pilgrim’s blog

Behind the door

Lies the balm

To my heart sore

That refuses to be calm

I stretch my arms

To fling it open

But the qualm

Forces my limbs to soften

 I squirm, I fret

The lack of steel  

Pushes me into

The cavern of regret

The forces opposite

Squash my breath

I gasp like the fish

On the verge of death

I beg for mercy

Knowing my sin

To be born

With no strength within

The trees stood in a row their branches touching each other making them look like little children standing holding hands together. The curtain of mist was thinning making way for the sun’s rays to seep in through their branches. Just before the final adieu, as the mist caressed the sun rays these trees looked ethereal.

The trees were the same, the morning was the same, the mud path disappearing among the trees was the same, she was the same but he had changed. He had changed when he had left her on that morning exactly like the one she was watching today, unfold in front of her tired eyes..tired because of waiting for him. When the mist and the sun rays were making love to each other he had slipped out of the house silently never to return.

It was the very next day of their marriage, a marriage that was arranged by their parents. He was her paternal aunt’s son. It was as if they were meant to be together. Hence when their marriage was announced there was no element of surprise in it. She was the only daughter to her parents and had just turned sixteen that month, the right age for a girl to get married during those days. He had only then acquired a degree in medicine from Burma, the present Myanmar. It was a status symbol in those days among well to do families in Kerala to send their members to Burma for pursuing higher studies.

In the matriarchal set up of the Nair families of Kerala the uncle of the child had a stronger say in deciding its future than its father. So during those days no boy would have the courage to stand up to his uncle to voice his opinion about his future. Sekharan too had to face the same dilemma. He did not have the courage to tell his uncle that he could not marry his daughter.

But on the night of their marriage he opened his heart to her. With head lowered he stood before her. She stood with her eyes lowered trying hard to hide the dreams in them from all even her husband. In a hushed voice that should have called out her name that night but did not, he said to her he could not stay by her side as in far away Burma he had a wife and little son awaiting his return.

Surprisingly no tears had flowed out of her eyes. She was thankful for she did not want her dreams to be drowned in them. After all she had only them left for company. They had remained by her side steadfast and now she felt it was not in vain. His son was coming to visit her. It was his father’s wish that the ashes should be handed over to her, she was told by him, through a relative of hers as she did not know his mother tongue or English that would have enabled her to converse with him.

But then no words were required when through the mist he walked up to her and looked at her with eyes so much like his fathers……

I took the road

Not knowing where it would lead

Trusting it fully

And ready to heed

It took me through woods

Calm and serene

It showed me lakes

And meadows green

At times it welcomed me

With carpets of blossoms white and yellow

Some times the snow on it

Forced my speed to mellow

It admonished me

For hurrying through the sights

Not stopping by the river

That gurgled past least in spite.

It climbed up hills

Arousing my child like curiosity

To know what lay beyond,

 A moor or a city

In winter, spring and autumn

It unfolded a new picture

All distinct from each other

But in no way less awesome

The roads prodded me

To move on in life

And not be bogged by

Any sort of strife…..

The vacant bench in the park

 Awaiting someone

Whose footsteps

Were, but now gone

The empty clothesline

Lying still

No more fluttering winds

Entangled among the cloth fine

The bare tree

Its leaves even in spring

Lay molted at its feet

Forming a filigree

I see emptiness

Where ever I look

I wish you were here

Nestled in my arm’s crook….

I stood on the rickety bridge

Watching the morning mist lift

To reveal beauty unbound

Of the wild flowers abound

Bursting with passion, in yellows and violet

Around their mate, the stream coquette

Twisting and turning among the wilderness

No man, dare her harness.

My spirit too breaks free

Like a child I shake the blossoms from the tree

The tiny waves in the water below

Beckon me to dance with them and merrily flow

I become Nature’s child

Joyous, carefree and wild.

Oh! Pristine white blossoms

Harbinger of joy awesome

The boughs happily, you carry

Your touch light, causing them no worry

The leaves green, from behind you peep

Awakening from their long wintry sleep

The sun’s tender rays

Caress your beautiful face

Bringing on them a pink flush

That vies with the maiden’s blush.

