WOUNDS OF MONSOON (Short story)

WOUNDS OF MONSOON

20^th August 2018.

It had been raining heavily for many days, precisely - from 8^th August. 

The sun remained untraceable as if he was found missing forever in the turbulent flood waters. I was watching the morning news on cable TV, all the while my younger son was standing beside me to snatch away the ‘remote control’ to tune in his favourite cartoon program. 

Kerala, the south-western state of the Indian Union, was very slowly recovering from the devastating floods caused by the extra-ordinary south-west monsoon. Twelve out of fourteen districts were on high alert since the 72^nd Independence Day of India. But, the unprecedented rains declared their independence in the most devastating manner.

Hundreds of landslips, nearly 500 deaths, 4000 relief camps, many people were still missing, more than a million people were displaced. Kochi International Airport was in shambles with an estimated loss of around $ 40 million! It was the hell of our times!

 ✌                     

“Drning… drrning….” the age old calling bell of our ancestral home started making its usual creaky noise...

“Just check, who is at the door-step…” I told my younger son and he walked away quite reluctantly.

Father Sylvanos and a small group of his associates entered into our drawing room. He is a very pious clergyman in our local parish. People from all walks of life respect him the most. He has only two pair of clothes and not even a single time in life he had accepted gifts or pocket money from public. He lives in a small room with very limited facilities. He cooks for himself, washes his clothes, and keeps himself away from all sorts of luxuries. He prefers to move around in an old Hercules Bicycle - which doesn’t even have a lock or brakes- in search of the needy, irrespective of their cast, creed and religion…

“Even a single act of kindness, can change someone’s life more than we can imagine…” he used to repeat this line, at least ten times, every day and he lived up to that!

“Welcome Father…”

“Thanks Prem…” He sank into one of our strongest chairs as his huge body resembled a naughty little elephant. “How are you?”

“I am alright,” replied while I switched off the TV.

“Hi little one… You can continue with your favourite cartoon show… But, keep the volume a bit low… OK?” Father Sylvanos caught hold of the remote control and handed over the same to my younger son.

“Thank you Father…” he replied happily.

Soon, a lot of silent monsters started flooding on the huge TV Screen. Cartoons convert children to little monsters! Parents too!

“Hundreds of thousands of our people have taken refuge in relief camps... It is our duty to support them in every possible way, we can,” Father Sylvanos continued. “Prem… We are on our humble mission to collect relief materials for the most needy…”

“Father… I would like to support your noble mission… Shall I pay some money or…?”

“Let’s forget about the money part, my son… You know, money corrupts… Why don’t you get some blankets, baby clothes, sanitary napkins, toiletries etc.?”

“As you wish…”

“God bless you… Anyway, why don’t you join us?” Father Sylvanos asked me.

 ✌                     

Though I am one of the residents of that small town in central Travancore, many of the small places around my house were quite unknown to me. There might be many reasons, right from educational profile, to jobs at distant places. To be very frank, I was re-inventing my own whereabouts, that too after many years of silence.

We started walking through a small road beside the paddy fields, which were almost submerged in water. 'The group' of Father Sylvanos contained people from different faiths and political outlooks. But, all of them had only one thing in common, i.e., the absolute faith in humanity…

“They could have easily avoided it…,” said Mr Kurien Joseph, an officer retired from Revenue Department. “Improper dam water management is the real culprit… They opened the gates of almost all the dams which had dangerously high water levels… that too without prior intimations at the worst flood-hit places…”

 “At least, 25000 crores is needed to rebuild Kerala.” Another member said.

Father Sylvanos and I walked along with this sort of heated up discussion…

“Please stop your silly arguments…  At least a million people had lost everything… Most of them are still in relief camps… They need good food, clothing, drinking water, medicine, sanitary pads and many more things… Let’s collect the maximum relief materials today itself… ” at last, Father Sylvanos too was forced to break his silence before entering into a palatial mansion, where we were welcomed warmly….

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Two or three rooms full of relief materials collected, remained unsorted in the nearby school owned by the parish. Vibrant youth, both boys and girls, were very active in sorting out the materials received. They made separate bundles of clothes suiting different age groups, medicines, rice and curry powders, vegetables and many more. It was quite amazing to watch that none of them ever touched their smartphones! It was these youngsters who saved thousands by converting their mobile phone and social media platforms as control rooms to co-ordinate the rescue operations.

