He Came to Stay - 17. Chapter 17

I didn’t know who was responsible for my plight. Our great thinkers often held men responsible for all the sufferings that they must bear in their lives. Without showing any disregard to them and with all humility, I refused to adhere to their view, which I found to be inflicting upon people a curious sense of guilt and self-negation. Such abstinence and a sense of guilt was the primary motivation behind our awe towards divinity. Our religious preachers harped on them to reach at their goal. They were successful in their endeavor. But being a non-religious being, I had little sympathy on them. On the contrary, I thought the external forces were so powerful that they were often irresistible and difficult to tackle. Human beings were often mere puppets in their hands. The dictum, ‘where there is a will there is a way,’ failed miserably in many cases as far as the life of the individual was concerned. From their schooldays people were taught how to keep their spines straight. However, I thought they should instead be taught how to compromise, how to adjust with the situation they would find themselves in. The art of doing compromise seemed to me to be the most useful principle required for the greatest happiness of the greatest number.

In my case it was totally different though. Many times I found myself helpless in the hands of the situation I was in. But on reflection, if any single person was to be blamed for my predicament, then the finger would definitely point at me. No one else was as responsible for it as I was. A deep sense of guilt was eating into me. I was trying heart and soul to come out of it. Yet all my efforts in that direction could produce only a sense of hopelessness in me. Avijit’s sudden exit produced the same despair in me. At the same time I was curious to know what Nilanjan had in his mind.

When I returned to my drawing room I found Nilanjan sitting there. Apparently, he was so occupied with his problem that the drama that went on before his eyes couldn’t bother him much. I was really ashamed for what happened before him, but, at the same time, was quite impatient to know the reason he came to see me. In a choked voice I somehow stammered the words, ‘Is he well?’

--Who? Ishan?

--Yes. I’m talking about him. I am happy that you are here. But why didn’t he himself come instead of giving you the trouble?

--He wasn’t firm enough to come here. That’s why he requested me to come in his stead.

‘Would you please tell me what happened to him!’ I yelled, which apparently frightened him. As I lost my patience, I stood up and looked straight at his face. He didn’t have the courage to look at me. Instead he fixed his glance at the papers held in his hands.

--May I have another glass of water?

A jug of water was kept just before him. I beckoned at it. He held the jug in his wobbly hands to pour water in his mouth directly from it. I could sense that my hypertension steeped up suddenly. My ears were almost scorching with heat. To avoid a fit of vertigo I sat on the chair again. The door was open. I didn’t notice when the maid came in. ‘Would you like to have tea Dada?’ she urged. Looking at my guest I asked, ‘tea or coffee?’

--Anything.

--You tell. You are my guest!

--I’m not particularly fond of either. Anything would do.

I ordered for coffee. The maid went off. He was still numb. ‘Just tell me one thing. Is he in good health?’ I asked.

--No.

--Please for God’s sake tell me what happened to him.

Again there was an intolerable silence. Anybody could understand that he came to my place burying some rock in the ocean of his heart. Every time the rock wanted to surface, the ocean of hesitation in his mind buried it with a new tide. I had no option other than having patience for him to open up. His hesitation was understandable. Nobody would feel free to disclose his secrets to a person who was almost a stranger to him. Besides I was much older than him.

The maid returned with coffee and snacks, kept my cup on the table and silently handed over his cup to him. He took the cup from her hand and without taking a sip kept it on the table. The was absolutely no communication taking place between us for several minutes before I asked him to take some snacks, a proposal which he politely turned down, saying that he was okay without them. Though the coffee was cooling down, I knew another request for taking it would fall on deaf ears, as the earlier one. So I refrained from making a fresh request. My coffee was also cooling down. But I felt a bit uncomfortable taking it in front of my guest, when he was not taking anything. Nor did he ask me to take it. He was so occupied with what he had in his mind that he appeared to be a saint emancipated from this mundane world. As if he could see through everything to fix his vision at the eternity. Nothing concrete could obstruct his vision.

The maid reentered with a broomstick in her hand and started cleaning the room. ‘Sudha, leave it for today. Clean the other rooms,’ I urged.

--I’m done with the other rooms.

--Have you made the fish curry and the lentil soup kept in the refrigerator warm?

--The pulse has putrefied. I’ve made fresh vegetables and rice. May I go now?

By nodding my head I gave her permission. He raised his eyes for once, as she went off and again set his bleak gaze at the papers held in his hand.

After her departure, we were left alone once again. ‘Now you can tell what you came to share with me’ I urged.

