‘BLACK’ Spring

I never knew if it was the end of a good journey or the beginning of a better journey. All I knew was that I came away from some supporting companions and a dynamic environment. It was pristine that my whole world would  lie within frequent power cuts, rural ‘peers’ and dominating clouds for the next two months. Our car stopped so did my thoughts.

‘ Here is our new paradise’ said Mr Pranab Dubey , my father. He is the new A.L.C. of Dehradun district. Both of my parents stepped out of the car, so did I. They did the same arguments they do on changing quarters. I, without any interest in their arguments, glanced at the house before my eyes. It was a RCC building standing around 3m tall with cracked walls and slippery surface. There was a long sloping roof  along with a shelf in the top. A hole in the middle and some adjoining ironic stands showed the Nepalese architecture’s influence in its construction.

‘ OK!OK! We are standing right outside’, I heard my father informing at the cell. ‘ All right. Our neighbor Miss Devi will introduce us to the home’s history, status , features in the most precise way possible and our complications will be cleared by our stay.’

Hearing this, my mother nodded and normal conversations made its way among both.

‘So, our neighbors are Nepali?’,  I asked interrupting.

With a glittering smile, my father replied with a nod. ‘ I suppose’.

‘Is she  Miss Devi?’, my mother asked.

A short smiling lady with short nose and a hypnotic eye came towards us carrying a lantern with her. ‘ Mr and Mrs Dubey,I really apologise for my late arrival. Actually, it is difficult to get hold of your household chores on working days when you are in charge of a district. So, Sundays are the best choice.’

She had an attractive approach . After the introduction process ended, she guided us to our house. She lived in a small Assam type house which was at a walkable distance from ours. ‘ Miss Devi, why are you carrying that lantern ? My mother asked with a curious tone.

Miss Devi smilingly replied, ‘ Madam, the rooms will be vexatiously dark. It has been in closet for five years. There will be termites in the furniture . You will see spiders hanging down and many other junks. I hope you have arranged some worker.’

My mother’s expression changed from curiosity to tension. ‘ Not yet!’, she sighed.

Miss Devi  fondling my mum’s back replied, ‘ No worry! You can ask Bando’ .

We gave a confusing look. To this she replied, ‘ Bando is my part time servant. He is a dwarf but leaves no heights in case of his job. You pay him some money and he would happily do your household chores.’

By the time, we were at the entrance of our new silence-stiffed home. Miss Devi raised her right hand to open it but suddenly her hands lifelessly fell and we observed a bandage in her hand. My mother held her hand and smoothly massaged it. ‘ Are you ok?’, my father consciously asked. She gave a smile and faked it for a cramp. We did not go deep into the matter and instead focused on our newest home.

Miss Devi begun introducing it . She had the mannerisms of a policy maker . Though informing us of the house was not something that would benefit her monetarily, she enjoyed every moment of it. We showed our gratefulness as she left our home. ‘ I do not know if the transfer had gifted us a better place or not but certainly a fine neighbor’, my father told as he rotated his eyes around.

‘ True!’ my mother replied. The air was filled with honour and appreciation for Miss Devi. They were adjusting smoothly to the environment. On the other hand, was a little boy trapped under metamorphosis. The vintage smell would not go very soon. It was a drastic change in lifestyle from the technologically developed Gurgaon to the hilly areas of Dehradun. Vacations were on for my new school in which I took an advance admission . Travelling to the the top of the hills for network was the sole way i spent my days and the nights were predominated by Soap serials and prime time. A week passed by and life was not in the top form. Miss Devi told that she had a son studying in the 12th grade, two years older than me. But, he was anonymous to us. The table was laid for a good dinner which was prepared by Bando. Chicken curry, Pigeon Pea curry, Fried rice and Parwal fries were laid in the Bronze dishes.  My father out of joy composed a song ‘ My mouth waters on and on…..’. Both of us closed our ears as it was not Celine Dion’s magic but Mr Dubey’s lurid black magic. After gasping our breath, we took on our dinner. Except mom, we forgot our standards and left the spoons and forks.We were rejoiced and enjoying when some loud roars and cries from a finite distance caught our ears. Each of us glanced at one another with freezed iris. ‘ But I am your mother, I need to care for you’ a woman said in a crying voice. A fierce low pitched reply followed, ‘ You care for me but you do not show it’. Then we heard the bursting of plates. ‘ It is Miss Devi’s voice’ quoted my father. ‘ We must go there’ replied my mom.

My father quickly washed his hands and my sophisticated mother washed her clean hands too. ‘ Pogo, you remain here’ mother said in a saken voice. Frustrated by that childhood nickname I made up my mind to go there and even after a thousand  arguments I won. We rushed in our night dresses with a bit carefulness in the dark . As we approached towards her house, the wild noises stopped. We were taken aback and hesitated to knock the door. After some moments of silence, father decided to knock the door.

‘ Miss Devi! Miss Devi!’my father said in a loud voice. Few minutes later, the door opened and a perspiring Miss Devi blocking gave that sweet smile which gradually turned into a  laughter. Firstly  all of us exchanged looks but then broke into laughter. I felt mad. ‘ Actually my only son ‘ Ritik’ had returned from a stay and is preparing for a role. I decided to co operate and you can see the result of an amateur’s co operation.’ She moved away from the place and we saw clear white dishes scattered in the floor. Daal was flowing along with some  rich chicken gravies. I smelt a rat but not my parents.

‘ Hmmm! Method acting!’ told my father. Again, they burst into laughter.

