Exile

by Akhilesh

  As soon as Nupoor went towards the ICU, Awadh Narayan dashed to the bathroom, and Kamana started serving the meal. Kamana said snidely, ‘My sister-in-law, the queen, has sent yesterday’s leftovers.’

  Awadh Narayan returned from the bathroom, and everyone picked up their plates.

  Suryakant found it the right moment to announce, ‘I’m leaving for Lucknow tomorrow.’ He didn’t address anyone in particular, and nobody spoke for some time.

  Awadh Narayan responded eventually. ‘Wait for a few days, Gaurav too must have his vacations.’

  ‘Tell Gauri to come here with Gaurav. Ammaji will at least see them in her last moments.’ Ma suggested.

  Suryakant lowered his head. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Is it necessary?’ Awadh Narayan asked.

  ‘Yes. Pandeyji is coming. I have an important meeting with him.’

  ‘Fine, leave,’ Awadh Narayan said with a speck of hesitation, ‘But do come back.’

  He kept silent.

  ‘I am your mother … I …’ she broke off mid-sentence.

  He did not reply.

  ‘It appears you have not forgiven us.’ Awadh Narayan was pleading for forgiveness from his son, ‘How can we atone …?’

  Suryakant placed his palm on his father’s.

  ‘When are you leaving?’ Ma said, emotionally.

  ‘Tomorrow morning by Varuna Express.’

  ‘Morning!’ Ma’s throat choked, as if a device had been damaged.

  23

  THIS LETTER IS NOT A WICKED EMAIL OR AN SMS

  It was hard to find a vacant seat on the Varuna Express. Whenever he spotted one and moved towards it, the passenger next to it would declare, ‘It’s already taken. He’ll be here in a moment.’ Some passengers had spread themselves over multiple seats. If someone requested them to make room, they would declare themselves ill and remain lying there with their eyes closed. Since Suryakant had been a daily commuter on this train a few years ago, none of this was new to him. When the sun climbed high in the sky and when it was warmer, after a station or two, these so-called patients would be miraculously cured. He knew that those who were supposed to fill the vacant seats would never arrive and there would be space enough to perch one’s bottom. He told the neighbouring passenger, as he hunkered in an empty seat, ‘If someone comes, I’ll get up.’ The train started crawling. Suryakant looked out of the train window: Awadh Narayan, Chacha, Shibbu, Tendulkar and Nupoor were waving goodbye.

  Varuna Express left at 7:15 a.m. so Suryakant had woken up quite early. When his eyes opened, he found the entire household awake. Ma had already fried pooris in the kitchen and was cooking gulgules. Kamana was packing everything methodically in a bag.

  ‘Bhai Sahib, guess what’s in this bag?’ Kamana asked him.

  ‘You have the skill – how can I?’

  ‘Try! The things inside have a fragrance, you have to breathe deeply to make out. Everything has a definite shape; if you can’t see it, close your eyes and try to visualize it.’

  ‘I don’t need all this magic, I know what’s inside.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Amma,’ he said, facing his mother, ‘All these pickles, murabbas, baris, khatai, dry nimona – you know I don’t like them.’

  ‘Throw them away,’ Ma replied as she took out the gulgules from the frying pan.

  ‘I’ll have to carry all this to Lucknow only to throw them away.’

  ‘Not until Lucknow, but until you reach your home. If they also agree, throw it away.’

  He realized these were for Gauri. A fond gift from a mother-in-law to a daughter-in-law. Was this an overture from Ma to Gauri – a way to pacify her? The secret was revealed when Ma spoke after a pause, ‘Your father is calling you.’

  Awadh Narayan was sitting silently in his room, ingesting some medicine with honey.

  ‘How is Dadi?’ Suryakant asked.

  ‘Shibbu has just returned from the hospital, he said there was no change.’

  ‘Who is with Dadi at the moment?’

  ‘Your Chachi and Shibbu will freshen up and return, as will I. We’ll take you to the station and then leave directly for the hospital.’

  ‘Take care of Dadi …’

  ‘Will she survive?’

  ‘The treatment is on.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ma entered the room. She was carrying some boxes of jewellery. ‘These are for bahu.’ She also gave him some saris and clothes for Gaurav and said, ‘Take these back with you.’

