By: Dr. Mohammad Aleem, Editor-ICN Group
( A short story )
NEW DELHI: It was a very unpleasant and harsh morning. The rain laden clouds had gathered in the sky. And it looked that the rain might start any time, soon. Strong icy winds were also blowing continuously.
I was sitting on a bench in a park nearby my colony, fully covered with my woollen gears. It was the only park where we could go and walk and take a breath of fresh air. We were not so lucky to have such parks in our colony. Ours was an unauthorized one. It was known for its cramped population and worst civic condition. Not a single road was well-laid. Open sewer and dirt was the usual site wherever you passed. But we were happy that at least we had a place to live in and a roof on our heads to hide from every kind of calamities of the city life.
It was my daily routine to come here and walk and do exercises at least for an hour. I deviated from that routine rarely. It was like my breath. It would make me energized and invigorated for the whole day. But as the winter had intensified, walkers had suddenly stopped coming in. I would also skip a day or two when it became unbearable. Among the regulars, one was an old man of around seventy. I had hardly seen him missing his morning walk. For the last six months, he had been coming here frequently. Perhaps, he was new to the city. He would come almost at the same time when I came here.
But today’s weather was unbearably cold, so I did not expect that he would turn up. Even, the gardener had stopped coming, which had the duty to look after the park. When he appeared, it made me surprised. But today he looked lost and sad. I remembered the last night’s bulletin on the television that it was the coldest day of the season and had broken the previous many records of the last ten years.
It was the first week of January and all schools and universities had been closed. I was a bit relaxed that I would not have to rush back home and take the children to their schools. It would always be an exhausting task for me. My one daughter was in a local school and another one in a Missionary School. They were in class one and six.
I had almost completed my regimen of exercise and was relaxing. For a middle-aged man like me, it was too much gruelling to take a long walk of four kilometres away from my home and complete a round of the park which was another half kilometre. I was looking at the branches of the trees which were swaying with the stroke of the wild winds as it would uproot them in a single attack.
Soon, the old man came near me. He did not take the usual round of the park and came to sit and rest just beside me. However, he would take at least three to four rounds daily. I wondered that what had made him skip his routine. Perhaps, it was the severity of the weather, I thought. But I was not much familiar with him, so I did not ask him anything when he sat on the bench. In the cities, we would hardly talk to any strangers until we became accustomed to each other, somehow.
I adjusted myself so he could sit properly. He said after prolong silence, looking towards the sky, “It seems that it will rain heavily today. Isn’t it?”
‘Yes, it can be,” I said shortly. “It will be a God send boon if it rains. Our city is so polluted that it is not fit for even normal breathing. In fact, we should not have come here for the walk at all as the environmental scientists had warned the previous night that it was not good for health. It is very hazardous because the pollution level is alarmingly high.”
He did not comment. He was looking disturbed and restless. I thought that there might be some problem with him. But, I could not contain myself when his silence grew longer and became unbearable, “How are you uncle? Are you not well?”
“No, no, I am fine. But these days, my rheumatic has aggravated. I went several times to the doctor, but of no use. Not any medicine is working. I don’t know what I should do?” he said sadly taking a deep breath in.
“You should apply some local methods also like massaging your leg with warm mustard oil with one or two cloves of garlic on a regular basis,” I said.
“I do that, but not frequently,” he said gloomily. “When my wife was alive, she would do that without missing a single night as it was her habit. But as she passed away, I was left to mend with myself,” he said with the dint of sorrow in his quivering voice.
“When she left you for her heavenly abode?” I asked curiously.
“The last year at the same time when it was bitterly cold in my village,” he said.
“Was it a natural death or due to any illness,” I asked again.
“Due to the deadly cancer in her stomach,” he replied. “I tried my level best and spent a huge amount of money to save her, but could not.”
I did not say much. It was too painful to even react.
For a long time, we did not speak and rather pondered over the philosophy of life and death silently.
“But my rheumatic was not so acute when I was living in my village. The day I landed here in this city, it started wreaking havoc on my health,” he changed the topic and said.
“How can you say that?” I asked in astonishment.
“There, in my village, everything was pure. But here, you see, even you can’t even find pure air,” he said.
“Where do you come from, uncle?” I asked, taking much interest in his talk.
“Gopal Ganj District, North Bihar,” he replied. “And you?” he asked.
“I am through and through Delhites. I was earlier living in the old Delhi, but, of late, I have bought a flat here in this colony because of the good population of our community here,” I replied.
“There, in my village, I have many acres of fertile land. I used to grow crops on it. But when my wife died, everything changed,” he said sorrowfully as he got embroiled again in the painful memories of his late beloved wife.
‘With whom do you live here?’ I asked.
‘With my eldest son. He is a psychiatrist and dietician. He has a good practice. He earns rather well. He has two children, a son and a daughter. My other two sons live in Saudi Arabia. They are also quite well-off. My only daughter is in Dubai and living there with her husband and children,” he said, elaborating about his family in one go.
“You should enjoy living with your grandchildren. In what age they are?” I asked.
