An attempted short story, I would not have possibly written this had not my 12-year-old niece Akanksha Singh (Anku) encouraged me to emulate her favourite author Roald Dahl….In fact, 'niece' is a key protagonist in this work; though I admit, this story is still not a children fiction.........
 |
| my niece: Anku |
Heart Alone
As the darkness deepened, the
clock in the hotel room started ticking louder. His brother signaled all others
in the room with his eyes, let us go. All went out leaving Parthapratim alone,
feeling embarrassed. A verdict was passed about couple of hours back and as a
dutiful eldest son, Parthapratim agreed to abide by it. The verdict was from
his father. Parthapratim’s marriage with Arati has been cancelled.
Staring at the roof above,
Parthapratim thought wildly. He would wake up at times and strode up
and down the room, pursing his lips – more by habit and then come back to the
bed.
The reading light was still
on. He tried to leaf through a few pages from a book he was carrying. It was a
history book. Parthapratim is a student of literature but like one of his
teachers had advised, he had developed liking for history too.
In one of the pages, he came
across a line that read “The soldier must
conquer the pain and the melancholy of the passions.” – Napoleon.
This again
left him bewildered. He was not entirely clueless about what was happening to
him.
Parthapratim
would try to piece together his argument but every time he tried something like
this, he felt hit by emotions, fear. What would others say? How would his
parents respond? Is he right? Will he be right, if he takes a stand otherwise?
The memories would only pile
up to distract him from his present thought.
‘Go to sleep’, his inner voice would echo too.
‘You are wasting time, a coward cannot be rebel’, the inner voice virtually
chuckled once again.
Parthapratim found himself handicapped by the inability
to debate the moral questions. He was closing the discussion.
Human habits too can often
enslave people. So as he changed sides turned the pillow upside down, suddenly
- post mid-night he felt asleep, fast asleep.
What a wonderful feeling to
fall asleep in a fit of tears.
 |
| Master story teller: Roald Dahl |
Sleep, as they say is a true
engine of mental and spiritual dispersal. There was an uneasy calm in his room.
Dawn often comes
reluctantly.
Next
morning he found himself walking along the riverside. The temple too was
nearby. But did God have a solution to a problem where he had to take a call?
The
river as in this part of the year generally looked an endless stretch of sand.
There were, however, stagnant pools of muddy water where the water flow has
been disturbed. Parthapratim thought life is also like this, may be. Some
stagnant pools in everyman’s life would stop the water flow.
But
why such thoughts should crop up in his mind?
Sitting
on the verandah of the temple, he was unmindful, staring mostly towards the
ceiling decorated with good paintings. The question of right and wrong, duties,
responsibility and also perhaps something called inner call of a man have always
been part of reality people have to live with.
Gradually
the sun broke through the clouds. He was least startled. But suddenly he
remembered his niece too was with him. For the 6-year-old something, it was a
morning walk along the riverside. A brief stopover at the temple. A momentary
bowing down! Blessings, as her mom had taught her.
“Mamu,”
the innocent Kajal screamed mildly. The softness of the innocuous call touched
Parthapratim. Barefoot, other worshippers like Kajal knelt; some dutifully
touched their forehead on the floor and the untidy jute carpet in front of the
sanctum sanctorum. It was not a crowded place yet but slowly devotees’ numbers
were growing. The town had temples everywhere, virtually everywhere despite the
township having a history of political commitment to Marxism, the supposed
theory of agnostic people.
“What’s new aunt doing now Mamu; is she in hospital? Why you cancelled
your marriage? You know, I prayed for her. Mummy says prayers always help who
are in pain,” Kajal chuckled her sentences rapidly.
Parthapratim only blinked, perhaps looking for an answer. Kajal again
spoke. This time putting a much sharper question, “Mamu did you pray for my new
aunt?” Kajal elbowed her way to reach her Mamu --- as if eliciting an answer
from him was her foremost priority now.
As Pathapratim stood clueless to many questions put by 6-year-old Kajal,
on her part Kajal suddenly told him, “Mamu let’s go home” – as if by now she
knew her questions were unusual and her Mamu had no answer.
They rushed down the temple stairs and started walking along the
riverside to return to the hotel.
Parthapratim realized that as they were returning, Kajal had grown
silent. She was least bothered that her questions were never answered. She
appeared no longer interested whether her Mamu prayed for her new aunt. On the
roadside, suddenly he saw a cat staring at him. The cat perhaps looked at him
with contempt, at least Parthapratim thought so.
He was walking even slower than six-year-old niece. Was it possible that
everything that was happening around was the result of some conspiracy? Did
everyone around, all living and non-living creatures knew that he has abandoned
the marriage once the news reached him and his family that the would-be-bride,
Kajal’s supposed ‘new aunt’, had burned her face when hot water fell on her
face.
Pathapratim again found his inner self pinching him or even
mocking at him, like that roadside cat staring at him with contempt. He was
walking holding the tiny innocuous hand of niece Kajal. But he felt the urge to
cry out loudly. Perhaps this realization dawned him for the first time in last
12-13 hours, since his marriage was cancelled. He thought, he should sit down
under the bushes and shut his eyes, sobbing.