You paint the canvas white

Making splashes of yellow, red and blue bright

The lovers find bliss under your shade

Making their pangs of separation on long winter nights fade

The little time you are on this earth

You spread peace, love and mirth

May we be worthy to greet you year after year

And keep safe for you the Nature dear.

The past few days have been witnessing the celebration of dance and music in connection with the temple festival in her home town.

The cool breeze would usher in the evening when people from far and near would find themselves thronging the open ground in the temple precincts which doubled as the venue for artists of world wide renown to showcase their talents in fine arts thus transporting the psyche of common man to times immemorial.

The melodious voice rendering ‘Priye Charusheele’ and the kathak steps unveiling scenes from the ‘Raas’ for ordinary mortals, helped them forget the worries in their mundane lives and drown themselves in the bliss and glory of pristine music and dance.

She too sat in one corner, her eyes thirstily drinking in the sight of Radha’s amorous antics with her Krishna and Meera pining for her Girdhar Gopal .The voice full of pathos rendering Jaydeva’s ‘Ashtapathi’ pulled at the strings of her heart. She envied these talented artists who could not only offer their anjalis to her Krishna from the bottom of their hearts but could also spread the sublime joy of being one with Him among the ordinary souls who had assembled there as mere spectators.

She could not even dream of reaching half the distance of what these blessed souls had traveled through their inborn talents in dance and music and she did not even show the arrogance of making an attempt to do so. Let alone them, she was not even as lucky as the people she saw in her day to day life as far as the grace of his blessings on her was concerned. She was denied even the sight of his handsome face for more than a split second when tears would well in her eyes thus blurring her view. To be able to utter his name more than once was a mammoth task for her. Her voice would choke cutting off air thus words in praise of him refusing to come out. What sacrilege had she committed to call upon herself this denial of little pleasures that was granted to any ordinary mortal?

At such moments she felt like a bird whose wings had been clipped, the love within her stifling her being unable to find expression and she out of sheer helplessness taking the refuge of her limited knowledge in writing to put into words what she felt which like the weak rain of summer gave only a temporary relief leading to harsher lashings of the fierce sun……

The sky darkened suddenly. Thunder exploded into the suffocating silence of the sultry evening. The wind blew hard snatching a drop or two of the rain from the pregnant clouds that it sprinkled carelessly on the starving earth intensifying the look of naked hunger in its eyes for more. The rain drops that fell on the parched ground disappeared in a moment, the satisfaction of quenching the thirst of the cracked lips yet to be whetted.

She looked towards the eastern sky afraid even to sigh at seeing the gathering clouds lest the wind carried them away to lands far away and strange leaving her, like the earth to stare at the vacant sky with eyes devoid of hope. She did not know the intensity of the pain of happiness being snatched away from one when it was at arm’s length and hence was afraid to desire for it.

Standing beneath the sky ripped open by lightening she stood braving the wind but afraid to wish for the soothing touch of the rain drops. Yet she stood waiting, for she did not want to miss it if the winds were merciful enough to let them descend on her. The stray drop of rain that fell on her made her more aware of how her bruised skin due to the harsh lashing of the sun all those days desired for the soothing touch of the rains. One drop gave way to two and then to three till the heavens drew the curtain aside for the cascading elixir of life drenching her, the earth , the tiny blades of grass, the mango tree that had flowered for the first time that year, the ivy clinging to the boundary wall, the palm trees and all around her. The earth and the foliage that were united in their misery from the heat till now stood at logger heads vying with each other to lay claim on as many rain drops as possible. Even the feeblest of the blade of grass refused to let go of the one that descended on it though it bent under its weight. She too fought for her share of happiness and danced in the rain to her heart’s content…for those who call the sunshine happiness are the ones who have not danced in the rain.

She knew he was not her reality. The one who had wedded her had left her and her two children at the mercy of fate. As a beautiful young mother with two little ones she had no choice but to follow him when he offered to take care of them. Her elder one was only ten years old and the girl younger to the boy was only six years of age.