--On returning from here, he was visibly upset. He talked very little and didn’t take his dinner. He didn’t have any problem with his teaches in the college. Everybody loves him. So, I understood he must have a problem either with you or his girlfriend. I asked him if he had a problem with her, and in reply he admonished that he didn’t have a girlfriend.

--Has he already left her?

--I think he never had a girlfriend.

-- I am afraid that you are wrong.

--Anyway, I left the matter there and got engaged with my study. At night I went to bed quite late. He was still awake, looking restless and depressed. I asked for the reason. First he was reluctant to tell me the reason. But upon insisting he said, ‘Your problem have been solved. But by solving it I created an insurmountable problem for me.’ I was clueless as to which direction this introduction was going to lead us. He continued, ‘Dada is not well.’

This last sentence gave me immense pleasure. Ishan never so openly expressed his attachment with me, at least in my presence. My rationality always prompted me not to indulge, even discourage, him to have any emotional attachment with me. Nevertheless, the news that he was depressed for me somewhere made me happy. I pricked my ears up to listen to what else he said about me. Yet, afraid of exposing my emotions, I refrained from showing any eagerness. Nilanjan stopped for a while, picked up the glass kept before him and took a sip of water to wet his throat. I waited with bated breath for him to resume his talk. Perhaps, he was hesitating to talk much about my mental health. To ease him off I said, ‘Yes, I am seeing a doctor. Leave my health. You continue with your story.’

--He said, ‘Your problem has been solved. But I don’t know how to solve my problem.’

--His problem? What problem you are talking about?

--You love him a lot! Don’t you?

--Yes, I do. But I don’t understand how my loving him is relevant here.

--That makes all the difference. He also loves you. He can’t see you unhappy.

‘Wait! I’ll be back in a moment,’ I went off to the toilet, splashed water on my face, looked in the mirror to see if there was any visible mark of emotions left in it, and set my hair with a comb.

On returning I switched on the dim light of the room, turning off the broad one in the pretext that it would make him comfortable to open up. As I asked for his permission to turn off the broad light, a hardly perceptible glee ran through his face, the expression of which, however subtle, didn’t escape my watchful eyes. ‘I’m sorry but he thinks that you are going to end your life’ he looked straight into my eyes. The pupils of his keen eyes moved rapidly from left to right, though I remained as expressionless as I could. ‘The story that he told you, about his girlfriend being pregnant, was not true. I was upset when my girlfriend got pregnant. She told me about it after many weeks when she had known about it. On asking for Ishan’s advice, I realized that he was much more ignorant in this regard than me. I didn’t trust my other friends in matters like this. All the more so, since my girlfriend and I read in the same college and everybody knew about our affair. But he assured me that he would ask for his Dada’s (your) advice. When I expressed my concern that you know me, and that how you would feel upon knowing that your cousin brother was, and would be, staying with a person like me, like a brave hero he only said, ‘Don’t worry, Ill manage that!’ Now see where his heroism does lead him to.’

I couldn’t prevent my glee. He continued, ‘Don’t smile. He always behaves like a great hero, who can solve everybody’s problems, and as if we are merely his subjects living on his mercy. He is always eager to solve others’ problems, but not ready to share his own with others. Such a pompous guy he is!’

--Yes, I know him well!

--At times his precocity is just intolerable. I didn’t know that he told you that it was his case. After asking several times he revealed the truth. He burst up in tears as he said, ‘I would never be able to forgive myself, if Dada takes a wrong decision for me.’ I couldn’t see him so depressed. That’s why I’m here. I asked him, ‘What would make Sumanda depressed, even if it were your story?’ he only said that you loved him a lot and took him as a sober and decent boy, whom you couldn’t imagine to be involved in such matters.

He handed over to me the papers held in his hands.

--What are these?

--Medical reports and prescriptions. I brought them for your perusal, to convince you.

I returned them without checking them.

‘Sumanda, I am sorry that it happened! Please don’t misunderstand me! It was just an accident,’ he apologized.

--It’s okay! How is your girlfriend now?

--We went for an abortion. Now she is doing well.

--Please, don’t be adventurous, and be cautious in the future.

--Yes, the Doc has also advised us about the precautions. But may I ask you something, if you don’t mind?

--Please ask!

--I think you know him better than me. Then how could you believe on his words in this regard?

I didn’t have an answer to this question. Perhaps, it is my excessive possessiveness about him that instigated me to believe that he had indeed do this, though many a times his behavior suggested otherwise. It often came to my mind that he couldn’t do this. I had known him well. Such things were next to impossible for him to be involved in. Now I wondered how I could believe in it!

‘Now I have to beg your permission to leave. He would be waiting for me,’ he said.