  ‘I can’t. Let them be.’

  Ma almost broke down, ‘One exacts revenge only from one’s enemies.’

  He stammered. ‘It’s … not that.’

  ‘What then?’ Awadh Narayan asked.

  ‘See, I’ll not accept these.’ Suryakant spoke sternly and realized his mistake instantly. He softened his tone and said, ‘Right now, Dadi is ill … it does not seem right. When I come the next time, you can hand these directly to them.’

  ‘Will you?’ Ma looked into his eyes.

  ‘Um …’

  Shibbu called from outside the room, ‘Bhaiya, it’s time to leave.’

  He reached the station with Awadh Narayan and Shibbu. Tendulkar and Nupoor were already waiting on the platform. Nupoor handed him an envelope as soon as he came close, ‘Bhaiya, a rakhi. If you don’t come for Raksha Bandhan, tie it on your wrist.’

  Suryakant heard her, but he did not reply. He tucked the envelope into his pocket and pulled out his purse. He intended to give her some money, but Nupoor wagged her finger and said, ‘I won’t settle for such a cheap bargain, Bhaiya.’

  ‘Is your brother a tycoon?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she smiled. ‘But he is someone special to Pandeyji.’ Nupoor implored, ‘Just get our work done through Pandeyji, I won’t ask for anything else my whole life.’

  Tendulkar walked upto him and said, ‘Bhaiya, here are some medicines for you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘This is a medicine for hair regeneration, and this is an anti-aging cream for Bhabhi. It maintains and enhances glowing skin – guaranteed improvement from a week’s intake. Taking two of these globules with lukewarm milk everyday will keep at bay blood pressure, heart diseases and depression.’ He drew close to Suryakant and handed him a package. ‘This is a special powder tablet, Bhaiya. I have prepared it especially for Pandeyji. However old one is, only one dose of these tablets will make erotic vigour surge in him.’

  Suryakant put all the medicines in his handbag, and the rakhi too because it was pricking him in the pocket. He looked at the clock at the station platform: it was 7.10 p.m. The Varuna Express would arrive in five minutes. However, an announcement boomed just then that it was running fifteen minutes late. He was irritated – how would he now kill time? But his unspoken request had been fulfilled: Chacha was headed in his direction, scanning the platform.

  ‘It is good I didn’t miss you – I had lost hope.’

  ‘Chacha, the train is fifteen minutes late.’

  ‘Excellent, I’ll get some time to talk to you.’

  ‘Why the delay? Did you get up late?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Chacha clarified. ‘I didn’t sleep at all because I was worried about Amma the whole night. I rushed to the hospital as soon as dawn broke. I’m coming from there.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Chacha – she’ll be all right.’

  Chacha gazed at the sky. ‘Let’s see.’ He glanced around cautiously and with evident hesitation, he shoved a paper in Suryakant’s pocket. ‘Read it in your spare time.’

  Just then, Tendulkar brought a water bottle, some samosas, packets of chips and a newspaper, ‘Bhaiya, these are for the journey.’

  ‘Why so formal?’ Suryakant shoved them also in the bag.

  ‘Bhaiya, don’t put them with medicines.’

  ‘What medicines? Are you ill?’ Chacha sounded worried.

  ‘No,’ Suryakant told Chacha. ‘He has gifted me some of his medicines.’

  C
hacha addressed Tendulkar, ‘I’ll concede you’re greater than Sukhain Vaidya. You simply have to make Amma well. Do you have anything for her?’

  The loudspeaker crackled, ‘The Varuna Express will arrive on platform number 1 shortly.’

  Everything gathered pace. The passengers on the platform became animated. Coolies started picking up baggage, and vendors jumped to action. Rumbling in, the train stopped.

  Shibbu bent down to touch Suryakant’s feet and remained bent.

  ‘Straighten up, Shibbu, the train is here.’

  ‘I have found these feet after such a long time. Bhaiya, bless me please.’

  ‘My blessings,’ Suryakant said, trying to get rid of him.

  ‘A promise along with your blessings.’

  ‘Get to the point.’ He was annoyed now.

