When Anand Loved Razia

  Anand and Razia were a beautiful pair, ardently in love with each other. They were neighbours and as infants both of them slept in the same cradle. As little children they shared the same cot.
That long bondage between the two blossomed into tender love. Anand’s father Raghaviah and Razia’s father Ahmed were aware of their love for each other but adopted an indulgent attitude over it.

  Their love was to have borne fruit under their paternal nourishment but …

  “But Anand,” Razia said sadly “I don’t think even in my dreams that the village head would agree to our marriage.”

  Anand did not reply. He was throwing pebbles into the river and when they created small ripples, he muttered something under his breath. “Yes, Razia, how could he?” he said slowly as if talking to himself. “The cursed religions”he clenched his teeth. He was quite alarmed about the communal tensions gradually enveloping the village because of their love.

  “Anand!” Razia put her arm around his shoulder,”don’t be disheartened. You’re a man and my man. You must find a way out of this.”

  Razia’s soothing words injected new strength into him. “Razia!”He said resolutely,”we will persuade our parents to talk to the elders of the village. He took her hand into his. They both walked along the bank of the river and turned to the right to reach the lane that led to their houses.

  The river flowing majestically meant a lot for the young lovers.  They were initiated into the majestic presence of the river when they were children. While Anand’s father Raghaviah and Razia’s father Ahmed sat on the sands of the bank of the river and talked over the affairs of the village,  Anand and Razia played hide and seek games there.

  As young lovers they muttered sweet nothings to each other on the river bank on full moon nights. The river kindled the spirit of their love and now exhorted them to take the right action to consummate their love.

  Having been pressurized, Raghaviah and Ahmed met the elders under the banyan tree which served as the local court for the village and half a dozen hamlets around. 

  The elders of the village gave them a patient hearing. No doubt, they also had a soft corner for the  young lovers. But they were helpless in the face of the communal passions, gradually overtaking the village. The villagers of both the communities have no objection to this inter faith marriage. But the village heads of both the religions have their instructions from above to thwart this marriage.

  So despite the tearful pleadings of Anand and Razia and their respective parents, the banyan court of the village decreed that the inter faith marriage should not take place. It was also decreed at the banyan tree court that both Anand and Razia should be married separately within their respective religions within three months. That is - Anand should be married; with an eligible girl of his community and Razia with a suitable bridegroom of her community.

  Both Raghaviah and Ahmed had anticipated this decree. So they accepted their fate stoically. But the hot blooded young pair revolted against the decree of the village banyan court.

  That night both Anand and Razia met on the banks of the river. Razia, in spite of her heroic pretence, buried her head in Anand’s chest and wept bitterly. But Anand did not join her in her sorrow for he was a real man now.

  “Razia” he said firmly, “our wedding will be performed at ten o'clock  tomorrow morning, Come what may.”

  “But Anand…”Razia was startled. She was very much worried about Anand’s safety. She wanted to express her doubts and fears. But Anand stopped her. “No ifs and buts Razee,”he said, “even if the heavens fall down, the wedding will take place at the appointed hour.

  Love, devotion and gratitude overwhelmed her and she bent down to touch his feet. “No, Razee,”Anand raised her and hugged her. “The rightful place of my lady is my heart, not my feet.”

  A little while after that rapturous mood, “Anand said,”Razee it’s already half past nine. Let’s get along. I’ll see you home.”

  The next morning the entire village was agog with the revolutionary decision of the young lovers. People began to gather at the village Ramalayam and the adjoining mosque as Anand announced that the marriage would take place at the mosque according to Islamic traditions and later at the Ramalayam according to Hindu customs.

  Just before the wedding at the mosque and at the temple later, villagers gathered there in large numbers. There were discussions and heated exchanges as to what should be done now.

  They were all agitated over the possible future result of this interfaith wedding, as communal clashes were already taking place in nearby towns.

  Suddenly as if a bolt from blue, a farm hand came there running. He was panting for breath as he ran about a mile non stop. He reached Ahmed in one long stride and cried,”Goodas are going to attack our village. They’re coming this way.

  At this unexpected turn, the villagers who gathered at the temple and the adjacent mosque, began to run helter-skelter fearing for their lives.

  Raghaviah expected the impending attack beforehand. So he was least perturbed. He turned to Ahmed, now his brother-in-law and said,”brother, “let’s take the challenge. But we must be composed.”

  Then he looked at the fear-stricken and dispersing villagers from the temple and the mosque. Both Raghaviah and Ahmed mobilised the villagers who were fleeing. They asked the villagers to gather at the river bank, the border of the village with their women and children.

  Shortly an army of men, women and children gathered at the bank of the river with weapons of various descriptions from swords, knives, sticks, pestles and baskets filled with stones. A sizable army of boys were also at the scene with catapults. Only a signal from Raghaviah and Ahmed, they were ready to charge.

  On the other side of the river, there were about twenty ruffians with swords, sticks and country; made bombs. Their initial plan was to indulge in looting and arson in the village and then kill the bride groom and kidnap the bride. 

  But now they were frightened and perspired profusely as they were badly outnumbered. It also dawned on them that as long as the majority community and the minority community were united under the bondage; of love and oneness, no evil force could attack them.