“The youth… they are the ones who reduced the scale of this grave disaster,” Father Sylvanos told me.  “But… Soon, they will start asking new questions… Why did this disaster hit Kerala? What are the reasons? Who are the real culprits? What plan do you have to rebuild Kerala? They are not going to be silent anymore…” Father Sylvanos rode his thick fingers through his untamed beard…

Finally, a truck full of relief materials was ready to leave for Pathanamthitta, one of the worst flood-hit districts of Kerala. Father Sylvanos flagged of the truck and the people who were already exhausted by a day’s hard-work dispersed slowly. 

“Come… Let’s have some coffee…”

When we were about to leave for the small cabin where Father Sylvanos used to live, there appeared an altar-boy with a small bagful of rice, hardly around two or three kilograms…

“Thank Jesus… Who sent it, O little one?” asked Father Sylvanos while accepting the same with great care.

“Father… It’s sent by ‘Pantham’ Chechi… You know, she can’t walk now-a-days… She is so sick…” he replied while taking out a small grain of rice trapped in his T-shirt… “Probably, this could be the last grain in her home…” And he walked away…

Father looked deep into my eyes as if he was blasting open the doors of my hidden memories…

 ✌

Our ancestral house stood beside a huge paddy field spanning for several acres… The lush green of paddy fields were one of the most captivating features of our village. Now, they remain empty stretches of land lying fallow for many decades. Agriculture, especially paddy, is a losing proposition now. Cash crops have eaten away the glory of ‘rice’ cultivation, the staple food of Kerala.

It was really wonderful to watch people walking away with lighted ‘Panthams’ – torches made out of dried coconut palm leaves - amid the huge expanse of the darkest nights.  And, she was the last traveller.

“How come she is moving around at late nights? Why do they call her ‘pantham?” I asked my mother one day.

She didn’t give an answer till today!

 ✌

‘Pantham Chechi’ was a very beautiful woman in her youthful days. At least, she had a name of her own at that time! She lived with her ageing mother who was suffering from a multitude of real and imaginary sort of illness. Chechi (elder sister in local language) was in love with a peon who was working in a government office nearby. In the course of time, she had to tighten the chord of her skirt mercilessly to hide up the advancing stages of pregnancy. Her lover got a transfer to the farthest corner of our state when she was nearing seven months. The poor woman was brutally ditched, which resulted in the birth of a stillborn. Her mother too passed away on the very same night. Honour is a very strange feeling for those who care it!

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Circle Inspector Soman Pillai was quite notorious for his crazy attitude towards culprits, especially members of the mafia syndicate. Many of them had ‘premature death’ through the ‘sugar treatment’ given during the course of interrogation. Two kilograms of sugar dissolved in almost same amount of water, with fresh lemon to taste, was given to them in a short span of two days, so that even bones would become spongy and death would embrace them in thirty days, that too without any doubt or outcry from the public! He was a terror among the goons and gangsters. He had at least twenty ‘transfers’ in his seventeen years of service.

It was nearing almost nine in the evening. Soman Pillai was just back into his office after solving a high end communal riot. He was so tired like dead meat.

“I am leaving,” he told his deputy and started walking towards his official vehicle, a Jeep, parked outside.

“Sir, we have booked a man and woman for immoral traffic…” Constable Manoharan informed him politely.

“Where is she?”

Head down, a woman around twenty-seven was standing along with a ‘seasoned’ truck driver. It seems they were playing the funny game of ‘nude beauty and the beast’ – something like ‘snake and the ladder’ - in the nearby tourist home. Constable Manoharan booked them just to impress the newly joined Circle Inspector Soman Pillai.

“Pataaaaaaar”, Soman Pillai had undergone sudden metamorphosis into the cartoon character of ‘Phantom’ and the truck driver had to collect a couple of white teeth sparkling in the dim light as a souvenir of the ‘first encounter of the last kind!’ “Now… Get lost, you bastard…”

His body jerked just like the clutch pedal of his truck was quickly released, and lost in the darkness.

“Where is your house?” He asked the woman without any name… But, she remained silent.

Constable Manoharan had to send her in the last bus towards the small city surrounded by paddy fields. Nobody had ever raided or booked her again after that incident.

 ✌

“Why did you send her away?”

“What else could I do other than that?” Soman Pillai replied his wife. “She is one of the finest human beings I have ever seen…”

“What? How can a prostitute be a Saint? You are crazy…” She got up quickly and sat on the bed as if she was going to torture him alive…

“Yes… Now, get lost to sleep…”

“You may be the Circle Inspector at your office. But, I am the DGP here! Director General of Police!” She started shaking his body with such a force that even his bones would leave his body and run away forever from her vicinity.

