Time Warp

The gleaming disc of the sun seemed to turn the leaves in patchwork of colours; scorching yellow, lava reds and burnished browns. Somehow  rain was promised and the wind already unleashed: but there would be sunshine and warmth by morning. Time to rebuild and repair. 

The leaves of the gulmohar tree, waved happily upwards greeting gale which started to gather pace. An unwanted stray dog with light brown coat seemed to dart away , probably looking for a shelter. Attimes cry of few birds could be heard. Maybe they were distressed and worried for their young ones in the nest. Continuous croak of the humorous frogs attimes got unpardonable, as it widely meant harbinger of deluge. One or two daring and curious squirrel climbed down the tree but then vanished rapidly again in the leaves, sensing that the rain would last long. Shamita, sat quietly by the window in a small stool. The stool belonged to her grandmother. Kalbaishakhi, or Nor'westers during April, is nostalgic.

The gentle patter of the raindrops grew louder. During the afternoons Shaamu, as grandmother lovingly called her would affectionately would sit on the floor and her grandmother gathered herself on the stool. She narrated stories of Indian Freedom Struggle or read out famous stories from popular Bengali book, “Tuntunir golpo’’ or “Thakumaar Jhuuli.” Shamita, would live those stories even long after. A strange unknown insect like creature popped out its head from a nearby puddle, probably waiting all tiny water bodies to merge and be one, or so Shamita thought. Her life has been the same, she is waiting to connect the dots, attimes looking up dreadfully to find out a way. Love , hate, anger, desperation, all formed a volcano of emotions. Always known to be composed and measured in gesture, her nature somehow is defying her reputation now.

Advik, her six year old son remained asleep in the other room. She now can afford to view and review the past. He keeps Shamita busy, always. Today she asked her maid to go early, she wanted some space. Feisty journalist at some point, is now a school teacher, but this suits her requirements, as she can give time to her son. Besides, Aniket is no more. Capt Aniket Raheja is a martyr.  He eliminated three terrorists before he breathed last in the valley…miles away from Mayur Vihaar, Delhi, where Shamita lived with their son.  Advik then two, was cutely notorious to the extreme.  He took hours to eat and favoured late night sleeping. He had the potential of breaking anything any time. But, he was his papa’s favourite. Aniket loved to hear his son’s lisping over the phone. He waited every moment to come back home. He was toying the idea of taking premature retirement from the army. He wanted to spend time at home. He was tired of the uncertainty of his life.

Shamita, leaned against the wall, put the cup on the saucer very slowly so that it would not make any sound, who knows Advik might wake up! She spotted an odd bird, probably a mayna with its wet and  heavy wings flew from a nearby tree to the other. She remembered the day, 9^th July 1999. The telephone rang, with bated breath she picked up the receiver to hear Aniket. During those days either she watched the news or waited for her husband’s call. "Ani ", …she couldn’t hear her husband’s response, instead a husky voice  introducing himself as the Commanding Officer of Major Aniket’s Unit, spoke. Her heart pounded heavily, she couldn’t listen to Colonel Mohan’s voice properly. The words, fatal injury….brave..true soldier, incoherently moved in her ears. Words receded as a distant dream. She fell on the floor. Her looks were vacant. After a few minutes a shrill cry filled the air.

 Everything followed. Media coverage, relatives pouring in, sympathies and everyone made her realize repeatedly that she was the widow of a martyr, therefore not entitled to cry. Aniket’s parents who came down from Gurdaspur, went back. They did not stay with Shamita as she expected. After their tumultuous love marriage, where a lithe yet intelligent Bengali girl married a dashing Punjabi Army Officer, Aniket’s parents kept away. They never could agree to the match, and Shamita’s parents were equally unhappy.

She moved to Kolkata after a long wait. Wait for Aniket’s remains. His body couldn’t be recovered. Advik, till date wanted to see his father, though he doesn’t have any faint memory. But now actually he demands a father! Shamita prefers to keep Aniket in heart more than the wall. She actually hated to put up pictures of Aniket, it pained her more. Her son was growing up hearing stories of his father’s bravery and some how the little mind visualized that one day his father would turn up and proudly he would take his papa around. He would show his latest minions and hot wheels car collections. Advik’s papa in uniform would command respect and even the friends who bullied him, will never dare to do so! He shared his secret vision with Shamita. She maintained quietude thinking it would be cruel to crush her son’s dreams but ardently prayed for the day to arrive when he would understand the reality. It’s difficult to rear up a child alone.