  Had they crossed the river, they were sure to be lynched to death.

  As they took a last, timid look at the vast army of the villagers, the better part of their discretion prevailed on them to do the right thing and they took to their heels.

  Unfortunately our hero Anand had been deprived of the opportunity to show his heroism.

  Thus the crisis was over without any bloodshed.

                                            The April Fool

  I always remember All Fools Day with a sentimental regard. It was this day of fools that had saved me from a romantic embarrassment. When I was found out to be a liar by my father-in-law, instead of kicking me out of the wedlock with his daughter, he forgave me pleasantly and blessed me.

 It all happened when I was a lecturer in English in a co-educational college a decade ago. Usually the girls sat in the front rows and the boys on the back benches in the class. 

  Lakshmi was one of my students for whom I fell in love from head to toe. She was tall, slim and oval faced with a classic nose and ear to ear smile on her lips.

  She always sat in the front row and when I took the platform and began to lecture, my concentration was often disturbed by her bewitching looks, emanating from her big round eyes which were transfixed on mine. The result was - I fumbled with the lesson and the girls giggled, chorussed by the cat-calls from the boys.

  That day also her gaze met mine and I lost track of my lesson again. I blabbered ‘Somerset Maugham’s Hamlet…” The instant response was giggles and catcalls. 

  “What has come over you all of a sudden?” I cried.

  “Nothing serious sir,”Lakshmi said, getting up from her seat, “we all believe that Shakespeare wrote Hamlet. But now you seem to contradict it.”

  “Well said,’the other students tittered.

  If it were any other student, I would have sent him out of the class, charging him with indiscipline. But now I was not all offended. Instead, I felt elated because I was made a fool of myself by a heavenly creature. 

  Lakshmi’s body language and her cryptic comments on my lectures convinced me that she was in love with me. I thought that it would not be chivalrous on my part not to return her love.

  On a pleasant spring evening I invited her for a cup of coffee in the canteen. That was the Alpha of our love.

  Months rolled on and all the film houses, restaurants and gardens in the town brought us closer day by day.

  But the inevitable had happened one day.

  Lakshmi met me in the college library. “Rao,”she said in a depressed tone.”My father wants to get me married to my damned cousin, who is a foreign returned. 

 “Rao,”she continued, her voice choking with emotion.”Can’t you be chivalrous enough to kidnap me  and marry me like Prithviraj Chauhan did in the case of Samyukta.?”

  “My dear,”I replied, “I am not lacking in chivalry. But the hard truth is …if I kidnap you, I will find myself in the police lockup.”

  I paused for a while and continued,”class distinction hinders our marriage. Doesn’t it.?”

  She nodded, making scratches on the library card with her long, polished nails.

  “Don’t worry,”I assured her, “I have a head that can hatch instant plans.”

  My plan was a success and I tricked Lakshmi’s father into believing me that I was a reasonably rich guy.

  The wedding and the honeymoon were over and that bright morning myself and Lakshmi were having coffee in a recently rented spacious apartment. Suddenly some six or seven of my students burst into my study. “Hi! My boys” I greeted them and asked them to sit down. But my students seemed to be very angry. I knew very well why they were angry. I asked my wife to get them  coffee. 

  But they were still angry. “Courtesies can wait”they blurted. “Sir, we’ve come to demand our money which we gave you as a feigned tuition fee in the presence of your father-in-law when he met you. You said that you would return our money in a week. But you failed to keep your promise.”

  It was all a ruse. I planned that some of my students should pay me a thousand rupees each as a monthly tuition fee when my future father-in-law met me, so that he would believe I was reasonably well off.

  Now, to make an honest confession, I lavished all that money on buying gifts for my in-laws. I wanted to create a grand image that I was a rich bridegroom.

  I was trying to placate my boys. “Come my pets,”I coaxed them, “don’t you believe in your teacher? Next month I will repay the debts to all of you, believe me.Without your help I wouldn’t have married your classmate Lakshmi at all. Would I forget all this? No, I wouldn’t.”

 My students were satisfied with my explanation and apology and left finally.

  “You cheat,”my father-in-law cried. He stood at the entrance while the entire ugly scene was going on. “You’ve given me the impression that you earn thousands of rupees every month through tuitions, when I met you to consider the alliance. But you…”he stopped half-way as he gasped for breath.

  I kept silent till his hissing subsided. Then I faced my father-in-law calmly. “In fact, it is my moral principle not to engage in tuitions for my students. I offer free coaching to my students off my class hours. I loved your daughter deeply from the depths of my heart. No doubt, you can get a rich guy. But you can’t get a more loving husband than I am. So, it is up to you whether to bless us or leave us as we are. Anyway,” I continued with a wry humour,”Today is April Fools Day and in a way we all fooled one another. I tried to fool you by pretending that I was a rich guy. On your part you wanted to fool me by giving away your daughter in marriage to some other rich guy. Can’t we pardon each other?”

  All of a sudden Lakshmi appeared there from nowhere. She whispered something into her father’s ear.

  Immediately he changed his countenance from that of anger to happiness. He gathered me and his daughter into his arms and said,”give me a little April Fool soon.”

