THE CATASTROPHY
Ritu Siddharth
A pleasant gargling sound of laughter rang through the lane, soon joined by other voices…It was from the daughter of the postman, Laxman. She had to fill a large drum, four buckets and three pitchers from the hand pump at the side of the road, two streets from her residence. It was her daily ritual apart from cooking and washing. Her mother was disabled with rheumatism.
Rajiv had often seen her doing this. One Saturday he stopped her on the way. “Hey! Put the bucket down”, Rajiv told her. As she stopped half in shock and half in obedience, he continued, “Isn’t there anyone else in your house to share your work?” She shook her head. “What’s your name?” “Indra”. “Shall I help you?” he asked with half smile. She searched his face, was he mocking, flirting or kind? “Can you?”
“O yes! Fill your buckets, I’ll carry them for you”, he said and kept his word. And thus the poles attracted each other.
Rajiv worked as a clerk in Electricity Board, was very social, helped all those around with all kinds of work, big or small, easy or tough, and so had a wide circle of friends.
Life was smooth, moved steadily till two new arrivals joined his office, one month apart, Mukhesh and John. Christmas, John’s festival; he threw a party, a heavy one; Mukesh would drink only to give company but was always careful not to overdo; Rajiv was a teetotaler. John made a special cocktail for Rajiv with whisky, cola and soda with ice and coaxed him to consume, little at a time; soon he came under its influence. They danced, sang, jumped, beat the drums, ripped the festoons in the office. Rajiv was beginning to enjoy the thrill . “Wath dith you gib ma…diz’z wokinz sho high!”he drooled; every one appeared beautiful and good.
“Whez my ..Inzha? I wanna tel her I lub er, …now,…ay ryth now,..wherz zhee”, he staggered dangerously, vomited and passed out.
His mother was horrified to see her son drunk though her husband was a drunkard. The next day he stayed indoors with splitting headache and drowsiness. What the hell was that? My God! How do these people drink!
Then came New Year eve, New Year’s day, and Christian festivals or birthdays or weddings following one after another, whisky or brandy always an integral part of them. Rajiv always took part most eagerly and soon everyone identified him as an alcoholic. He spent a large portion of his salary in bars and wine shops; when his purse was empty he began borrowing .His father died, he drank to mourn; his sister came of age ,he drank to celebrate.
Monday, Rajiv was getting ready for office; Meera was mending rents in the already faded kameez and salwar.
“Why are you wasting your time? Wear other set, and bring my breakfast”, Rajiv told her.
“That’s not dry..it’s over bhaiya,” his sister said setting aside her needlework and bringing two rotis and three spoons of dal.
“Did you eat?”
“I’m late for school..I’ll eat in the afternoon”, she evaded his question.
“Where’s ma?”
“She’s lying down, she’s not well”.”
“Ok let me see”. He went to the kitchen to make hot water only to discover the cans were empty and what he had eaten was the last portion of the ration.
“What’s this ?”he asked annoyed.
“Yes, there’s nothing in the house. I feel ashamed to borrow from the neighbors”, Meera’s eyebrows knotted in helplessness. He realized what he was doing was wrong but could not keep off his habit of drinking.
Indra was getting concerned. “Let’s go to the centre, they make alcoholics forget to drink, I heard”, she told him one day.
“Indra! I too have thought of it , but I have come a long way…there’s no going back now…I’m finished”, Rajiv extended is hand to touch her cheek…“You get married to a good guy…forget me…but Indra…I think of you often..I want you …but it’s not possible”. She looked into his eyes, tears gathered in them.
“Let’s go once, wont you come for me? You’re wasting your life!…you made me dream about us!” she begged squeezing his hand .He looked away. She swallowed. She could not hate him.
7pm.Rajiv had money just enough to get a local brand. Meera was crying, her mother was muttering something under her breath.
“What now?” there was annoyance in his voice.
“A boy teased me in my school.. he said ‘Is that for posting my love letter my dear?’ and widened the rent in my sleeve!...”
“Tel me who he is ..I’ll blow his head”.
“You can’t ..if you could, you ’d ’ve brought me new dress…We’re eating only twice a day already”. She dried her eyes, she had made a decision; she would do part time job .
Years dragged. Yashoda, his mother was getting more apprehensive day by day for her son. She walked 3 kms everyday to Ram temple to pray for her son and her family.
A senior clerk in the office questioned him once, “Abe Raj…what’re you making of yourself? You’ve no complications as in other families, why do you then ruin your life ?…take a hold of your condition ,yaar”.
“O yes ,I’m trying”, was all he said. Everyone saw he made no improvement and eventually stopped noticing him.
Meera bribed the authorities and got a post in the same EB office as her brother.She learnt the work quickly and helped others while they relaxed, making her a favorite in the office.The superiors began tolerating Rajiv as Meera completed his work as well.
It was a bright pleasant morning. Rajiv rose early with a determination; he would not drink today;he would see Indra and discuss their future together.. their marriage. She would take care of him ..prevent him from visiting wine shops..He did not hurry with his breakfast thinking all the while what he would talk to his lover..she will be ecstatic to hear of his change!..
He must have walked 100 feet; his vision blurred and soon blacked out , cut his forehead in the fall. A passer-by alerted his family, followed by his hospitalization. Investigations showed poor liver and heart functions. When he regained consciousness his mother and sister were peering over him anxiously.
“I want to see Indra”, he spoke to Meera.
“I doubt if her father ’ll allow her to see you but I’ll try bhaiya”, she said and walked out quickly. She managed to convince Indra’s mother after much persuasion. She led Indra in and led her mother out, “Let them be together for sometime ma “, she said understandingly.
Indra stood dumb near his bed.
“Sit down”, he said weakly, “I was coming to your house but couldn’t make it …sorry”. Indra sat,her head hung low on her chest, fighting her worst fears. She held his hand without speech lest she would break. “Wish you get well fast” , she finally spoke; her voice cracked.
“Sorry Indu I was foolish…I wanted to give you a nice life..”. He sighed. “But we’ll have a decent one however, I’ll keep you happy, my dear”. Indra swallowed her grief..wished it was true.
“I’m sorry ma, I should have given you much comfort as a son ,but failed so miserably. I’m a total waste , ma .I’m so sorry, I’ll compensate for my shortcomings, believe me!” Yashoda stifled her cry with her dupatta.
Rajiv lay dreaming about his marriage, their happiness together, their children, their school…and ofcourse his sister’s marriage ,her family…he smiled to himself…let me just get out of here!
The nurse came for her morning rounds; she called the doctor hurriedly. Rajiv had died in sleep dreaming about his happy new family. Indra’s father forbade her from attending the last rituals. She was not seen anywhere near her house nor Rajiv’s. An acquaintance found her sitting in the temple resting her head against the pillar, her gaze fixed on nothing ,distant, blank, bleak,vacant,heavy…
Rajiv was making his final journey through the lanes in which he had willingly helped those in need and flashing his radiant smile around…and almost forgotten as one that existed in his remaining years…blended with liquor and intoxications that secluded him from the very society he lived in. John was seen in the procession smelling of whisky.
…Concluded