much pomp or celebration, but he came back a changed man, much more relaxed, a happy man.

  While I encouraged Haneef, he was trying to do the same thing to me. He kept telling me that I shouldn’t delay going home and claiming Ruby for my own. But, somehow, his words didn’t make as much impact on me as mine did on him. Why was that?

  Why was I procrastinating? I didn’t have a clear answer. But when Haneef came back from his wedding and kept compelling me to do the same, I always answered with an unenthusiastic ‘soon’ rather than ‘yes’.

  What was my problem?

  Without even acknowledging it, was I doubting my love for Ruby? No! What was it then?

  My mind. As usual, the indecisive coward!

  What a paradox it was. Here I was advising Haneef about his love life but was not able to decide about my own. Like a mad psychiatrist. Like a doctor who couldn’t heal himself. Like a coach who didn’t know the game.

  Ruby’s letters were getting less frequent. But I could understand that she was fighting a lonely battle against her authoritarian father. She might have difficulty even getting out of the home on her own. In the last few letters, she had mentioned how he was getting very serious about marrying her off soon.

  I understood her. I knew that I was the only one holding the solution to her problems. I should be the one taking the ultimate decision.

  I knew it, and I still delayed it.

  It took me five years after coming to the Gulf to finally take the decision to go back to marry Ruby. The fool that I was. In my irrational complacence, immersed in my busy work schedule, I had not even realised that she had not been writing to me f
or the past several months. Or that the letters from Oppol were short and curt, with absolutely no mention of Ruby.

  Ruby, I am so sorry.

  The Thirty-Eighth Night

  The fluffy clouds bow low before the night. The recliner meditates on the veranda. The flame of the oil lamp flirts with the wind. The streetlights shine dimly. Insects orbit around their own little suns.The crescent moon shines with borrowed light. She is happy in her fullness and sad in her emaciation.

  As the night grows, shadows start circling around the grave of my insignificant life.

  I remember that first journey back home so well. How full of dreams and hopes I was. The fulfilment of years of dreams—to make Ruby mine.

  Then, the terrible revelation, that Ruby is no longer mine to claim.

  That was the first time I hated the rain. The drops pierced me like shards of glass. My dreams bled out of me in bright red drops. They screamed in despair. But in that thunderstorm, no one heard those screams. I wandered like a madman in the rains. The tears clouded my eyes and made me stumble in the rain.

  There were days when I feared my own reflection. I couldn’t face my own accusing eyes, much less those of my family. I had to run away. And I did just that.

  I returned to the Gulf after cancelling my leave, and without even saying a proper goodbye to my family; I couldn’t hold back my tears, even during the car ride to the airport.

  I felt so small in front of the driver. He must have noticed my tears. But he never asked me the reason. He was probably being nice. But that didn’t help me either. I felt even more suffocated. If only he had asked, “Sir, are you sorry to leave your home and family?” I could have nodded and cried in peace.

  “We came to know of her marriage only very close to the day, Appu. By then, it was too late to warn you. It seems Ruby tried to resist as much as she could. I was told later that she even refused food for quite a few days. But her father was adamant. He kept her locked in till the day of the marriage…” I could still hear Oppol’s small voice trailing off into emptiness.

  How could I do this to her? My heart was breaking into a million pieces.

  The gossip had spread to the whole village. How I had abandoned her and how she had waited for me in vain, till the last minute.

  I couldn’t show my face to the people in my village anymore. What must they think of me? They must be wondering why I was back now, having abandoned her to a cruel fate. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I had to run away. Like a coward. Yes, I was a coward!

  I couldn’t justify myself even to my own conscience.

  “Why did you love her if you couldn’t promise to be hers the whole life? Useless fellow! Cheat!”

  My head bowed in shame. The driver seemed about to ask something, but he stopped himself and returned to his silent driving.

  It was all my fault. Only my fault.

  Why wasn’t I alerted when I didn’t get Ruby’s letters? I knew about her father. I knew that Ruby would write to me if at all possible. Why didn’t I put two and two together and realise that she is under lock and key, with no avenue for escape? Oh, my dearest! How you must have suffered! The one who should have saved you was hundreds of miles away, callous, uncaring.

  What excuse do I have? Busy with work? What busy? I could have taken this vacation much earlier. I could have come back to claim her so much earlier. Why didn’t I? Oh, why didn’t I? I had no answers.

  Everything is over now. Only pain remains. Searing, debilitating pain.

  I was the one who tempted her to come on this ride with me. I was the one who assured her that there was only one destination—our life together. I was the one who knew about the whirlpool in the middle of the lake and rowed us straight into it.

  How can I ever forgive myself? How will I ever justify myself? Even after death?

  Back in Bahrain, when I reached my quarters, I crashed onto my bed and cried my heart out. For days, I was inconsolable. My friends were worried and bewildered. But nobody could say or do anything to help me.