He was a frequent visitor to their house but never once had he shown any interest in her. He had always been a silent spectator to the pains she went through in her life, which she spent with her alcoholic husband. Her pride also never allowed her to open her heart to him even once though many a times she had felt the need of soothing words.

Was it sympathy or respect for her, paired with dissatisfaction in his own life that prompted him to take them along with him when they were thrown out by the land lord from the only house they knew, she did not know. The fact that he was married, she chose to ignore because she had no other alternative other than following him at that time.

Twenty long years they lived together. Mutual respect gave way to love and companionship. They never married. Neither did they feel the need to do so. She never discussed his wife. He took care of her and the children. He gave them good education. She never asked him if he took care of his biological children also but she knew he would never turn away from his responsibilities and he knew only to love.

One night as they sat next to each other catching up on the day’s events, the phone rang. It was his wife calling him back. His daughter was of marriageable age and the father’s absence would be a cause of worry in getting good proposals for the girl she said. Malathi had no doubts in her mind as to what to say to this request. She let him go. She always knew he had never been her reality. He was like the mirage that gave hope and strength as long as it was visible.

Her children were grown up too. The boy had a decent job. The girl was self employed. She could not stay in the same house once he was gone. She had to leave the city. He dropped her at the station to board the train bound for her home town. She requested him not to stay back till the train left. She saw him disappearing among the crowd……   

Dheere dheere machal aye dil e bekarar

Koi ata hey

Yunh tadap ke na tadpa mujhe baar baar

Koi ata hey…….

She hummed to herself as she washed the clothes. Her mind was refusing to concentrate on the work at hand. A face kept floating in front of her eyes again and again. With a start she realized it was not the face of her husband. A pang of guilt overtook her. How could a face other than that of her husband cast a spell on her? How could thoughts of another keep her mind occupied? That too at a time when she thought she was immune to all that. She felt ashamed of herself. But she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop her eyes from moving towards the gate hoping beyond hope to see that face, which like a bolt from the blue she realized, was so important to her. Her restless looks towards the gate did not escape the keen observation of her husband. But he was mature enough not to confront her then because he knew she would not hesitate to defy even him.

It was as if her life had taken a drastic turn. It was as if the sweetness and goodness that she had felt within had left her. She would go mad if she did not see that face. She couldn’t cheat herself any more by trying to convince her self that the face did not mean any thing to her. The little problems that she had handled with a smile earlier made her snap now. Another day of separation and she would break down.

Yes she had to find another maid as soon as possible. Life was becoming miserable. And it was on one of these days that a person known to them came with a lady who he claimed was good at household chores. One look at the lady’s face and her heart went out to her. The prospective maid was at least 70 years old. She mentally prepared herself to take in the lady as she felt no one would want to work at that age unless it was a question of survival. Though her husband warned her she was adamant she would take in the lady even if she had to do most of the work instead of the maid. Unable to understand his wife, her husband gave up trying to convince her.

The next day being a Sunday all were at home when the lady walked in for work. She accompanied the lady upstairs to explain to her the work to be done. The lady casually asked her if she had only one sibling. Thinking her mother would have mentioned her sister who was abroad to the lady, she replied in the affirmative and furnished the information that the person concerned came down only once in two years. The maid replied “oh! so you have a sister also. That makes three of you.” A little surprised she asked the lady who the third one was and pat came the reply “who else, the one sitting in the drawing room, wearing specs”. Now her daughter wore specs and she thought to herself no this couldn’t be true…..this lady wouldn’t have thought she and her daughter looked like sisters…that was too good to believe or would she have really meant that. At last unable to contain herself, she blurted out “Who is the third one you are mentioning….the one in specs you said just a few minutes ago?”. The lady lifting up her head said “The boy in specs …is he not your younger brother?” For a split second she thought she would faint. Even if the lady had mistaken her husband to be her brother she would have forgiven her but to think he was her younger brother was something she would never forget or would be allowed to forget would be more apt. 

The news spread like fire and rest is story…….