--Who? Ishan? Where is he now?

--In the hostel, I suppose.

--But you didn’t take anything. I can’t let you go!

--I’m not hungry.

--Still.

I picked up the cups from the table and went to the kitchen to prepare snacks and tea for both of us. On returning I found him talking over his cell phone. My guess was correct. He was talking to Ishan. Seeing me he cut the call and informed me that Ishan would be coming here in a while. This time Nilanjan took the tea and snacks. I went to the kitchen again, opened the refrigerator, took out a chocolate from that packet and returned to the drawing room. He already stood up eager to leave. ‘Won’t you wait for ishan to come?’ handing over the chocolate I asked.

--No, you first settle things between you. Ishan and I will have later enough time to talk.

I sat on the couch, after he left. The ugly face of the world suddenly turned out to be pretty. The hooting in short intervals of the oulets from my top floor seemed to be an evening raga that exactly matched the ambiance. The tiny patch of the sky through my window was full of teased clouds. The moon popping its head out of them, created silver lining in them. Everything appeared to be so nice, so organized, that life got a new meaning for me. Everything of this beautiful world fitted in a perfect harmony, which bestowed upon human beings the duty of fulfilling and extending it further. Unlike other beings humans were entrusted with a special duty of adding up to the creation by their conscious effort. Everything of this world appeared to have a special significance. What was the significance of human life? Why did the Goddess created human beings, if, at all, She created this world? The music of the flowing river, the hissing of the passing wind, the sweet song of the nightingale seemed to be insufficient to appease Her. So, She created human beings and bestowed upon them the duty of creating music, which gave them a place no less than that of the divinity. The color of the rainbow, the hue of the moving wings of the butterfly couldn’t please Her, so it was the duty of man to draw dreams in Her eyes with hues of his imagination. Devoid of human beings this world would lose all its beauty. Who would write poems in the moonlit night, sitting alone in the bed waiting for her beloved? The rose, the mountain, the river, the ocean, all awaited the arrival of someone to look at them and exclaim in joy ‘Wow! That’s beautiful!’ My life also appeared to have significance, however minute. I didn’t have any right to create discord in this harmony by finishing my life. I played the raga Iman-Kalyan on the music player, then switched it off and I took up my violin. One of its strings was broken. I replaced it and started playing the same raga that I was listening to a little earlier. The evening, dressed up as a teenage boy resembling Ishan, waited the entire day for my invitation. Shy and sensitive, due to his tender age, he didn’t dare to come out in the open under intrusive eyes of the sun. After all day’s surveillance when fatigued and pale the sun retired behind the trees, he stealthily tiptoed out of his place, and headed towards where his love was. I played his favorite raga so that he might not fail to find me in the darkness.

Someone knocked on my door. It must be Ishan. I opened the door. To my disappointment, it was not him. Boys, from my locality, who were organizing a public Puja (Durga Puja) came to collect subscription. Such donations are often preceded by a long bargain. These boys comprised mostly unemployed youth. Worshipping the Goddess was an excuse for them to have fun with feast and drinks on the fund that they would collect from subscription, and advertisement campaign of different companies. This doesn’t mean that they misappropriate money the fund. On the contrary, it is understood that the boys, who organize these Puja-s, would have their share of fun during the festival. The pandal-hoppers are so pleased with them (the organizers) for what they offer in terms of their creation, that they don’t bother much for spending a few extra rupees on them. The entire city turns into a beautiful art gallery. The eye-catching laminations on the streets, the beautiful pandal-s, often replicating historical monuments, and the brilliant idols of the Goddess in all shapes and sizes are the results of the sincere efforts of these organizing committees. Yet it is customary that when they would come for subscription, they would always press for more money and the contributor would resist the raise from the previous year’s subscription. Hence, the ensuing bargains. But this time I didn’t argue with them, and fulfilled their demand.

Again my door bell rang. This time I opened the door without any expectation. But this time it was Ishan. As I opened the door he came in without looking at me. I gave a sound slap on his cheek and he fell on the ground. His eyes were full of tears. I thought that he would leave immediately. But instead he stood up and suddenly hugged me tight. It was so abrupt that I was perplexed, utterly clueless what to do. He hid his face on my shoulder. Slowly I also held him tight against my chest, and then tried to bring before my eyes his face, which was placed on my shoulder. He was stubborn, not ready to remove it from there. ‘When would you grow up?’ I asked in a voice drenched in tears. He didn’t reply. Nor did he raise his head, only rubbed his face on my shoulder. My Panjabi (a kind of long shirt) received few more drops of warm water. Without moving I shut the door behind.

(to be continued....)