 The Predicament

Vijaya can be cordial to her sister-in-law Saraswati if the latter refrained from passing adverse comments on the former. Sarawati comments that Vijaya goes on jolly rides with her husband on the scooter, that she is a fashion peacock and that she behaves impudently in the presence of her grown up children.

  As neither of the in-laws relents to patch up, Vijaya’s husband Bhaskar is the poor victim of their long wordy duels. 

  Vijaya feels that her husband should be on her side while Saraswati thinks that her brother should support her.

  Usually such wordy duels of the in-laws spark off severe storms in the otherwise happy married life of Vijaya and Bhaskar. The estrangement that follows such storms is quite unbearable for him and he prays to God that his sister Saraswati who lives nearby should visit him less frequently. His personal request to God would be that his sister should not visit him especially whenever he is about to have a pleasant outing with his wife Vijaya.

  But God seems to have a peculiar inclination to counter what the poor creature Bhaskar proposes to do.

  That evening Bhaskar returned home with a grand plan of going to a movie with his wife Vijaya.

  “Hai Vijji,” Bhaskar entered home and had given Vijaya a bear hug,”get ready, quick, we’ve got to go to a movie.” 

 “Movie!”exclaimed Vijaya,”I’d love to. But what about the kids? Anil and Sunil will be late home today as they’ve cricket match at school.”

  “Don’t worry my dear Vijji, give the keys to our neighbour. Ask her to tell our kids what to eat and what to drink. Go, dress up, quick.”Bhaskar said, releasing her from his embrace.

  Vijaya went into the dressing room and closed the door behind her.

  Bhaskar was pacing up and down the hall, looking at his watch every now and then.”Vijji,”he cried teasingly,”If you don’t dress up and come out quickly, I’ll rush in and give you another bear hug.”

 “Hush, don’t cry like that. What’ll the neighbours think?” Vijaya said, coming out of the dressing room in her favourite Georgette saree and tight silk blouse which suited her slim figure well.

  “Vijji,” Bhaskar said rapturously, “how pretty you are in this dress! So fresh as a rose! Nobody would think that you are the mother of two grown up children.”

  “Oh, darling, keep your romantic prattling to our bed time. Hurry up, by the time we reach any movie house, the show would’ve begun.”

  Just then the door-bell rang. Bhaskar’s sister Saraswati was at the entrance. Her husband was standing behind her.”Brother and sister-in-law are in the mood for an outing, I suppose.” Saraswati said, “We wish we hadn’t come now,”She said again,”But your brother-in-law insisted that we should visit you now. He wants to discuss some shares and stocks with you.”

  But it was Saraswati who proposed the visit to her brother’s house to upset her brother’s evening program. She knows very well that Bhaskar would take Vijaya out almost every evening. But Sarawati made her husband the scapegoat. She looked at her husband tauntingly, who sat beside her meekly. “Didn’t I tell you that my brother and sister-in-law would be going out in the evenings? But you thought that your shares and stocks were more important.”

Saraswati was secretly happy for upsetting her brother’s outing. But she said aloud,”You should’ve married a share broker instead of me.” She blew her nose in feigned anger. 

  Saraswati’s outburst embarrassed Bhakar. He was aware that his sister’s money mindedness made his brother-in-law unhappy too. It was Saraswati’s love of money which made her husband preoccupied with shares and stocks. This made him an introvert and he would not take his wife out during the evenings. Saraswati knew that it was she who drove her husband into the shares business more and more which ultimately became his first love.

  “Bhaskar,” began his brother-in-law, driving his fingers into his thin hair.”I want to buy shares of the ABC Mills for ten thousand rupees. Will the company come up or will it go down?”.

  Bhaskar did not give an immediate reply. His attention was not there. He was thinking about the conversation that was going on between his wife and his sister in the adjoining room. He did not have to eavesdrop to know what they were talking to each other. The result would be known when Vijaya would finish her kitchen chores in the night and come to the bedroom, blowing her nose and rubbing her swollen and reddened eyes due to weeping. She would sit on the edge of the bed and begin,”Your sister said that I was a filthy snob because I had become rich suddenly by marrying you. Why should she be jealous of me? Isn't she rich? She finds fault with me because I go on jolly rides with you. Am I a fashion peacock? Do I behave impudently before our children? Tell me.” She paused for a while and continued with sobs, “If your sister’s husband doesn't understand her properly, doesn’t buy a scooter and doesn’t take her out, it is not my fault. If she hasn’t borne a child till now, let her curse God for it, not me. Why should she say that our children look like scamps?”

  Bhaskar would advise her gently to adjust and patch up. But it would make matters worse. She would become furious and break down sobbing,”you always support her, because she is your sister.

  Bhaskar couldn’t be even a bit rude to his sister for she was his only surviving sister. His position was so delicate that he often found himself in a quandary, as to whom to side with.

  Good night,” his brother-in-law got up,’you look tired now. Think about the shares of ABC Mills and tell me your opinion.”

  A year rolled by without any let up in the quarrels between the in-laws.

  It was the first day of the new year. When Bhaskar returned home after wishing happy new year to one of his close friends, to his surprise, he found his sister chatting with his wife, and the two boys pulling their paternal aunt by her arms to play a game of carroms. 