“They are seven and four years old. I take them to school daily, and go to bring them back from there also. It has become like my daily routine. But most of the time, I feel that I am imprisoned here. I have no freedom,” he said.
‘Why?’ I asked, surprised.
“How can you pass your time well huddled in a small flat? How long can you spend your time watching TV or reading the newspapers? I have no one to talk and mingle with them freely. I can’t talk much with my daughter-in-law because the strict Purdah system we follow in our family. And my son has no time to even convey his greetings. He seems most of the time utterly busy. However, my grandchildren keep me occupied for some time. But they have also not much time to spare. They look busy all the time with their homework and tuitions,” he said gloomily.
“Then, why don’t you go back to your village?” I said.
‘I have requested several times to my son to get my train ticket booked, but every time, he ignores. He says that what will I do there, living alone,” he said miserably.
“Why? You can plough your land and grow a fine crop again on it,” I said.
“I have lent all our lands to others on lease. Earlier, I used to rear many cattle. I had two buffaloes, one cow and a pair of oxen. It was a time when I would always be busy with them. They gave me plenty of milk. But, as my wife breathed her last and my sons departed to their respective places of working, I was forced to sell them because it had become difficult to run the house alone for me. There would always be a lot of work with the farm and cattle. Isn’t it?” he elaborated.
“They were good companion anyhow. In fact, better than humans, I think,” he said.
“Have you ever lived with cattle?” he suddenly asked looking towards me straight.
“No, never,” I said. “As I have said to you earlier that I am a city bred person,” I added.
“Then, you can’t understand my feeling. Their calves were like my own children. I used to play with them and feed them lovingly. But my sons forced me to sell them. They said that there was no use to do all these things. They also took it as beyond their dignity to live like a farmer when they started earning good money,” he said.
I had little inkling about the village life. So, it was very difficult for me to relate with all these feelings as the old man seemed to be associated with.
“But I do say to them that what if I have no work to do there in my village home, but a lot of people to talk, abundant of fresh air to breathe in, and an open unpolluted sky to gaze at, and a fresh stream of river to swim on,” he said quite philosophically.
“Have you any relative back at your village home?” I asked
“Yes, I have a brother. He is ten years younger than me. But my children don’t like to keep a relation with him. They think that he was never cordial with us, so we should also not keep any business with him,” he said sorrowfully.
“He is a government school teacher in a High school,” he further said.
“Then, how on earth will you live there if you are not cordial with your brother?” I asked.
“But I love him a lot. He is like my son. I had helped him in getting educated and find a job,” he said.
“He should help you when you need his support the most. In fact, he can support you in much better way because your children are far away busy with their own lives?” I said.
‘Yes, it can be. But he doesn’t care,” he said dejectedly.
After a deep breath, he further continued, “I don’t need any kind of help in material and physical sense. I can cook my own food. In fact, I enjoy it a lot,” he said.
“Usually, when I am in the village, I cook myself. After having the food, either I love to go for a stroll on the riverbank and talk with my neighbours and other villagers. They are good people. I also enjoy sitting alone on my roof watching the starry night sky and gazing to the far distance towards the wood, endlessly,” he said, becoming a bit nostalgic.
I could imagine those beauties of life with my sudden flight of thoughts. I also longed to visit those places where there was so much natural beauty, peace and love.
I said after some time, “Your sons should take care of your feelings. They can’t be so cruel.”
“If he did not book a ticket for me today, then, tomorrow, I will go myself to the railway station and get the ticket booked,” he said quite agitatedly.
Soon, the atmosphere changed, and the drops of the rain started falling. We feared that it might be turn heavier. So, we stood up at once to go. And it broke our talks abruptly.
We moved, but in different directions, because, I was living in another colony and he was in a different one.
I was walking rather fast, but I could not contain myself to turn my gaze one or two times and look at him until he disappeared at the bend of the road from my sight completely.
The next morning, when I came in the park, I did not see him. I thought that, might be, his son would have bought his ticket or would have gone to the train station himself to get a ticket booked, or, might be, he would have fallen ill so he could not come today.
I was quite restless to think all about that. I wanted to see him and know about his state of things. As I was going through all these thoughts, suddenly I saw him entering the park gate. I became happy. He did not take a round, but came directly to me where I was sitting on the bench after my quota of exercises. As he came closer, I rose to greet him. He said after returning to my greeting duly, “I am happy that my son has finally got my ticket booked. This evening, I will catch my train. I am really quite ecstatic that I am going back to my village after complete six months. I can’t say how long it seemed to me these months!”
“When will you come back again here, uncle?” I asked curiously.
“Perhaps, never, I would prefer to live there till my last breath. I also can’t bear this stifling and poisonous environment of the city,” he said resolutely.
“But, what if your children asked you to come again?” I asked.
“I would tell them to come to the village if they love me and want me,” he said emphatically.
I liked his resoluteness, vigour and joyfulness.
He took leave of me and hugged me as we were an old friend. I kept waving my hand until he vanished from my sight. It seemed to me that he had got wings suddenly and was so ecstatic and happy that he would fly in the sky to find his own freedom and reach his village in no time.
