The call
She:
A cold blustery morning in Darwin. Mid June. The temperature outside was freezingly cold. Visibility was down to a few hundred feet. The legendary crocs that supposedly considered every residents back yard as their own, had disappeared.
Just a few night owls hooted in protest of the weather. No sound of crickets or the frogs- sounds that always were a ‘given’ and a source of comfort for her. Their daughter was fast asleep. Her husband off on another one of his overseas assignments.
She sat alone.
Alone .
In the glow of a simple tungsten lamp.
Her warm night clothes covered by an even warmer blanket.
The tears she had shed threatened to become mini icicles on her face. She stared. . . blankly, at the picture in front of her.
On her book shelf.
A family portrait. Taken in India when Jim and she had visited Amma and Appa. Jim in an awkwardly tied veshti, the rest of them looking dapper in traditional clothes.
Appa looked the best. Confident. Fit and smiling like he had just won the lottery.
He
At seven in the evening it was still a blistering 29.5 degrees. That’s how it was in summers in Betul. – in the heart of India. Deep in the forest, he sat in a small mud house.
No electricity.
No running water.
No nothing.
Except the pleasure he derived from working with rural folks on his avowed mission of taking education to those who didn’t know a school from a ‘Daaru Khaana’.
The village boasted one phone . . .
that worked on occasion.
The occasion being when the so called post man was not drunk.
Today he was. But his hut was next door, so he was not worried. An owl hooted somewhere in the surrounding forest. As if in reply a fox howled and crickets and frogs chirped and chortled, bit players in a forest symphony.
He heard none of it. He didn’t smell the first drops of the summer shower or see the fire flies dancing to the forest’s tune. He sat. . . his ears attuned, awaiting the sound of a telephone to ring next door
He and she
The telephone had rung 4 hours before.
She
“Akka” said her parents’ neighbour , the voice disembodied and rendered lifeless by poor electronics. “ Appa has had a stroke. They have rushed him to hospital. They need to operate immediately. Can you come ? We are all afraid. Amma is under sedation. There is no one else here.
He
“ Beta . . . . . Baadhai ho! . . . . . meri beti. . .. that is to say, also your wife is in labour. .
Gone to ispithal. With your saasu -that is to say my wife . . . Cheers beta. . . get on an aeroplane . . . jhaldi. . I am soon to become Dadu . . . cheers . They are saying some Caesar- veesar. . . . I am said aree king he tho tha Caesar”
Chaggan lalji. . . Father in law -12th pass.
She
“No flights possible in such a short time Maam”.
He
“Nathing sir . Koi possibility nahi hai “
He / she
So they waited. Waited for the phone to ring. Below and above the equator, strangely conjoined by the conundrum that is life.
She
The night was silent. Not a single sound. None at all. Not even the ticking of their clock. In her head she could hear Appa’s laughter. . . like she had all her life.
He
The fireflies had stopped their ballet. The symphony took on a new vigor. He heard nothing. . . . .
Just her voice saying-“ Be there na, when we have our first baby. “
She
A storm suddenly hit . Rain. Hail. Wind. Little plants tried their best to hide . . . Away from its devastating force.
He
The summer rain was a welcome relief. Little seedlings struggled to push the mud away from their heads . . . and feel the rain.
She/ He
They waited. Worlds apart. One fearing death. . . . . . one fearing the balance between life and death.
Both waited for the phone to ring.
And then. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the phone rang.
No comments:
Post a Comment