  “Happy new year,”Bhaskar greeted his sister.

  “Bhaskar, why are you breaking in now,”Vijaya cried jovially.”while we in-laws are discussing the menu for dinner”

  “O.K. carry on, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” Bhaskar said and left the room. He reclined on a cement bench in the garden. He smiled to himself. The previous night after his sister and brother-in-law left Bhaskar’s house after one of their usual visits, he did not go out to buy cigarettes only. He bought two new year greeting cards at a nearby stationery store. He forged the signatures of his wife and sister and posted them to each other’s address.

  The next morning, on getting the greeting cards by post,  each of them thought that the other person sent the card to bury the past on a new year’s day and became in-laws in the true sense of the word.

  What else could Bhaskar wish for on a new year’s eve?

 A Tearful Farewell To My Mother

Though it was half past six in the morning, I was still half asleep. The door of my room was opened a little and my mother, clad in pink saree, walked into the room. She drew an easy chair to the window and prepared herself to watch the sunrise. It was her habit to sip the coffee while looking at the sun rise gradually behind the clouds.

 My wife rushed into my room,”dear.” she cried,”the pundit is expected anytime now. Get ready and prepare yourself to perform the rituals.”

  I was shaken out of my sleep and looked at the easy chair beside the window. The chair was empty. So I was dreaming all the while. Only the day before yesterday I consigned my mother’s body to flames at the crematorium. It was my dream or a paranormal experience since my mother was very much attached to me.

  My mother breathed her last at the ripe old age of one hundred and three years with the name of Sai Baba on her lips. Her last words were,’Son, Sai Baba’s calling me.” Then she lay still.

  My mother was born in a hamlet, called Reddy Naidu Brahmana Agraharam near Machilipatnam, Krishna District, Andhra Pradesh in 1918.

  She was born into a large family and studied upto fourth standard. She was lean and tall for her age. When she reached her ninth year, tongues in the neighbourhood began to wag that my grandfather was not serious enough about getting her married.

  A funny thing had happened which ultimately led to her happy marriage with my father. My father was a municipal doctor at Machilipatnam. My mother’s younger brother, Sharma aged five, stuffed a tamarind seed in his nostril. My grandmother and grandfather could not extract it out though they tried all the grandma techniques at home. So my grandfather took the boy to the municipal dispensary, at Machilipatnam. My father extracted the tamarind seed from the boy’s nostril with forceps deftly.

  Then my grandfather inquired of my father whether he was an eligible bachelor of the town - his caste, creed, clan etc. When these preliminary details satisfied my grandfather, a meeting of elders of both sides was arranged. My grandfather (my mother’s father) Rama Seshaiah agreed to pay six hundred rupees as dowry.

  Thus my mother was married off at the tender age of nine. When she was escorted to her in-laws house, she was scared of the strangers there and began to cry. Then her father-in-law lifted her in his arms and said cajolingly,”child, don’t cry. This is your home hereafter.”

  She was sent to Madras to lead family life with my father, when she was sixteen years. She bore her first male child - my eldest brother when she was twenty. In all she bore seven children, out of which four survive till day.

  My father had studied both Ayurveda and Allopathy. So he used to manufacture Ayurvedic medicines also to supplement his income along with his practice in Allopathy.

  As my father’s medical practice and sales of Ayurvedic medicines had increased gradually, he got a big house constructed at T.Nagar, Madras.

  My mother was the queen of the huge house with five men and women servants to attend to the household chores. They were Annasamy, his wife Govindamma, son Balakrishnan, daughter Radha and her daughter Chinnaponnu who was married to Balakrishnan.

  These servants were at the beck and call of my mother. 

  She celebrated all the festivals with great pomp and gaiety. Pongal was her most favourite festival during which she would exhibit the dolls and invite women and girls to witness them. The women guests were offered bananas, betel leaves and a piece of cloth to stitch a jacket.

  In addition, we had a buffalo also. My mother used to milk the buffalo at 3 AM in the morning and prepare coffee for my doctor brother who had to catch the train from Kodambakkam to Park and from Park to Ponneri, where he worked as a government doctor.

  She was an unqualified but good pharmacist too. When my father prescribed the required quantities of ingredients to make required quantities of medicines, my mother collected all the ingredients and oversaw the servants prepare them. Huge quantities of Chyawanprash, Draksharishta, Dasamoolarishta, blood tonic, syrup vasaka etc., were turned out by mother’s blessed hands.

  She led a full and fruitful life of over a century and bore seven children, twelve grandchildren and sixteen great grandchildren.

  She had a fall while going to the washroom at midnight. The next day her legs were immobilised. As her other vital organs were failing one by one, she was hospitalised. She suffered the pangs of death for two days at the hospital. Finally she left the world with God’s name on her lips.

  As my cousin Anand observed rightly, with the death of my mother, the generation of our relatives who had actively participated in Gandhi’s meetings had come to an end.

  I fell out of my thoughts as the pundit cried in a shrill voice to get myself ready for the final rites to be performed for my mother.

 Lapse Realised

  Vinay and Vanita would have been made an ideal couple if their married life had not been marred by typhoons in the tea cup. Vinay and Vanita were no doubt affectionate to each other, but the hitch came when Vanita always disapproved of the selection of sarees, jewels and commetics by Vinay.

