PIETA....a short story

..................
Pieta
A short story by Ajit Kumar B S

I wasn’t sure to wait or go. I came here early morning just on the basis of a message I received from an unknown sender. All what I knew was that Hari was unwell and wanted to see me. All my attempts to contact the sender were futile. My grand son who kindly drove me here has also disappeared. He must probably be busy with his cell. I was feeling restless and a sort of irritation slowly percolated into my otherwise calm mind. I decided to grab enough courage and to approach that tough faced nurse once again. I was about to get up and she immediately raised her frowned face and gave a piercing look at me. I sat back as an obedient child.

Hari was always a phenomenal curiosity for me. My father got transferred to a remote village in northern Maharashtra and I was admitted in the only school of the village. The head master was kind enough to permit me to sit on the front bench, perhaps due to my slender looks. I could easily place my thin body on the front bench already occupied by two fair fat boys, leaving room for none else. As the bell rang, a dark thin boy with a pale smile rushed in and sat by me unhesitant! I wasn’t sure if he was sitting on the bench or just pretending to sit. I was uncomfortable as he was so cool and confident in the class.

On my way back home, exploring the alien geography, Hari was waiting for me with his pale but consistent smile. We made friends for ever.

My father was a well respected government officer and many great people came home to meet him. My mother always clad in rich silk with her lavish unostentatious elegance served them tea and patiently waited for their late departure. In my shallow sleep I could hear their cheerful parting. I had lot many toys to play with but was restricted from mingling with local children. It was a holiday and mother was busy displaying her collection of silk to her lady friends. I slipped out of my house un-noticed and walked through the unexplored village roads. I walked aimlessly through the paddy fields; noticing nothing .I was tired and hungry. To my relief, a red strip of narrow road appeared at the end of the rich green carpet. It led me through the choking aroma of burning cow dung. At some unexpected turn of the road, I met the pale smile. Hari took me to his house. It was nothing less than a shack. An old man, incessantly coughing, greeted us with a nod of his head. But the warmth inside was touching. I was served food which I never had before. He showed me his greatest possession, with a naughty smile - a bunch of white pebbles!

The day of my expedition happened to be my last day in the village; I was shifted to a boarding school.

The Tehsildar, whose daughter was my classmate, was the villain. His son was already studying in the boarding school and often he used to emphasise the need for an elite education. I secretly gifted Hari all what I possessed, expecting his valuable collection of pebbles in return; but some how he didn’t!

Life was so tough for me that the pale smile disappeared from my memories. I was in a struggle to cope up with the demands and expectations entrusted to me. The Tahsildar appeared once again in my life with a life long offer for my elite well being. I got married to his daughter Savitry. By that time her childish curiosity of acquiring stones got matured enough to possess precious stones. We were happy married mainly due to my inferiority complex and fear I had successfully inherited during my ‘do’s and don’ts training programme’.


It was a summer evening and I ventured out aimlessly through the dusty and dusky streets of Pune. My aimless rhythm of straying was abruptly stopped by a pale smile with nostalgic temptations and led me to an Irani tea shop. He hasn’t changed a bit, except that the pale smile got more consistent. All what he spoke about was his paintings and an exclusive exhibition of his paintings which soon he was going to organise. His eyes were wandering as he was speaking. Probably he must have noticed my deficient aptitude of artistic appreciation. Somehow I didn’t feel like taking him home as I wasn’t sure how Savitry would take it. The whole meeting was incomplete and left me with a kind of irritation for many days.

My grandson hurried in with out the slightest sense of remorse. He loves me a lot and sparsely listens to me as if he was doing a big favour to me. He looks exactly like his father but more patient and wise than my only son.
“Grandpa, can we go?”
“Hmhmn... Did you eat some thing?”
“I am late for an important appointment”
“Well you may go on. I will manage to go back home”
To my surprise he vanished in to the cloudy crowd. Poor fellow must be tired. I tried to adjust my thick glasses to follow his act. Gathering all optimistic spirits I got up against the will of my reluctant numb limbs.
But I could see the atmosphere around the nurse growing benighted.
I wasn’t sure to wait or go.

Savitry is a woman of great substance though often she sank to a melancholic mood. She always expressed herself a bit more than needed, whether its love or hatred. She wanted our son to be the best. She wanted everything the best or all what she possessed was the best except me. She had countless energy when it comes in settling a score over anyone. At times it was scary looking at her furious face and the very next moment I could feel the warmth of her bosom pressing against my back. Just before the annual examination, my son was sweating in her custody, and I was pretty sure that any movement from my end would blast the volcano; I sat out side wearing a monk’s inert mask. Of a sudden she appeared in front of me with all blooming spirits, holding a news paper sheet. Right in front of my bulged eyes I could see letters getting focussed to my name printed on the paper for the first time. The best painting of the year, Hari’s bleeding hearts was dedicated to me as I was inspirational for it. I couldn’t believe. It was a murky painting where Jesus, lying on a lady’s lap and looking in to her ‘about to drip’ eyes, with all kindness of the world condensed in to a point. Simply I didn’t like it. The very next second we religiously fought over it, making the whole day murky for all of us. But she represented me before the media people and spoke at length appreciating the painting which she had never seen in real. It was all because of a blind faith. I loved it in general.

That night I experienced my lost youth again. She drove me to the pinnacle of ecstasy where I lost my conscience and was just wandering aimlessly in the paddy fields.

At last to my relief, a nurse woke me up from my life. She had the same face as that of the woman in Hari’s bleeding hearts. She handed over to me a small packet which Hari wanted to give me. I stood looking at that dirty packet which was stinking sweat. And came Hari, clad in all with a white robe, lying still. He hasn’t changed a bit, except his pale smile has become permanent.

I walked aimlessly, and as a desire of destiny I reached the asylum where Savitry was waiting. She was standing near the window staring at the twilight sky.

I stood by her and she turned her face to me. The yellow light, sieved in through the window panes, gave a divine grace to her face. She looked like a golden statue painted with light and shade. I didn’t speak a word neither she. I remembered that I didn’t get anything for her. I opened the small packet in to her receiving hands. Through my thick glasses I could see the pouring white pebbles sparkling in her eyes.
The sun set and there was only darkness.