It was one of the routine days of chores which had to be wound up to reach home. Weaving the way through the dense traffic on the roads and the clutter in the mind, the journey to home brought the eventual question of my friend - " Why do humans evolve such complex situations and enslave themselves to each other? Could we not be like any other animals looking at the needs of food and shelter?" How true it sounded as the honks from each direction brought to the fore the functional abilities of the ear.
The mind which had no reins or leashes leaped from one thought to another as the destination finally arrived. Parting ways with the others in the cab, I lustily crashed into my home looking forward to rest. Even as your truly changed into the casuals, the information of a friend incessantly attempting to reach me over the telephone was put across to me. As a movement to refresh myself was made, the fact that he failed to respond to the courteous query of "How are you?" raised an alert. Picking the invention of Graham Bell, the ten digits were punched in. At the first ring, the call was picked. The voice at the other end was aggrieved unmistakably but enquired as to whether yours truly was doing well. Responding to this query was the inevitable query as to whether all was fine at the other end.
My friend who normally was a cheerful person carefully chose words and said, " Anusha, accident, spot". The message hit me hard. Anusha was the name of the daughter of my other friend who has been an elder brother, a guide, a mentor and most of all my emotional ventilator. The heart ruled that the words did not mean anything while the brain said, " It is all over". The silence and the queries exchanged over tense moments. He then said, " I do not want to say it but it is all over. The parents have been informed that she is in ICU so please do not inform anyone as of now." He went on to admonish me for not reaching to him and the call was terminated.
The fact could not be digested. The trauma continued. This friend who had called was the local guardian of this young lady. He had played a similar role to yours truly decades ago. Unable to come to terms, I attempted deluding myself but to no avail. The lady was yet to get out of her teens. She was the only child. During my last visit she had ribbed me apart with the aid of her parents who were humour personified. Nothing could faze them to my knowledge but was this one of those cruel tales of the Lord who loves to play leelas to show the world how goodness was feasible in the worst of times. Markandeya came to mind. The Sai temple to which my friend devotedly attended crossed my mind. During this interim period, I shared the news with others at home. Grief is too short a word to express the emotions that cascaded through our minds.
Holding back till the next morning to avoid making the mistake of wrong timing the call as the parents were expected anytime was the only course which was duly adopted. The morning commenced with a return call. The entire sequence of events were narrated. The grief that he had once held her in his arms as a baby or the fact that she had visited home a couple of days back to share a meal and obtain inputs for a project had accentuated the grief. The only words that could be mumbled was if this was his position then what would be that of the parents. The dictum came that visit them and attempt to assuage them. He had consciously kept off the funeral saying at least that is one thing that could be avoided.
Two days later, I moved to visit the bereaved. Reaching their place was less of a difficulty compared to meeting the gaze of the bereaved mother. She had on several occasions invited me home. I had been looking forward for the birthday of the bereaved father but had only chosen to mention that I would visit them on an appropriate occasion. Words, these can sometime play a cruel joke on people. The occasion demanded my presence but was it appropriate? Her gaze seemed to question me. After minutes of silence, the ice was broken. Candidly, I told her that there could be no words of solace to a mother and only beseeched her to give vent to her emotions.
She queried me, " Do you want me to cry? Will it bring her back? Will it not hurt her soul?" Expressing inability to answer these queries I responded that it would only ensure that she had shared the feelings. The resounding answer, "The event is not digested and I cannot accept something has happened to my daughter". Neither was I, the Buddha nor was I a casual visitor. Emotions ripped me apart. I could not speak to my friend and I left.
Reaching home within a spate of ten days, I was greeted by three more tragedies. True we aspire for so many things that we have forgotten the value of life. It is said Mashana Vairagya remains for a short while. But the impact that it has left will take a long time to heal.
Friends, if this is my case, will Father Time be able to heal thy wounds? Unfortunately, Time is not Mother and can only heal some wounds and not all. Could we stop to learn or is Time too precious that we will not utilise it to even reflect let alone ponder or introspect- the answer lies with you.
1 comment:
interesting story narration
Post a Comment