  “Sorry dear,”Vanita would pout her lips in utter disapproval, “the saree you’ve selected for me doesn’t suit my complexion at all.”

  Vinay was stung to the quick at Vanita’s disapproval. “Sorry to have disappointed you, dear,”he would offer an explanation meekly. “You’re of golden brown complexion and I thought that this pale yellow colour saree would suit you excellently.”

  “You’re mistaken Vinay” Vanita would retort., “Only scarlet red saree would suit my complexion and slender figure as well.”

  As a natural consequence of Vanita’s disapproval, Vinay would return the saree to the cloth shop owner with a hurt sentiment. He could not help it.

  The same scene was enacted between them when Vinay bought her a gold necklace, studded with square stones. “Oh Vinay,” Vanita was angry with her husband again, “A necklace with round stones only would suit my conch shaped neck well. Don’t you know it?”

  Vinay was too loving a husband to burst out against his wife. “Sorry dear,” he said as if offering an explanation. “I do agree that I have a poor taste.”

  Vinay always received the same treatment even when he selected cosmetics for Vanita.

   If he selected a rose colour lip-stick for her, she would say that she preferred only red colour lipstick for her ruby coloured lips. The selection of face powder, snow and perfumed hair oil by  Vinay was time and again rejected by Vanita. So Vinay had given up the habit of buying things for her. Instead, he gave her money to do the shopping by herself.

  When Vinay’s friends made excellent selections for their wives or fiancees, his sentiment gnawed at his heart. But he got used to it. He told himself that he was not fortunate enough to select anything for his beloved.

  Though it was a bitter pill for him to swallow when Raghu or Ramesh met him at the canteen during lunch hour and told him that the saree he selected was greatly liked by his life.

  All this Vinay bore with great fortitude. He did not say an ill word to his friends about his wife.

  But Vanita was not at all aware of what was going on in Vinay’s mind. When Vinay put on a wry face during the ‘selection wars’ she simply thought that her husband lacked good taste. That was all.

  Of late Vinay was becoming very moody. When Vanita gave him a cup of coffee early in the morning, he would take it silently, drink it and put the empty cup down. Then he would bury his head in the newspaper. But in the happier days of their wedded life, Vinay imprinted a kiss on Vanita’s cheek when she had brought him his coffee. Also the ‘send off ceremony’ while going to office became casual. No more kissing and hugging while going to the office.

  Gradually Vanita also began to feel that there was something wrong with Vinay. But she was quite unconscious about the mental agony she was causing to Vinay. She reasoned to herself that career worries might have made him moody now-a-days.

  While days were rolling on heavily, one day Vanita complained to Vinay that she was suffering from splitting headaches and her sight was growing dim.

  When the general pain killers did not work, Vinay was alarmed. He took Vanita to an ophthalmologist. Vinay expressed his doubts and fears whether Vanita was suffering from Glaucoma, an irreversible optical disease in which eye sight is lost gradually.

  The eye specialist dispelled his fears and prescribed eye glasses and Vitamin-A tablets for Vanita.

  While going back home, Vanay was very tender to her and told her many pleasant things in the taxi.

  But it was a short-lived happiness. When it came to selecting the frame for the eyeglasses, Vanita became her old self again and stubbornly rejected the frame selected by Vinay. “Don’t you know Vinay? ''Vanita said petulantly, “this rimless gold frame doesn't suit my round face. Why don’t you exchange it for a black coloured one?”

  “Of course I do,”Vinay said wearily. “But let us go to the shop together.” 

At the optician’s shop, Vinay sat on the sofa with a resigned look over his face. By that time Vanita had already tried more than a dozen frames. She put on each and every frame and looked at herself in the mirror. She pouted her lips and said that this frame didn’t suit her well and that frame didn’t fit her eyes well. “Vinay,” she said, “let’s go to some other shop.”

  Vinay got up and followed her. He didn’t say anything. He was grim.

  When they were about to move out of the shop, another couple entered. The young man asked the shopkeeper to show the most beautiful frame. The shopkeeper showed one. The young man put it on his wife’s big, round eyes and exclaimed,”dear, you look gorgeous with this frame.” 

  “Then dear,”she replied,”let me have it.”

  “But madame,”the shopkeeper said out of professional courtesy.”You can try some other frames too.”

  “Yes dear,”the young man said,”you have a wide choice here.”

  “No dear” she replied, looking at him with half-closed eyes which spoke of many things,”I know how much you adore me. You know what frame suits me best. Your selection is my selection.”

  Vinay could no longer control his anger that was seething within him for many months now. “Vanita,”he said gritting his teeth,”that lady seems to love her husband. Isn’t it?

  Vanita could not grasp for a while what he was saying. When she realised it, she was stunned.
“Were her casual observations that Vinay had a poor taste was the root cause of his extreme sulkiness all these months? As she realised that it was she who caused her husband’s silent anger though unconsciously, her eyes were filled with tears. Now she recollected how cruelly she rejected the sparkling diamond ring he presented her with, on their nuptial night. Then she had not the least idea as to how heartless she was to have rejected the ring which he presented with a thousand dreams. She didn’t think that her heartless response would have devastated their married life. The thought that it was time now to make amends for her rudeness. She wanted to win back Vinay's love. She looked at him through tears and said,”Dear, your selection is my selection. Choose the best frame for my eyes.”