 Shamita didn’t stay with her parents in Dhakuria, though she is their only daughter. She stays in a two bedroom rented flat in Alipore, near her school named Morning Glory.  She was trying to build her life again….until Rahul called her.

Thunder rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the world in half and reveal the fury of Gods. The violent wind made way through the window and whipped her black wavy hair around her face. A numbing coldness gripped her heart.

So how come, after so long, Rahul found her? This question rattled her. He alienated himself during Aniket’s and Shamita’s marriage. This made Aniket curious but he preferred not to speak about it. She never heard from him even after Aniket’s death. She hated him every minute, her every breath cursed him. She would never forgive Rahul, or rather Colonel Rahul for Aniket’s death. Today after four years of her husband’s death, he called up. He did not ask  her address, but quietly yet resolutely mentioned his time of arrival. Shamita’s voice quivered and she switched off the phone.

She took a sip; the tea by that time didn’t taste good. She liked hot tea always. Her mind floated back to the 90’s when all three, Aniket, Rahul and herself were at Delhi University, and termed as best buddies by others. Gradually Aniket and Shamita got closer day by day. By that time Aniket had joined army and hailed as a hero in the university. Rahul harboured strong feelings for Shamita but never let her know until the day he got heavily drunk and came over to her hostel. He cried holding her hands. It was strange for a young man to do so. Shamita was equally flabbergasted. She regained her composure blurted out..“Rahul, you must go…and we are not even friends from now…,” said Shamita. But somewhere she did not want to. Rahul joined the army and got commissioned in the same Unit as Aniket. Relations between the friends strained but only Shamita and Rahul were aware of the reason. Aniket could only speculate. But he never demanded answer. Kargil war broke out, and both were posted in the same region. As some story goes, on the fatal day, Rahul and Aniket were scaling steep hill, which was captured by the terrorists. While Aniket got hurt and eventually died, Rahul escaped unhurt. 
Shamita believed Rahul could have saved Aniket, but he wished otherwise. The fact that Rahul never called all these years, repugnance against him took a deep root in her.

Shamita was so engrossed in the past, she could not even hear the footsteps halting right inside the room. Major Rahul Sinha, entered. Suddenly a familiar fragrance filled the air, Shamita turned around. The Armani perfume was always Rahul’s favourite.

 She became oblivious of Advik sleeping in the other room. She remained bemused for a moment. Bit her lips in a way to control the long pending outburst.  But eventually her composure gave away, barrage of emotions let loose.

The storm outside brewed on the horizon brewed promising nothing but winds to level the mightiest of the trees to the soil. The damp air threatened to  devastate every roof.

"Killer”...she shouted, as tears welled up in her eyes, hysteric anger engulfed her. “Why now? Why have you come to ask for forgiveness after four years?…You hated Ani so much...you couldn’t get his body, even . Why did you snatch Advik’s father from him? Can you give him back?” She dropped on the floor…Rahul remained quiet. He let her cry

 

The rain was cascading in diagonal sheets in full glory. There was a certain rhythm to the downpour. Fierce yet pleasant. Probably the smoldering earth was quenched, the unrestrained brutality of the sun was answered and every raindrop was welcomed.

Few minutes passed. It seemed like years. Slowly, Rahul came to her. He sat beside her, placing his barret on the table. Cupped her face. He narrated the incident of the day of Aniket’s death. “Shamita”..he cleared his throat, “Aniket’s body was battered beyond recognition…had we tried to recover his body we would have lost more men. I never cared about myself, you know that”, he continued, “when the terrorists were gunned down, the bunker caught fire. Nothing was left to bring back. But I could understand your feelings about me, so I never dared to face you. You were wrong but it took me four years to come to you, to muster enough courage and make you understand the truth.”

Whistling and shrieking, the wind raged though like a vexed bear. The noise enveloped the room and  its surroundings. It demanded to be heard.

 

“But you hated him…you …” her voice choked.

 Yes. I did, initially. As luck would have it before the final assault on that day, I told him the truth. He was not much perturbed or angry. Perhaps he knew it. He trusted you and cared for you and Advik beyond words. He just smiled at me. We shook hands and hugged.”

Rahut stopped and took a deep breath. “ I saw myself as a loser there, probably  I couldn’t have given you such selfless love. Somehow I couldn’t face you all these years. But after getting my posting order in Kolkata, I decided to come to you the day I land here. I was dying each day, I couldn’t take it anymore,”…he looked at her …as tears rolled down her eyes like the unremitting rain outside.