‘ Can we meet him?’ asked my mom. This over desperation is  an inborn quality of my mother. Miss Devi showed a bit of tension for a fraction of second but immediately gave a quick smile and exclaimed ‘ Of Course!’ Then, she went to another room.  We quietly stood on the verandah. Miss Devi returned and told us that he is a shy boy and was not willing to come.

‘ He is a bit embarrassed of the mess we created’ said she. My mom replied ‘ I suppose he is not afraid in the stage.’ They shared an artificial laughter this time and we left the place. We reached our house and after finishing the post dinner chores retired to our beds. I sleep in my folding bed  alone. Busy with Bram Stoker’s  ‘ Dracula’ , I forgot to switch off the lights. When it turned too late my mother came and switched off the lights. I decided not to argue and was  about to sleep when some questions struck my mind and I asked her to sit beside me. She was rather in shock when a 16 year old asked her to sit. ‘ Mom, you are a psychiatrist , right?’.

With a confused look in her face, she nodded. Then, I came to my own point ‘ Do not you think that the events in Miss Devi’s house were not normal?’.

My mom took some time to recollect the events and replied lately ‘ I agree. You do not rehearse with an amateur like that . Just throwing the utensils…’. She stopped and said in a sleepy voice ‘ All right! It is none of our business . Now you take some nap and allow me to do the same. Goodnight Pogo!’ .

She seemed less interested in the topic and behaved with me as if I were still a toddler. The night moved on and a cloudy day  with cuckoo’s sweetest voice. By the time I wake up both of my parents were out for their own business and I saw Bando making something. ‘ Oh Pogo baba, Brush up! Your breakfast is ready. I am in for preparing the lunch.’ This was  not expected by mom. She told this childish name to an unfamiliar petite.

Within an hour, I was fresh and did not have a bare stomach. I decided to gulp in some fresh morning air. It seemed quite cool among the long trees. My eyes were closed and all I felt was silence. A hoarse sound interrupted all this and I opened my eyes to check out the reason. A tall boy with devilock hair stood before me. He had a burning cigarette on the right hand and wore some shades. A  Nylon bomber jacket and some spooky shoes decorated his figure. ‘ You were afraid, weren’t you?’ he asked and begun poking my abdomen.

‘ Whoa! Anybody would get afraid’ I replied. Then, he cracked into a dirty grin. It did not take me long to guess. ‘ You are Ritik, right?’ He nodded and replied ‘ So that oldie told you.’

I got a bit confused and asked ‘ Miss Devi?’. He took the cigarette into his mouth and said ‘Yeah! That eerie oldie.’ But , she is your mom? Right?’, He got abruptly angry and held me by my collar ‘ Do you have any doubt?’. I was totally freaked out and looked at him. Just then, Miss Devi saw us and with some shopping bags in her hand came running towards us. ‘ Ritik! Ritik! Leave him.’ On her arrival, he looked at her and asked in a brutal way ‘ So, you brought me the jacket? ‘.

A feeling of fear shone on her eyes and Ritik understood that his wish was unfulfilled. Looking at me, he said ‘ I will deal with you later.’ He took hold of his own mom’s hair and tugged her inside the house and locked it. Sounds of slaps and some slang words came out of the house. Firstly, it was the hardest thing for me to believe that a son was dominating a mother physically. I decided to go inside my house and immediately rung to my parents and informed all the happenings. They agreed to come ASAP. I and Bando started hammering the door of Miss Devi’s house and it did open. Quickly , we entered the house and I threw a small show piece at Ritik and he lied on the floor.

We approached towards Miss Devi who was bleeding from her mouth and had black marks around her eyes. I was ashamed to call myself a son that day and hugged Miss Devi as if she were my own mother. She cried with an open heart. Everybody cried in that closet except that devil. The situation cooled down and Ritik was taken to a Juvenile delinquency center. Later that evening , Miss Devi was in our guest room.

‘ So Miss Dei, this bandage has some other story?’ my mother asked in a serious tone. Miss Devi gave us a regretting look and told everything. ‘ My stomach never gave birth to a human but a devil. He was like any other child until his father passed away. But, he showed his true colors after it. I have given my whole life to earn for him but never lacked the other responsibility. But, my examination never ends. His stay in home creates lurid premonitions in my mind. He had broken me both physically and mentally. I am done. Miss Dubey, your child is a god human’.

She begun crying as my mother hugged her. I was heartbroken. ‘ Where is he now?’ Miss Devi asked.

My father said that he was in a Juvenile Delinquency center. Hearing this, she gave a smile. Later that day I was crying in my bed when Bando came to our house and I heard him saying that Miss Devi was not opening the door. We quickly went to her house and begun knocking the door but no one opened it. My father and me broke it again to see something that made me fall at my feet. Miss Devi was hanging lifelessly in the fan .

A total lurid silence fell all over the closet as the smiling lady bid us the most tragic goodbye. Suddenly something caught my eyes and I saw a note. I read it as my tears made it wet. My parents asked for it and I silently passed it to them. They sat still. The most tragic suicide note had this written:

Dear Dubeys,

This unhappy lady saw possibly the best neighbours before dying. My life was like the albatross who was punished innocently. But it ended at a better note as I got the chance to see someone with humanity. But my problems are inevitable. It is  the thirteenth time I saw Ritik going to that rehabilitation centre and each time he returned, he returned  more brutally and more mercilessly and I have seen enough of them. Sorry for mentioning the truth in a Thank You letter. But this unhappy body died with a happy soul and this soul is always in awe of ‘ Pogo’.

Only Yours,

Janki Devi.

 

Her name in the letter made my heart bleed and I swept tears the whole day for a mother who gave birth to someone who turned his Blue Spring into Black Spring.

–END–