 Her Hubby’s Helmet

Anand always hated wearing a helmet. He would curse the law that made wearing helmets mandatory for two wheeler riders.

  “Dear,” his wife Malati pleaded with him on a busy morning when he was starting out for office.”won’t you wear the helmet for my sake?”

  “No dear,”Anand shook his head firmly,”don’t entertain any doubts about my driving skills. I am safe enough without a helmet on my head.”

  “But listen to me dear,” Malati argued with him, “you know the accident rate is going up in the city. Don’t you read in the newspapers that many two wheeler riders without helmets are getting killed in road accidents? The helmet is a safety measure. Isn’t it dear?”

  “Not at all,”Anand pooh poohed her advice,”a helmet cannot prevent death. That is evident from the statistics which say that the helmeted heads of the two wheelers riders also were crushed to pulp in road accidents. So give up the silly idea of making my head accident proof with a helmet.”

  That was Anand’s adamant attitude about the issue and Malati’s arguments about the safety of wearing a helmet fell on deaf ears.

  Why was Anand so averse to wearing a helmet? Did he believe in the baseless argument that wearing a helmet made one’s head bald or that long use of a helmet would compress the brain which may damage intellectual capabilities in the long run? 

  No, nothing of that kind.

  Anand was reluctant to put a helmet on his head when he rode on his motorbike just because that hideous thing - the helmet would spoil his lovely curling hair. At eight in the morning, he would sit before the dressing table and apply the costliest hair cream to his curly hair. Then he would comb it in a beautiful way. He would flaunt it before his wife, who would compliment him,”dear, now you look gorgeous.”         

  No doubt, Anand has due consideration for his wife’s feelings. But when it came to wearing a helmet, he found himself in a fix.

  As Malati entreated him earlier, for her sake he imagined himself with a helmet on his head. A helmeted Anand rode to his office but shuddered to see his hair awkwardly pressed to the scalp like a thickly laid tarmac road. He bent before the rear view mirror of his motorbike and combed for ten minute but his hair didn’t curl up again. Anand sincerely believed that his likening of his curly hair to that of a tarmac road would turn out to be real if he put on a helmet on his head.

  Malati realised that she could not make her husband wear the helmet through argument. So she wanted to appeal to his sentiment. “Dear” she broached the subject again, serving him hot steaming coffee as he returned from office, “would you love me sincerely?”

  “Malati!” Anand said, shocked.”What makes you doubt my love?”

  “Nothing dear” Malati said, calculating her words.”If you love me sincerely, can’t you wear the helmet for my sake? Wouldn't it be terrible for me to imagine a life without you in case something dreadful happens to you?”

  “Oh, Malati,” Anand put down the empty coffee cup on the table and stroked her hair affectionately. “As long as I am alert while driving, I am safe on the road. Don’t be worried about it anymore. I hope that this will be the last time you talked about road safety and helmets.”

  Malati did not miss the decisiveness in his voice. She could not do anything. She left the responsibility of saving her husband on the road to God. As she prayed to God, a bright idea occurred to her. She made a supplication to the Almighty to bring about a change in her husband’s attitude and make him wear a helmet. “God is there and He will do the needful” she thought and felt relieved.

  Anand, doing multiplications and subtractions on the calculator at his office, was sorry for having hurt his wife’s feelings the other day. But there was no other go, he reasoned to himself. He would do anything to please his wife except wearing a helmet on his head. He remembered having said once that he would fight even a ferocious lion to win Malati’s hand. Of course it was easier to bring down a lion than wearing  the bloody helmet on the head for Anand. Also to his disgust, the smooth surface of the helmet looked like the clean shaven head of a monk.

  He again remembered with a chuckle Malati’s obsession with helmets. Malati did not like the helmets with visors. She was afraid that the visor might come off and damage the eyes in case of an accident. Nor did she like the open helmets for they would smash the face of the motorbike rider in case of an accidental fall. So she bought for Anand a helmet with a metal face guard. But when the bright helmet appeared on the table in the drawing room on a fateful evening, it sparked off a bitter quarrel between the couple.

  When the small hand and the big hand of the wall clock reached five and six respectively, Anand put an end to his thoughts and got up. He left the office.

  Riding along the main road that was notorious for frequent traffic jams and fatal accidents, Anand was daydreaming that he and Malati were going to dine at a five star hotel and watch a late night movie.

  But his daydreams were rudely shaken by the traffic jam. As he watched a small crowd a few yards away, he made his way through the jammed vehicles of various descriptions. Now right before him was a lorry and in front of it lay a badly damaged scooter of his bosom friend Raghu. A good samaritan was helping Raghu to his feet.

  Anand stepped forward. Intense emotions seized him. He hugged Raghu and cried,”Thank God! Are you alright?”

  Gradually recovering from the shock of the accident, Raghu pointed at the cracked helmet on his head, “But for this helmet, my head would have been crushed like a potato. A cracked helmet is better than a cracked head. Isn’t it?” Raghu tried to be humorous. 