 ✌

A couple of years back…

Circle Inspector Soman Pillai had to complete the proceedings of a post-mortem of a sensational ‘honour killing’ at the District Hospital.  A poor boy was murdered by the relatives of the girl with whom he had an intense love affair. Almost all the gates of the District Hospital were closed as the agitated crowd standing outside were ready to burn everything. A lot of POLICE personnel were deployed and Mr Soman Pillai was in charge of everything.

When things were slightly under control, he lit a cigarette, standing beside a huge tree. Excessive tensions in job had already made him a chain-smoker. Suddenly, something flashed on his weary eyes. It was the same nameless woman, who used to walk ‘to and fro’ between ‘seven and nine’ in the evening, to pick up a customer and end up the act of disgust before the last bus towards her village was ready to move.

She had a lot of regular customers and most of them considered her as a lover or wonderful companion. She knew the intense secrets of everyone as she was their one and only counsellor! And they were the people who protected her every time. 

The nameless woman was sitting near the counter where medicines were distributed. Unfortunately, the pharmacists were helpless most of the times as the commonly available generic medicines were usually clay-balls without any medicine content in it! Most of them were made in ‘single-room factories’ at Pondicherry or in the slums of Mumbai! Most of the company owners used to be the relatives of Health Ministers and they used to win tenders because of price advantage and diplomatic immunity! Soman Pillai knew this simple fact better than anyone. 

An old woman too, was rejected from the medicine counter because of the non-availability of the free-supply of psychiatric drugs for her younger daughter who would go violent without medicines on time. Tears started rolling down her eyes as she had no money to buy even some food.

“Please wait here,” said the nameless woman and she walked away with the prescription, which was torn at many places. She was back within four or five minutes, it seemed that she might have been running. The old woman blessed by hugging her tightly and walked away with the big packet of medicines. Fortunately, the packet contained some fresh currency notes too.

Again, the nameless woman took over the same seat near the medicine counter. She helped the poor till the last penny with her was exhausted. Nobody showed any discrimination to her. Only money and vane pride can create discriminations. The poor are free of that!

 ✌

“I am sorry, dear,” the poor wife started rubbing his hands.

“Shit! It’s something like saying ‘sorry’ after crushing someone’s balls to pulp. Get lost! I lost the sleep too…” Soman Pillai got up from the bed and started walking inside the dimly-lit bedroom like a caged tiger.

“Shall I get you some hot water?”

“My foot!” the poor man opened the bedroom windows wide open and took a deep breath of cold air. She walked towards the kitchen.

“Please have it.”

The poor man emptied the whole glass in a single gulp. It went through his oesophagus like molten lava.

“What the hell is this?” he asked while rubbing his throat.

“You needed ‘a drink’ very badly!”

“But, it was a ‘double’ without water!”

“Might be… See, I didn’t work in any bar so far!” she replied with a naughty smile.

And for the first time - in the past fifteen years of his married life- he felt the ‘nameless’ in her! Soon, she was thrown into the whirlpool of passion.

“Window is open and the light is on…” she said naughtily.

“So what? I will kill you if you utter another word…” he covered her lips with a warm kiss…

 ✌

The nameless woman, walked alone through the narrow borders of the paddy fields with a burning torch made out of dried coconut leaves. She used to make them herself by tying a bunch of dried coconut leaves tightly at short intervals.

“Why don’t you buy a torch? Or shall I get you one?” asked one of her clients. But, she remained silent.

She started waving the burning torch back and forth to re-kindle the flames and she knew, it’s the only protection that she was having!

Yes… I am the ‘Pantham’ - burning torch… 

I have to burn, before the fire dies down to embers….

 ✌

Father Sylvanos looked deep into my eyes, all the time he was holding the small rice bag so close to his heart. Quite unknowingly, a cute smile appeared on my face and the same got transferred to him too.

“Prem… What made you smile young man?” he asked.

“Nothing… Father…”

“Shall I tell you?”

“There is… nothing…Father…”

“O K… I shall tell… ‘Pantham chechi’ and I, if we both die together, can you tell me who would reach the heavens?” Father Sylvanos asked.

Though, it was the same question haunting me for many years, I remained silent.

“I am sure, she will only reach the Heavens!” Father Sylvanos looked up with extreme devotion. “Prem, we give only a portion of what we have. We keep only a small share of our earnings for kind acts. But, you know, her kindness is spontaneous! It is absolute surrender! It is the highest level of sacrifice! She never worries about the future, for she has the unending faith that ‘He’ would take care of her every moment!” 

Soon his tear drops started wetting the rice bag which he held tightly around his heart. 

And an unusual glow covered both of us…

 ✌

Premji

3/10/2018