The sun was rising fast. Walking towards eastern side, he
realized that the sunlight dazzled him on his eyes. There was a burning
sensation, may be. He knew the limits of a human skin; how much heat and burns
it could bear. Familiar and wild birds were chirping. Some could be seen as
they walked along others hiding in the thickness of leaves. Even they were
singing in contempt towards Parthapratim, he again thought.
As the day progressed, the road was slowly turning busy with
mayhem of pedestrians, traders and three-wheeler autos and cycle rickshaws. At
last they reached the hotel.
Kajal too broke her silence. “Mamu, we are in the hotel….will
you talk to new aunt, there is a phone in my room…..Dadu won’t catch you”.
Parthapratim turned towards his niece again helplessly
blinking. But probably he was drawing some inspiration from her, some strength.
But unknowingly, he was still scared. Can his father take in
his stride his rebellion? Will he suffer another heart attack?
“Don’t you care for your father,?” --- the entire room seems
to be asking Parthapratim.
“I love my brother…I love my parents. I’m hopelessly in love
with my family,” he seemed to have tried to answer on his own puzzle.
He paused for a while in his mind and tried to change the
course of his mind. The heart must speak. But that heart belongs to my mother,
my father and my family. That heart belongs to myself.
Why
should I worry about a woman who has not yet become part of me or my family? He
tried to reason.
His
entire family had gathered in the room. Parents, brother, sister and her
husband! The family or near and dear ones had almost surrounded him and would
immediately strike up a conversation. Kajal too was there. But Parthapratim
tried to avoid seeing eye to eye to Kajal. Was he scared of a six-year-old
girl?
But
everyone was looking towards him, he knew. Eliciting an answer from him than
giving their opinion to Parthapratim seems to be on the agenda. A brief smile
descended on his brother-in-law’s face. “Whatever God does, he does it for good
na?,” he muttered almost hesitatingly but the words seemed to have been
parroted to him. He could have possibly rehearsed half the sentence too.
On
the other side, Kajal stood in silence…..as if keeping an eye on her Mamu’s
movement and words. God, she knew is very powerful. But in her childlike
simplicity, she was perhaps wondering, so thought Parthapratim, why should God pour in hot water on ‘new
aunt’s face’. Is God like that? What’s His shape? Does He enjoy doing such
things to beautiful people ?
Parthapratim
thought of answering Kajal’s father that even Kajal did not believe that
whatever has happened has happened for good. But he stood silently trying to
think…. Perhaps think something different. Different from all rational beings.
His niece Kajal, Parthapratim knew, was not thinking rational either….but was
it completely illogical?
Suddenly he felt a rush
of anger on his failure to think like that six-year-old kid.
Just then the silence
broke as Kajal ran out of the room. Kajal’s mother dutifully followed her. The
family gathering had broken and the puzzle remained unresolved. Parthapratim
too gradually walked out of the room. The silence in the room was killing. But
before he could step out of the room, Kajal was swiftly back with a pen in her
hand; and a blank sheet of paper.
It was a Parker pen.
These pens have now become affordable unlike some decades ago when such a pen
was a costly indulgence. As a journalist, Parthapratim in many a press
conference got a Parker pen-set. He got lost enchanted in the power of the pen,
at least for a while! Still he walked out.
Kajal ran to her grand ma
and demanded that they should play some memory game or words puzzle.
In his room, Parthapratim
picked up a book. Day’s morning papers did not evoke much interest to read
about. Bertrand Russel’s ‘The Conquest of Happiness’ seemed to excite him.
Russell wrote decades back that ‘unhappiness’ is largely due to a mistaken view
of the world. Russell’s intellect always fascinated Parthapratim.
He found him
to be an epitome of uncommon wisdom. But Russell wrote things so plainly and
simple. Just then he could read an ever baffling line: “Imagine how unhappy the
life of a peacock would be if he had been taught that it is wicked to have a
good opinion of oneself”.
He could not read
further. No good was done to anybody just by remaining silence, Parthapratim
thought.
Dictated by his inner
call, Parthapratim walked into the room of brother-in-law. His sister was alone
there. Parthapratim picked up the phone and dialed a number. Gradually he got
connected to the person, he wanted to speak.
And he was least
surprised to realize that he was in love with that woman.
He consoled her almost in
a commanding tone, something that comes as a matter of own’s right and sense of
belonging. Standing behind him, Kajal’s mother was stunned. Little did she know
that her six-year-old Kajal had given her Mamu the idea to make use of the
telephone from her room.
Stunned, she asked Parthapratim, “Dada, what are you
doing?”
Parthapratim grinned
rather helplessly as he turned towards his sister; perhaps thanking her for
giving birth to a noble soul like Kajal or was not thanking her at all. But one
thing was certain; he was just not prepared to vouch for the exact truth of the
story that brought a turn around in his mind and heart.
Ends
No comments:
Post a Comment