  Anand imagined himself in place of Raghu without a helmet. His mind pictured Malati in widow weeds for a full minute. “Oh my God! It shouldn’t happen like that.” he muttered.

  Walking back home after the late night movie, Anand put his arm round Malati’s slim shoulder and said,”Dust my helmet and keep it ready, dear, I am going to wear it from tomorrow.”

  It was a pleasant surprise for Malati.”There is God”she sighed. “He answered my prayer.”

The Accident

 

  I was in jitters as the balance-sheet did not tally. Just then the telephone rang and its jangling made me even more jittery. “Raju speaking,”I took up the receiver impatiently.

  “Raju,” I’m Lakshmi speaking...M...Mukund is killed. Bus accident. Come to the mortuary. General Hospital…”Lakshmi spoke in sobs.

  “What! Mukund killed!” I was shocked. The earth under my feet trembled. “My bosom friend Mukund is no more!” the receiver slipped down from my hand. I sank in the chair and my mind was in a maze.

  Ten minutes passed. My mind cleared of the maze, caused by the shocking news of Mukund’s death gradually. “What should I do now,”I thought, “What a fool I am to sit here and think like this? I should go to the hospital and stand by poor Lakshmi. I should console her.” I took my officer’s permission and left for the hospital.

  I took a taxi. As it raced towards the hospital, I pictured in my mind poor, bereaved Lakshmi, sitting on a bench in the verandah of the mortuary and weeping bitterly. It was my responsibility as her family friend, guide and philosopher to offer her consolation and prevent her from going to pieces. Myself and Mukund were best friends since our school days. His death was a loss not only to Lakshmi but to me also. It was a void which could not be filled by anybody else. 

  The taxi pulled up at the General Hospital. I got down and without waiting for the change from the taxi driver, I strode towards the mortuary. 

  I entered the corridor in front of the mortuary and stood transfixed for a while. Lakshmi sat on a bench crying her head buried in her knees. Only the previous day I had seen her in high spirits celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday. But now - what a change fate had wrought upon her. She heard the sound of my footsteps. She looked up and saw me. She got up and staggered towards me. “Raju” she burst,”my Mu...kund...Mukund...is no more. Tell me, can’t I go with him?”

  She clung to me like an abandoned little child and wept.

  I wiped the tears streaming down her face. I was affected more by Mukund’s death. But I must seem composed before poor Lakshmi. “No Lakshmi, don’t say like that” I said, fighting back my tears. “You must live for the sake of Mukund’s dear memory.”

  “Excuse me Madame,”the police inspector who came out of the mortuary room said.”You can identify the body. Sir, you better accompany the lady in.”

  I took Lakshmi by her arm and said “Come,”

  Lakshmi walked into the mortuary as if in a dazed condition. She was not crying now. She was looking at the dead bodies, some on the stretchers mutilated or wounded, some others in the stretch of drawers, some drawers half pulled out. The mortuary room was filled with the cries and wails of the kith and kin who were trying to identify the bodies. The inspector led us to a chest of drawers and pulled out one, “Madame:”the police inspector said slowly, ``Could this be your husband’s body? Please try to identify.”

  At the mention of Mukund, Lakshmi became her pitiable self again. “Oh, no! I can’t bear to see my Mukund mu...mutilated.”she covered her face in her hands and wailed.

  “Aye Lakshmi! Hai Raju! you too. “I am alive. I’m not dead.” Mukund appeared there from nowhere.

  “Mukund...Mukund...Is it you?” Lakshmi laughed through her tears and clung to her husband. Mukund gathered her into his arms as if she were a fragile thing. Both of them became oblivious of the world for some time.

  The police inspector looked at me puzzled. “Mistaken identity, I suppose.” I said to the law officer. 

  I looked at Mukund and Lakshmi, still entwined in each other’s arms, with a sigh of happiness.

  The law officer pulled out a notebook from his trouser pocket. “Yes,” he said.

  Mukund gave his statement: As I was going to my office this morning by bus, my pocket was picked. The culprit jumped down from the bus when I tried to catch him. He came under the rear wheels of the bus and was crushed to death. As my wallet contained only a five rupee note and my photo identity card, I did not report the theft to the police.”

  Mukund paused for a moment and continued with a suppressed smile,”My landlord telephoned to my office that the police informed my wife that I was killed in a road accident. The rest you know, inspector.”

  “I am glad at the happy twist of the story.”the law officer said to me,”as you’ve rightly supposed it was a case of mistaken identity. May God give your friend a hundred years of happy married life.”

  “Well said inspector,”I joined, “elders say that if a man, earlier supposed to have been dead, is alive, he would be blessed with another hundred years of happy life.”

 While we left the mortuary, I could not help shedding a tear of pity for the unknown pick-pocket, the victim of easy money, “just a fiver.”

 

 The Trinket Seller

I simply called the poor little child of ten as a trinket seller till she entered my home.

By the time I narrate this story she lived with her mother in a huge cement pipe, lying unused on the road side. A bedding, some utensils and some trinkets - cheap imitation jewellery were her property.  The mother and the child lived in the pipe-dwelling. 

