MOTHER

The sky was light blue. The grass was green with light yellow coloured heads that swayed in the gentle breeze. Two children came running down the mud path with small flags that fluttered in the wind.  The girl, aged 7, wore a light pink coloured petticoat that fluttered in the wind and the boy, aged 9, was bare chested wearing just a pair of brown coloured shorts. The brother and sister duo ran up to the banks of the gurgling river and stepping down into the cool waters playfully, made tiny paper boats and floated them in the running waters.

The sky was turning dark and black clouds loomed large. Huge drops started falling from above.

“Run, Priya, run home…it’s going to rain”, her brother Akshay shouted and they both ran home, drenched half-way through the downpour that had started. Fully wet and with water dripping from their hairs and nose, they reached back only to be scolded by their mother, “How many times have I told you not to go down to the stream this late during the season. Now go and dry yourself with the towel.”

Skipping with excitement and shivering in the cold, they went to the bathroom to dry themselves.

“Have you seen mom’s face when she gets angry; it’s dark like the sky before the thunderstorms and the rain”, Akshay said and Priya chuckled at his expression.

The rains and the heavy wind continued for another few days. Water level in the area rose to a few feet and the children helped their mother moved things from the verandah of the house to the inside to protect them from the rains. The children used to enjoy the rains even though it kept them indoors. They used to try catching the myriad insects that came out of their hiding places and torment them and dissect them under the hot light of the incandescent bubble.  And if power supply got disrupted, as it often happened in their village, they would use the light of candle to do their mischief.

They used to collect rain water in their cupped hands and throw it at each other and used to sneak out of the house to get completely drenched, only to be caught and scolded by their mother. Rains also meant hot ‘pakoras’, spicy ‘bajji’ and hot Bournvita milk in the evenings. The torrential rains used to continue for a couple of days till it came to be a mild yet persistent drizzle.

It was then that they used to open their multi-coloured umbrellas and go with their mother to the bazaar or to friends’ homes or to the school. Their school, being in the most low-lying area of the village, often used to be closed due to the flooding and heavy downpour. This added more colours to their childhood, like the rainbow in the sky after a shower. But their mother used to make them both do their lessons at home even though it was a rain-holiday. To the children the mother seemed like the bright and hot sun making them perspire in order to grow bigger and stronger.

After the monsoons came the chilling winter, that necessitated bringing out the extra blankets and sweaters from the attic. They used to cuddle up to their mother to feel her warmth and escape the cold and the mother used to lovingly and tightly embrace them and recite stories from the puranas and the old folklore. The winter used to slowly melt into the spring and the sun used to gradually grow stronger and even before the children realised it, it would be time for the summer holidays.  And that was the time for stoning mangoes from the tree drooping under the weight of its fruits, diving into the ponds and lagoons and playing in the fields. Those two months used to be the biggest bliss during their childhood.

Years had sped by and the playful children had grown on to become a fine young man and a beautiful lady. They left the nest that was carefully and painstakingly built by the mother, to pursue higher education and finds jobs in other cities across the world.

The mother alone remained behind in the small house that was now engulfed on all sides by high rise apartments and industry smoke. The chirping of the birds and the cry of the cock that once woke up the mother at the crack of dawn was now replaced by the blaring horns of trucks and cars that rambled by. The serene village had been transformed into an emerging city over the last few years.

Priya and Akshay rarely came back to this place after they found jobs across the seas. Akshay worked with a global mining corporation while Priya worked as a fashion designer. Now, only the mother stayed there in that old house, in the sunshine and the winters and the rains.

Seasons sprang by. Climates changed drastically. With every passing summer the heat seemed to be growing and the winters were more chill than normal. For a land that was known for rain throughout the year, the rains were now less frequent and weaker. The mother watched the changing landscape outside with a heavy heart. It seemed to her as if the work of the bulldozer in their neighbouring plot was being carried on on her chest; such was the vibrations and noise it made. Thus passed her days in melancholy, agonizing over what had come of the once green land of hers. Alone and lonely, she often gasped for breath and solace in that small nest that was empty now; the place that was her only home and soon to be her grave too.

One day Akshay, who was in his office in a different part of the world trying to negotiate a mining deal, got a call that announced the demise of his mother. The elderly man on the telephone line on the other side asked him whether he would be able to come to perform the last rites.

He immediately took the next flight and landed in his native land. It was the hot summer months. The physical body of the deceased was laid on the floor, covered and with a white sheet and with lamp, incense sticks and a pedestal fan at the head side. Flowers were strewn all over and but they seemed to be without any fragrance. The body was to be taken to the riverside for the final pyre.

As the funeral procession walked to the riverside, Akshay noticed the changes that had happened to this tiny place that he had visited almost eight years back. His yellow coloured school building had vanished and in its place stood a mammoth shopping complex. His friend Vasu’s house couldn’t be spotted too and had probably been taken over by the steel plant that had come up in the village. The small mud homes with flowering plants of different hues in the compounds had been replaced by huge concrete structures.

Though he was a man of this age and himself lived in high rise apartments, this transformation of the land where he was born and had grown up shook him. He wished for once that he was a child again, running behind his mother in the July rains. But his mother was gone and so had the village of his memories.  Everywhere he heard the cry for development, urbanization and industrialisation and he felt angst.

More shocking was the sight of the river where he had often gone in his childhood with his friends and sister to have a cool dip. The river that was once wide and deep was now nothing more than a large puddle. The river had been exploited and its waters used injudiciously and recklessly. There were clear signs on the riverbed that showed unscientific and illegal sand mining. He felt like running back.

It seemed to him as if the whole of earth remained motionless as he lighted the pyre. There was not even a mild breeze that was generally characteristic of all water-side spots. A tiny drop of tear fell on the patched bed but soon evaporated.

On his way back to his office he lamented at the plight of his village and wondered what must be the state of other places on Earth. As he drove to his office from the airport, everywhere he saw there were posters and pamphlets that objected to his company’s plans to start a mine somewhere in the eastern countryside. Outside the company gate, protesters were shouting slogans against the company management and its monstrous new project that was to destroy many hectares of forest and disrupt the livelihood of many people.

In his anguish at what he saw in his ancestral village, he had forgotten that he was the in-charge of this project and had been assigned by the company to clear the project and negotiate with the stakeholders. He knew that what the protesters were shouting was right but his promotion depended on this project and he had therefore gone full steam trying to coerce them to agree. Only the last phase of the project initiation process was left when he had had to rush home.

As he climbed the rounding stairs to his corner office, he asked his secretary to bring the files of this project. Opening the files, he flipped the pages many times, his mind brimming with doubts and his heart weak at the indecision he felt at this decisive moment.  Finally, shaking his pen hard twice, he wrote on the first page of the file, “Project cancelled due to environmental reasons” and signed Akshay, Chief Operating Officer.

A cool wind blew in through the open window and he felt he saw his mother smile at him from amongst the clouds in the blue sky.

__END__