  How many days did it take for me to get back to some semblance of normality? If not for Haneef and my other friends, I might have destroyed my career too by refusing to go back to work. But, they persisted, and gradually, the busy work schedule made me forget my grief to some extent. It is better to say that I deliberately buried those painful memories in a deep pit in that burning desert, a guilty secret, and built a monument for my lost love in my broken heart.

  But on lonely dark nights, her face would light up before me, like a burning candle, melting my resolve with the pain in her eyes.

  Unexpectedly, I got a letter from Manu master. Chastising, loving, caring.

  My dear Appu,

  I missed you at our temple festival. Remember how we used to enjoy those days together! How we spent all night watching the plays and the Kathakali! I know that when the performers outdid each other in acting out the epic love stories, your heart was full of her. I remember the beautiful doe eyes smiling at you from the other side of the audience while everyone else was engrossed in the Mohiniattam. I feel deeply pained to think that she is no more yours. I can only imagine how much you hurt!

  I heard the whole story and about your doomed homecoming from Oppol. I am so sorry, Appu. I was thinking of how you always held me and Ruby so close to you. Your pain is my pain. Please know that there is no one in this world who always got what he wished for. Disappointments are a part of life. We have to learn to live with them. Still, Appu, I am not saying this to make you feel bad, but sometimes, I can’t help but feel mad at you—if only you were a bit more proactive, you wouldn’t have lost your beloved. Now, there is nothing we can do. So, please let go! Forget what is not to be. Stop blaming yourself. Even the gods are not blameless. And we are mere humans. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and move forward. Remember, you will finally get the partner who is meant for you. You should make sure that you will be absolutely loyal to her. In that will be the happiness and fulfilment of your soul.

  Hope work is keeping you busy and happy. Take care! Stay positive.

  Yours,

  Manu master.

  How wrong he was! What future did I have? What happiness and fulfilment of the soul? What I enjoyed on earth was merely physical happiness. That happiness was not transferred to my soul. The soul has no emotions, neither happiness nor fear.

  My poor Manu master. He was easily the wisest and most knowledgeable person in our village. He, however, has spent his whole life as an ordinary man, a school teacher.

  He was my secret-keeper at one time. But he was an open book. Anyone could walk in and read his mind. He always gave others respect but did not demand respect in return.

  He was a dreamer. He used to laugh at himself. “Appu, do you know? I used to dream a lot since childhood. But the funny thing is that none of those dreams have ever come true!”

  A thinker! Immersed in thoughts of how to make the world a better place.

  An innocent! He was easily tricked by conmen. They just had to bait him with a bit of love and pity, he would believe their stories and do their bidding without a question. Some of his friends, too, had taken advantage of his naivete.

  An advisor! He was the one who had encouraged our love the most. He was almost a decade older than me, but he understood us much better than most of our peers.

  In short, he was my friend, mentor, teacher, brother, counsellor, father—all rolled into one.

  His letter gave me a new lease on life. I replied immediately.

  My dear Manu master,

  Thank you for the letter! It has done me a world of good to hear from you. I find it hard to forgive myself, but I will follow your advice and try to let go, and look forward rather than mope around in self-pity.

  Those few days I spent home were hell. I wish you were there. I felt hunted and judged harshly, and rightly so!

  For some peace, I had gone to our library often. But I was saddened by the derelict condition of that
beloved place. There weren’t too many people in there. Just a few old men coming in to read the papers. The books were sitting there, neglected on dusty shelves. I never met any young people checking out the books or reading anything. It is true that the modern craze for smartphones and the Internet have reduced people’s love for books. But I think it is also the terrible conditions of our library that makes it so unattractive to the young. We need to renovate the library, spruce up the building, and get more and new and interesting books. It is a dear wish of mine. I will send you the funds for that. I would be grateful if you would do all that is necessary to help me fulfill this objective.

  Please give my regards to all at home.

  Yours lovingly,

  Appu.

  Three weeks later, I got Manu master’s reply.

  My dear Appu,

  I can’t convey how happy I was to read your letter. I felt so proud, my boy!

  You are very right! Books are our best friends. We need to seek them out and forge everlasting friendships, that is all. They reveal so many different worlds to us. Open up so many doors to so many lives. The characters in there are as alive as the ones we live with, because each author molds them out of a life he has seen and known, in real life or in his imagination. We might even find ourselves there. They can show us the experiences of a whole lifetime in the turning of a few pages. How invaluable is that! They are our steps to success. To the mountain of knowledge!

  Yes. Let our village grow. Let her read. And read well. You will be so blessed for this enthusiasm you display in such a good initiative. I am sure that your life will be better for it.

  Reading will never die. The platforms might change, but man’s undying hunger for knowledge will bring him back to books and to the words of the wise and the creative. Our children have promise. They will read and grow to be thinking, successful adults. Our library will help them achieve that. It will keep away the darkness of ignorance.