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| Sunday, 4 December 2005 |
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Short story - Too late "You shameless whore!!!!" Manohari heard her drunkard dad yell at her mother, just as she returned home after school. As long as she could remember, her mom and dad had never been at ease with each other.
Violent behaviour Manohari was just 14, yet not too young to understand the connection between that uncle who frequented the house when dad was away, her mom's gradually bulging belly, and dad's violent behaviour. That very morning, Sister Ferguson, the headmistress of Manohari's school had summoned her. Sister Ferguson's ears had not missed the endless tales about Manohari's family. She wanted to help Manohari, and was sympathetic as usual. Yet her proud little heart did not allow her to utter a single syllable. She left the headmistress' office, burning with shame and pain. Yet not a single tear escaped Manohari's beautiful eyes. Jennifer, Manohari's mom was from Trincomalee. They were devoted Catholics. She had fallen in love with the handsome Indian engineer who came to Trinco on a government project. Despite the vehement objections of both families, they had got married. All that Manohari knew was that her grandparents had left Trinco in disgust, and now resided in Colombo. Manohari just not take it anymore. She believed that neither of her parents would miss her very much. She knew what she was going to do. Yes, she had managed to copy her grandparents' telephone number from her Mom's diary. She had some money saved from her pocket money. Next morning, she got ready for school as usual and left home. But today, her destination was the railway station. She caught a train bound to Colombo, still in her uniform. She managed the lonely journey, feeling miserable under the ugly looks of several people, who were wondering what business this girl had on the train. She alighted at the Fort Railway station, hungry, tired and feeling ultra-lost. She found her way out, and went to a telephone box. With a shaking hand, she dialled her grandparents' number. She prayed with all her heart that the number would be correct. A gruff voice answered, "hello?" "can I speak to Mr. Swamithasan, please....?". Relief Manohari sight in relief as the car sped along the Galle Road. Her grandfather picked her up from the station, and now they were headed to their little house in Kollupitiya. As she anxiously entered the house, she little suspected what a dramatic change her life was about to under. Her grandma, being a sensible woman, had understood everything thanks to her friends in Trinco. She took good care not to show any signs of surprise, but helped Manohari feel herself at home. Manohari entered a school in Colombo, where she did remarkably well in her studies. Four years after leaving school, she managed to secure a job in a reputed bank. Manohari herself couldn't believe that she was the lost little who emerged to the big wide world with the crowd of the Trincomalee train. Each morning, when she checked her reflection in the mirror, just before leaving to the office, a tall slim girl smiled at her. Her thick, shoulder length hair was straight and shone with life. Her lovely mouth curled into a confident smile. The bright eyes had something to do with India. "Well, why not?" She asked herself. "My dad is an Indian". She told the twin in the mirror. Her skin was glowing with a healthy complexion, neither dark nor fair. Another gift from her dad. Her eyes saddened for a moment, at the thought of her parents. She heard that her dad had gone back to India, soon after she ran away. But she could not brood on that. The office van was honking for her. She planted a hurried kiss on her grandma's cheek, grabbed her handbag, and ran downstairs. 15 years later Manohari was in the verandah of her own little home. Her little girl, Miruni, was playing at her feet. Manohari married an officer in the same bank. At first things had been a bit difficult for them, as neither was very rich. But both were ambitious and young. With some effort, they managed to buy a little house for them. They loved little Miru immensely. Manohari did everything in her power to give her a happy childhood. Manohari heard a gentle knock at the gate. She glanced at the clock. No, it was too early for the husband, who was away at a meeting. The knock was repeated. She cautiously opened the little opening in the gate. She noticed a worn out looking young man. "Yes?" "Manohari nona from Trinco?" He inquired. She was curious. "Yes, what can I do for you?" "Can I talk to you for a while?" She hesitated. She was alone with the girl. "I have a message for you. Can I come in please?" Something in his pleading look said he meant no harm. "Come in", she said. Amma "Nona must be wondering who I am. I'm also from Trinco..." Manohari waited expectantly. "So..?" The stranger turned away as if he couldn't bear her demanding glance. "Amma is not well, Akka..." Manohari was thunderstruck. So this was the brother whom she had never seen! The sibling she so badly wanted in her childhood. The brother, whose odious existence, she had taken every effort to delete from her memory. He stood in her veranda, a representative of the painful past which she shunned with all her might. But the moment she regained her senses, she strode over to him. She took his haggard face in her hands. "Thambi, what's wrong with amma? What happened? tell me!" "She is very sick akka. They say it is TB..." In an hour she was on her way to Trinco, in a hired van. She learned from Vijai, her brother, that her father had gone to India without consenting to the divorce. Jennifer couldn't marry Vijai's father, who died a few years later in a car crash. Mom was left helpless, and had hard times in bringing up Vijai. It was early morning when they reached Manohari's childhood home, where another dramatic change awaited her. Her mom, a beautiful lady when Manohari last saw her, was worn and wasted. Time, poverty and sorrow had chiselled her fine figures into that of a woman, early old. "Amma, forgive me, forgive my selfishness!!! Never caring about you and thambi...." Manohari knelt by the bed and wept. "My child, you are here..." her mother muttered. "Vijai found you! I wanted to see you before I die, forgive me my daughter, I was a hopeless mother to you..." Tears streamed down her withered cheeks. She paused to catch her breath. " I heard you were doing well in Colombo, didn't want to drag you back to my world of misery, my child... forgive me". Her mom passed away, late in the afternoon. Her funeral was only attended by Vijai, Manohari, her husband and daughter. Vijai wept bitterly as handfuls of raw earth fell on the coffin. Manohari clung to her husband, too dazed to feel anything. The very same night, they left Trinco, taking Vijai with them. Manohari was going to start yet another chapter in his life as a sister. Maheeka N. Rajamuni, University of Colombo. |
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Their frequent fights used to make her heart hammer in fear and
agitation. But as she grew up, Manohari unconsciously developed a
protective shield. She alienated herself from her parents' world. They
meant very little to her. Sometimes, on occasions like this, she never
could decide, whom she disliked most, mom or dad...? 