With muffled voice, the man in uniform continued, “ Shamita, I have lost many things, too. I lost you, lost my best pal, lost my parents a year back in an accident in Mumbai. Probably you heard about it. I live with memory now, atleast you have Advik. I just want that…,” he tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. “Your son, should not hear stories of hatred about me, it’s not true.”

Shamita looked up. Somehow hatred and anger against Rahul lost its intensity. She felt relieved, rekindled and happier, after a long long time.

“You must know something…,” Rahul cleared his voice, looked into Shamita's eyes deeply and spoke with some authority, “I am a true soldier, I would have saved my fellow brother officer if I could have at any peril. But this truth will be buried with me. ”

He stood up to leave.

She knew Rahul. She knew he spoke the truth and his veracity cannot be questioned under any circumstance.  She didn’t need any validation. Little Advik stood at the door wondering about the man in olive green. There was wonder in his eyes. Was he dreaming?  Rahul, turned towards him and ushered the boy but he remained nonplussed. Too overwhelmed with awe to respond.

Shamita wiped her tears.  The rain had stopped. The bright yellow beams of sun, teared through the dark clouds and softly touched everything. A slice entered the room through the open window. The flecks of golden sunshine mixed with a few wispy clouds in the sky, gradually wore the look of an azure sea overhead. All signs of rain and storm vanished into thin air. There was no struggle to be seen.  

Shamita whispered to her son...

Meet your Father.

 

 

An encounter with life

 

It was just another Monday for me, with barrage of anxieties. My daughter did not fair well in the first term exam, my 5 year old son, Jai suffered from high fever and the maid did not turn up. The bathroom tap leaked and the plumber did not come after repeated calls, I hardly got time to do exercise and pitied myself as I looked in the mirror. My work did not gain momentum as I expected and all these I could not have shared with my husband since he was posted in the Field Area. I was the Olive Green queen wearing the crown of thorns! First I berated my daughter for her miserable result, went to the Military Hospital again with my son, got back and cleaned the utensils, did the remaining household chores and figured out that my dog, Laila had run away. I endeavored to recollect the last time I saw her. Definitely around 9 in the morning when I gave her food. And it was late afternoon then. I was coping with challenging situation that day and did not notice her absence. 

I couldn’t muster more courage to beat the situation. I slumped on the sofa and wept bitterly. After couple of minutes, I got up and went to check on my son. He lay asleep and is fever seemed to subside. I went to my neighbor, narrated the string of events and requested her to keep an eye on my son as me and my daughter went to look for Laila.

Delhi Cantonment is quite sprawling and our Bakharwal dog was capable to go anywhere. A pure white beauty but fiercely independent and quite known for her Runaway Bride moments.  

Armed with a dog leash we called out her name repeatedly. Some one pointed out the way in which he spotted our dog couple of hours ago. My mind raced with many thoughts – What if she had ventured in far flung area or bitten by pack of strays and left to die elsewhere or kidnapped by breeders or may be hit by a vehicle and lay dead somewhere!

Oh! I forcibly halted my confounded and anxious thoughts focused on what was required on that hour. My daughter and I decided to go towards different directions for a more effective search. In the meantime I called my neighbor and found that my son was still asleep and that the fever had completely subsided.

I resumed the search with more gusto. An hour passed with no trace of Laila. I saw my daughter from afar walking towards me, alone. I was more distraught to see my daughter. She never spoke. But moist, downcast eyes and her dejected look spoke a lot. It was a tough day for her, too. I realized it for the first time, probably in several months. These years, while steering the ship all alone, made me only look at the shore and not the way.

We decided to walk back. There was a quaint charm in the air. The breezy yet silent late November afternoon with rustling of dry leaves,  occasional squeaking of the squirrels and chirping of the birds had a message to convey.

We walked slowly. Partially because I still hoped, though faintly, Laila might surface from somewhere and more because I wanted to initiate a conversation with Juhi.

Earlier that day I was quite peeved with her. But at that point, a calmness descended upon me. Maybe I accepted the situation instead of incessantly complaining about it. I nudged her affectionately and asked her about school and friends. It was her seventh school and she was in sixth grade, she studied in different cities and towns. Its part and parcel of Infantry life. The bag or rather the trunk is always half packed for  us.