   Near the pipe there is a city bus stop. Myself and my colleagues had to take our bus at that stop in the morning around 9 AM and alight at the same spot in the evenings. By day break, the mother and the child finished with their morning routine. The child spread a polythene sheet near the bus stop and arranged the trinkets on it neatly. Before our bus came, I engaged the child in conversation and bought one or two trinkets almost daily. Her mother rarely stirred out of the pipe. She came out of the pipe only to cook food or wash clothes, a few yards away from the pipe.

  The child was thin but tall for her age. Her big round eyes were the chief attraction in her lanky face. She was losing some of her upper teeth and her semi toothless smile was an added attraction to her face.

  As I always found her in a tattered frock, I offered fifty rupees to the mother to buy the child a new frock. But she refused. “No sir.” She refused politely, “I’m not a beggar.”

  “Sorry!”I said,”I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But the child’s clothes…”

  “The money we get from selling the trinkets is enough for us. Soon I will buy her a new frock.”

  Her polite refusal of alms increased my respect for her.

  Whenever I bought trinkets from the child without bargaining, sometimes paying more than the actual price, under the pretext that I had no change, my colleagues often teased me that I did all this because I had an eye on the child’s mother. Though I dismissed their jokes, it was an undeniable fact that the child’s mother must have been a beauty in her hay days. 

  When I returned home with a trinket or two in my lunch box almost everyday, my wife flared at me. “Why do you buy the same trinkets again and again? Do you pity the little girl or her mother?”

  That day when it was time for dinner, I did not get up. I was still hurt at my wife’s rude comments. She stood behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.”Sorry dear,”she said,” I shouldn’t have hurt your feelings.”

  I melted instantly and got up for dinner.

  We were married for twenty years. But we had no children despite consulting many doctors. I suggested to her that we should bring a child from any orphanage and bring her up. But she did not agree, saying that an adopted child could never become our own.

  My wife was tired of scolding me for buying the same trinkets again and again. She gave away most of the trinkets to the children of our maid servant. 

  Days were passing on without much change. Soon the hot summer gave way to the rainy season and the monsoon rains began.

  Soon the Dasara festival approached. There was colour and gaiety everywhere. A huge canopy (pandal) was erected near the city bus stop and the statue of Durga Mataji was installed at an auspicious time. The deity was worshipped twice a day - during morning and evening and the prasadam (offering) was distributed for the devotees who gathered at the pandal. The offerings usually consisted of bananas and acacia jaggery. The trinket seller attended the pujas (worship) with her mother everyday and collected the prasadam with great devotion.

  Though Vijaya Dasami is a public holiday, I had to attend my office on some urgent work. By the time I reached the bus stop, the bus was about to start. I got into the bus on time. So I had no time to chit chat with the child. 

  Clouds were gathering by the time I returned from the office.  After getting down from the bus I looked around for the child. She had already packed up her trinkets and put them in the pipe - her dwelling. She approached me and said,”Sir, my mother is down with a fever. She hasn’t eaten anything since the morning. Could you fetch a doctor?”

  I was thoughtful. I wanted to go into the pipe-dwelling and inquire about her health. But I checked myself as some people were already observing me curiously. I rushed to a nearby medical shop and bought some antibiotics and painkillers. “Give something to your mother to eat and then give these medicines.”  I put the medicines into her hands and left for home.

  I had my dinner and went to bed. But I could not get a wink of sleep. The light rain which started, soon developed into a heavy downpour.  I was alarmed for the safety of the mother and the child. I looked beside me. My wife was having a sound sleep. I got up and rushed out with a blanket rolled up under my arm. 

  I rushed into the pipe dwelling and she lay, muttering incoherently “my child…”my child…”

  I spread the blanket over her, up to her heaving bosom and looked at her once beautiful face intently for sometime. Suddenly the child beside her stirred. I took a last look at her face with an intense emotion and left the place.

  The next day was a working day for us. I walked to the bus stop with a presentiment that something bad might have happened to the woman.

  Before the pipe-dwelling lay the woman motionless. The child buried her face in her mother’s lifeless bosom and was crying her heart out. Soon a crowd gathered and one of them telephoned the local municipal office.

 Our office bus came and went. But I did not get into the bus. I stood my legs rooted to the ground. The child’s eyes were searching for me. But I stood far behind the crowd and avoided her glance.

  The municipal van came and the woman’s body was shifted into the vehicle. As the van started  to a crematorium, the child thought that her mother was being taken to a hospital in the van. So she kept asking the crowd, “which hospital mother is being taken? When will she be back?”

  Nobody in the crowd bothered to answer the child’s question. Soon the crowd dispersed.

  All the while, a range of emotions were surging up in my mind. “Why Couldn’t I come forward and arrange for the final rites of the woman?” I thought.  “Had I done so, my neighbours would think that the woman was my keep and her daughter was my love-child. Such a rumour would eventually break up my family.” I reasoned within myself.

  Finally I came to the conclusion that I should take charge of the child. I stepped forward.  I took the child’s hand into mine and said,”Let’s go home.”

 I took the child home and explained to my wife what had happened briefly. I told her that I would admit the child into an orphanage. 

  “No dear,”she said, hugging the child, “the child is ours.”