TWO MINDS

I am going into an uncharted territory with this one. Hope all of you like it.
Presenting a short story that celebrates human spirit and the triumph of a word the world seems to have forgotten... humanity.

-Nikhil Mahajan

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The sea was unusually calm that day. Unfurling the sail of his small boat, the fisherman clad in his usual yellow ganji and green lungi, looked at his fellow on the boat who was looking towards the sea.

“What are you looking at, Venkat?” he asked. He had never seen Venkat tremble like that while fishing. Without a word spoken, Venkat looked back. There was distinct fear in his eyes. Before he could ask him a word more, he could see an unusually large wave surging toward at a steady pace, behind a trembling Venkat. Now he understood why Venkat had never trembled like that before. He hadn’t seen death before either. He just put his head down for a moment.

“Mom has to be taken to the hospital tomorrow… Its Laxmi’s engagement next week… Rajan’s school fees have to be paid… Who is going to do all th…”

Before he could complete the thought or look up, he was pushed down in the extreme depths of the sea by the monster wave. Its strange, the sea that used to feed him everyday, had consumed him today.

Tsunami had struck. It was 24th December 2004.

Two months later. 4th February 2005

Most houses in that small coastal village in Tamilnadu had been destroyed in the unforeseen fury of nature. But more than just houses, hundreds of homes were devastated, some lost their loved ones, some didn’t stay alive to see their loved ones again. Death was done with its one act play and all the lead characters had bowed out. These people had never thought that a 7 letter word could spell doom for them, altering their lives in a way in which it could never be rectified again.

A few film stars had come, sympathized, built a few kachcha shelters and left taking alongwith them scores of TV reporters who had been there to cover the filmstar’s act of charity more than the plight of the people who really had bore the brunt of nature’s act of desolation.

The houses that once stood tidy along the coast were now replaced by sheets of steel and plastic a bit far from the coast now. The anguish and cries of women and children and the silent tears of the men were now replaced by an air of genuine hopelessness and an ardent sense of loss. Gloom was making its presence felt through the dried eyes of people who were still looking at the sea, with anger and hope; anger because it had taken away everything that they had and hope because they thought maybe the Tsunami would strike again and take with whatever was remaining letting there be only sea, sand and a few sheets of iron left.

“The commissioner is here” shouted one of the lucky fishermen who hadn’t gone into the sea that day.

All eyes turned in unison towards the sparkling white ambassador that was swaying its way through the green rice fields to the village, something that was now called a rehabilitation camp of people from different villages which were affected. Most of them strangers but with the same story. Life always brings you to people who can relate to you. This time, it was death which had got these people together.

Following the ambassador was Lakshmaiyyah wearing a white dhoti and a tattered brick red cotton shirt. His blue slippers were splashing water as he was walking towards the swarm of villagers who had by now collected around the commissioner who had come to give the people remuneration for those deceased in the calamity. Lakshmaiyyah, who had a house quite far from the beach, was, for the first time going towards the rehabilitation camp.

An old wooden table with a shaking leg was set. A villager rushed into the medical aid centre set up, to get a white colored plastic chair for the commissioner to sit. The commissioner who was a decent looking man in his late 30’s had the arrogant air of a typical government officer about him, but somehow looked endearing. Something in him was generating warmth, making the grief-stricken villagers feel comfortable. He was wearing a grey-colored Safari suit atop a pair of black leather chappals. He took out a list of people who were listed as dead, officially.

Lakshmaiyyah was now pacing faster towards the queue of people who were standing to collect remuneration. His eyes were wet, not of the slight drizzle, but of memories, memories of Ram, his 5 yr old son, who the waves had taken away.

Ram had always been enticed by the sea. He used to run towards the beach every morning, his elder sister following suit. They used to play in the salty water bringing effervescent, sweet smiles and sounds of cackling laughter to them, as Lakshmaiyyah watched them play from a distance.

The sound of Ram’s innocent laughter was booming in Lakshmaiyyah’s ears as he joined the serpentine queue. The state government had declared a compensation of 20000 for the family of each deceased. The cheques were being distributed after the verification of the names in the list. As people were collecting the money, they were feeling even sadder, as their loved ones gave them a ray of hope after going into pitch black darkness themselves. 24th of December fetched them an amount of money which they would have taken at least a year to earn. The price they paid was worthless. 20000 would give Lakshmaiyyah an opportunity to build a house he always wanted. It couldn’t return his son’s laughter though. 24th of December had changed their lives in a totally irreversible way.

He was sitting in the verandah of his old house that day, looking at the list of grocery they had to get for his daughter’s engagement which was the next day. He also had lots to do that day, the house had to be decorated, and the guests were to be invited. He was quite consumed in his work when little Ram came to him, asking him to come with him to the sea. Lakshmaiyyah had shouted at Ram when he kept insisting on going despite of his continuous denials.

A disappointed Ram had ran towards the sea, crying. Lakshmaiyyah had smiled and thought to himself, “Why do you have to run, when you are gonna come back to the same place?”

Unfortunately for him, Ram never returned from the beach after then. Ram in all probability had died with tears in his eyes. Or maybe he was smiling… After all, his father was saved.

Lakshmaiyyah’s thoughts were disturbed with the solid voice of the commissioner,
“Who has died?”

Lakshmaiyyah had replied, “My son, Rameshwaran Iyengar”

After pondering the list for a while, he said, “The name is not in the list.”



TO BE CONTINUED…

Let me know what you felt about TWO MINDS. Also tell me about similar experiences of yours... I will put up the best one next Sunday alongwith the culminating chapter of TWO MINDS.

-Nikhil Mahajan