  ‘Get me an opportunity with Pandeyji.’

  Awadh Narayan brought the conversation to a close, ‘Be assertive with your elder brother. It is his duty to do his best to mould your future.’

  The train whistled. He wiggled off his feet from Shibbu’s grasp and entered the first compartment he saw with his laptop and bag.

  The train gathered speed. When some of the passengers got down at the last station, he managed a seat by the window. The train proceeded from one station to another in typical rhythm, and the stations appeared unchanged – the same food and drink, same green benches, same uprooted hand pumps. The compartments had not changed either. The nation had turned into the second-fastest growing economy in the world with extensive consumer markets. However, there had been no transformation in the Varuna Express and the smaller stations.

  So far as he was concerned, now that when he was going back to Lucknow, he was not what he had been earlier. He felt pressed down by confusion, anguish, disgust, indifference, tedium and pique. The confusion during his stay in Sultanpur and Gosainganj had made everything so chaotic that he felt that it had been someone else who had been harbouring such deep love for the town and his family there. The person who had left with Gauri forever was some other man. Then there was this another ‘he’, the person who was returning; and the man gazing from the compartment of the Varuna Express at the stations, trees and fields passing by was still another. He inspected his hands and wondered if these hands, the network of the lines in these palms, belonged to someone else.

  He rested his face in his hands and asked himself, ‘Do these palms and face belong to a single person? Was it the man with this face who arrived in search of Pandey’s ancestors or was it the man inspecting his own palms?’ He confronted himself in terror. Who am I? His thoughts and emotions were so stunning and mighty that he felt suffocated in their grip. Physically, he had left Gosainganj and Sultanpur behind, but both were still inside him.

  Suryakant unzipped his handbag. The samosas, chips and the water bottle were on top, and then there was Nupoor’s rakhi and Tendulkar’s medicines, and finally the jars from his mother. There was some room in the last bag; Suryakant stuffed Tendulkar’s medicines, samosas as well as Nupoor’s rakhi into it. He walked to the compartment door with the bag. The train sped past. Suryakant looked at the ground: two parallel tracks were rushing by. He raised his hand holding the bag, as if it contained not objects but someone’s bones collected after cremation, to be immersed in a holy river. This is his last duty to the dead, which, when he had performed it, would cast him free – from all sorts of endowments, debts and burdens.

  He took a step and dropped the bag. It fell across the parallel tracks. Both his hands were free now. It was as if a stone on his heart had been removed and the knot gripping his mind had been released. He felt lighter.

  He returned to his seat, shut his eyes and sighed. What wonder was this? Suddenly, the flavour of different pickles, khatais began hovering on his palate and his taste buds were soaked effusively in the tastes of his childhood. Had the things he had hurled out of the train turned into ghosts from their untimely demise to haunt Suryakant? The more he tried to get free from the grip of the bygone tastes, the stronger their hold grew.

  He attempted a new technique to get rid of them – switching on his laptop. He connected to the Internet. First, he glanced through his emails. Some were rubbish, a few were useful. Ramajor’s mail mentioned that this particular trip to India was exceptional. He had the intuition that he would discover all the grand truths of life during this journey. Moreover, he was convinced that none of his desires would remain unfulfilled after this. It was accompanied by the information that the Mahamrityunjay recitation had postponed the date of his death.

  Gauri had sent some important information and had complained that Gaurav was spending too much time watching TV. Bahuguna’s mail carried an attachment the essence of which was as follows: ‘The hour has arrived when Ramajor Pandey should declare you as his successor. If you are not willing to be crowned, I am.’

  Suryakant found it difficult to decide whether he should smile or fume at Bahuguna’s suggestion. But the dilemma was brief, because after going through the mail, he was besieged by the time spent in Sultanpur and Gosainganj once again. Tormented, he wished to be liberated of all life’s memories for a while. He wanted his mind to be so uncluttered that no visage, no occurrence, no kin or relation should inhabit it. Such salvation could probably only be had in a state of self-realization; to attain it he clicked open the folder containing his own pictures on his laptop.