‘I don’t have many friends here. Nobody shares anything with me,’ she said in a melancholy tone. ‘Don’t have to be friends with anyone, just do well in studies…be a leader ..you don’t have to follow others..,” I rattled.

‘ But maa..I am alone….,’…she raised her voice, not with arrogance but with a plead to hear. It struck me. I kept quite. After a while I asked her to be my best friend. ‘But you are busy….and I need someone of my age too,’ said Juhi emphatically. This time I did not lecture, instead mentioned that I will always support her. I assured her that all I wanted was to be her happy. She seemed contented and I knew that I was able to build a trust with her.

We almost reached our apartment gate. As we crossed the bungalow on the left with high boundary, we heard laughter and giggles. Nothing extraordinary. A dog barked and the laughter and giggles grew louder. Juhi suggested seeing if it was Laila. I thought it would be inappropriate to go inside. She insisted and I had to go.

We quietly approached the gate. There was no guard. So, we went inside. The beautiful lawn suggested a very well kept house. We tiptoed towards the backyard where the noise came from.

There…there she was! And what was she upto! She was jumping aimlessly, rolling over and running helter skelter- matched with her antics was a little boy’s giggles, confined to the wheel chair. His father sitting beside him and laughing heartily. None of them noticed us and we did not want to get noticed. As we stood beside the huge Erica palm, I also became one in their jubilation. Simple yet ecstatic. Common yet heavenly. Celebration without any serious cause or clause. Divinity which ruled over every compulsion. Happiness is not elusive which I thought to be!  I glanced at Juhi, as she watched the scene in front, intensely. Even her little soul was touched.

Laila sensed our presence and ran towards us. We emerged from the shade and introduced us.

The 5 year old, little boy named Naman, blissfully smiled at us. His father mentioned that he was a special child and always confined to his chair. According to him Naman loved dog but taking care of an animal would be difficult since all their attention was towards their only son. ‘His life, dosenot have much variety - after so many days he enjoyed today,’ he said wanly and walked towards his son.  I saw a doleful look in Naman’s eyes as were about to leave. I promised Naman to let Laila play with him everyday.

The sudden radiant glow in his face and gurgling sound which emanated from his throat as he tried to cough up words – all meant Thank You. He seemed elated. He would have ran and kissed me, if he could. But he did more. He was not confined to a place. I was. I was restrained to my unhappy musings, judgments and thoroughly critical of myself. As the sky wore a crimson hue, bidding adieu to the sun, he taught me to be grateful to life and look for happiness- stand taller than your situation-Win over yourself.

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The story of Laila - The Snow Princess - cut short.

The snow princess Laila in different moods and stages. She came to spread happiness and love. She did. She was in excruciating pain due to canine auto immune syndrome but unfailingly wagged her tail when we were in the vicinity. Tranquility pervaded her ever watchful eyes. There was age old wisdom and maturity during her final days. This transformation of someone who always provided us with many moments of outstanding entertainment and laughs majorly as a result of her cheekiness was too much to grasp! She knew it. Probably she knew us more.

As life ebbed away in a cold February evening she gave lives. Clenched her teeth and held on giving birth to wonders and miracles. Licked her pups gingerly, fed them yet all the while writhing in pain. But never once I witnessed empty eyes and broken spirit. She entrusted me with her little ones...and her life faded way in oblivion but not before I read in her eyes...Take Care.
My four legged companion taught me endurance, friendship, trust , value of time and motherhood. I learnt to appreciate life and Never Give Up.
To my children she was their confidante and partner in crime. With her they understood the real meaning of the labelled word " share" sans her meat piece though! She taught them selfless love and in death gave lesson of Dying as no teacher in the world would. Before this, the word "mortal", was a concept but now my kids could fathom the depth. They could gather that eventually one has to die, never to return.
They have learnt to cherish and respect every moment.

Laila in every stage of her life - our life
 

Laila knew many things. She knew her absence will be painful for us therefore while bidding final adieu she presented four snowballs as gifts or remembrance. She left us...but left us with hope. Let the barking , muddy paws marks all over the floor, half chewed slipper scenes continue and so does the legacy of Laila.
Life goes on.
Now I have Baloo one of her pups. We never wanted to part with any of Laila's pups but recurring shiftings and space constraint compelled us to do so. They are in good homes and are called Simba, Dora and Bela. This is my two and half years old Laila's short story...my snow princess.
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