  He gazed intently at himself. His eyes passed over every feature of his own photograph to make the final image, like light falling on different portions of an object in the darkness until it was illuminated fully. He surveyed his eyebrows, eyelids, forehead, nose and was befuddled all over again. He realized that none of the parts was uniquely his own. Every portion bore the impression or shadow of one relative or the other. He pondered: if Gauri examines me through this perspective, would her emotions for me change when she sees a likeness between my father’s face and mine?

  He consoled himself by reasoning that Chachi resembled Balwant Kaur, but did Chacha love her as much as Balwant Kaur? He remembered that Chacha had handed him a letter, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Looking at it, he was reminded of the letters Chacha had written to Balwant Kaur, and had rewritten them again and again before handing them over. Suryakant had opened the rejected letters in the shape of balls and read them quite a few times, trying to discover the sense of some of the words in his own way. He had believed that words like ‘sagar’, ‘saki’, ‘adhar’, ‘tarang’, ‘utsarg’, ‘manohari’, etc were invectives and thought Chacha had indeed gone mad.

  Chacha’s handwriting had not changed and the only difference was that while earlier he used to draw lines over all the letters, now they appeared over some and not over many. The essence of the letter was as follows:

  As I write this letter to you, it is 3.20 a.m. My first motive behind writing is, as you well know, I reject whatever manners this new world devises simply to slight it. For example, I don’t own a mobile phone. I want to add at this point that nobody writes letters nowadays, people use emails and SMS. For a few years now, I have been dying to write a brilliant letter, but I did not find anyone to address and pour my heart out to. I did not consider even you suitable because we had not spoken for so many years. Another fact was that I still retained an old image of you my mind – that you were a stupid fellow trying to stitch the wrong meanings to words. What is the benefit of conversing with such a man? But this time, during my visit to Gosainganj with you, I realized you are the person to whom I can address this letter.

  Now you know, I am writing this letter not to express my grief, or to make a confession or to make a demand or to repent; you should not think that I did not have the courage to tell it to your face. This is not the truth. I simply wanted to compose a letter and now I am doing it.

  First of all, I have to tell you that I returned from the hospital at midnight. If God asks me about my most fervent wish, I will tell him that my greatest desire is that Amma should get well. But I realize
it most acutely perhaps that Amma is not going to survive, she has readied her luggage. How do I know? I’ll tell you: it was around 10.30 p.m., I was standing by her bed. I felt that she was asking me to come closer to her. I sat on the stool nearby and leant towards her. Her palm shivered, trembled and she caught my hand. She did not say anything, she just held it. For fifteen minutes. I am speaking the truth. How many times Amma must have caressed me, right from my childhood until the time she was admitted in the hospital – my hands, my cheeks, my forehead, my back – I recalled all those occasions. Such abounding love and affection! I was unable to bear it for more than fifteen minutes. I was drowning in a stream that had surged over me.

  Suryakant, such intense emotions can exist only in a person who is forsaking the world. When I was leaving at midnight, I touched her palm once again: I wanted to relive the experience but this time it was so alien, dry and unwanted that I felt I held a piece of wood on my palm. I realized that only a person who has already taken one step into the hall of death and is taking another, can exhibit such detachment. I exited the room and went immediately to the doctor’s. When I insisted, he said, ‘At the most, twelve hours. We have tried our best and are still trying, but there is not much hope.’

  So, Amma is leaving the world, and now I will be utterly alone. It is true that Amma never stayed with me because Madhuri and the children were dead against the idea. But Suryakant, if you don’t mistake it for my poeticism, I’ll tell you this: since the time I started detesting this new age, Amma had become a security blanket to me – one that cannot change the winter, but the heat of which enables you to cope with a freezing night. She was the kind of shade that does not reduce the heat, but provides shelter and relief from it. She was like a boat I could use to cross the stream. If you look intently, you will realize that the beauty of the world lies in the fact that you do not obliterate the seasons, the river, the forest, the day or the night, not defile them … one can simply find some space amidst it all and devise a way for one’s conservation. But what actually is happening is that people keep befouling the seasons, the river, the animals, the trees – everything! This arrogance has generated so much intolerance and hostility that humans now do not exhibit the slightest qualm in killing the mute and the weak.