 With you I shall go
by Jeannette Cabraal
Ajantha sat gaping into
nothingness, at the refuge for disabled soldiers. He heard the sporadic
burst of crackers in preparation for the dawn of the New Year on the
morrow. It burst irritably on his listening ear. To him that species of
sound held other connotations, deeply saddening. He waited impatiently
for it to die down, so that he could hear the far off melancholy cry of
the Koha, which soothed his nerves. There was something in that
plaintive cry, that found an answering echo in his heart.
 He pictured the thick green branches, from whose hidden niche, the
seasonal bird called. The beautiful blossoms of red and orange, must be
bursting forth with the outburst of the red throated, dark hued,
unattractive bird, with the resonating tone.
The Ehala blossoms must be trailing down in their inexplicable creamy
beauty, festooning the country side, which must be a riot of tropical
colour. And the crimson Erabaudu - he winced, for that colour grated
even on his imagination. A grim reminder of the splash of blood as life
ebbed from gyrating bodies. Out of sheer habit, the muscles around his
eyes twitched in a grimace at the thought. A futile attempt to blot out
the sight.
How calm and quiet it was today. On other days the boisterous voices,
the raucous laughter of his comrades, despite their disabilities, were
pleasant sounds that enlivened him. Today most of them had been taken to
their homes or the homes of friends and benefactors, for the New Year.
He had gently withdrawn from the latter for he had no home now.
He had lost all he had ever known and loved, at the massacre of his
remote little village on the borders of the North Central province by
the marauders. He and Lathifa the doe-eyed Muslim girl, with the demure
shawl around her head, were the only survivors; who by almost a miracle
had remained hidden, one in the thicket behind the house and the other
undiscovered in her own home.
But it would have been better had they too died, without having to go
round to view and identify all they had known in that small village. Two
pairs of eyes were totally insufficient to weep at that pitiful, yet
horrible sight. Even Thanghamma and Velu and the little thangachchies
had not been spared and the two survivors had clung to each other in
their desperate grief. A heavy sob escaped him.
The girl had been taken away to be brought up by some members of her
community and he too had found refuge in a nearby village. But the
affinity that had sprung between them, born of a common grief remained.
They were sharers in an episode in life that was indelibly marked on
their young minds and had caused both many hours of shared tears and
anguish.
Ajantha had then resolved, that he as a young lad had a duty by that
village. He owed it to the heaped up dead of his village. He felt he had
been spared for a purpose and despite Lathifa’s pleadings joined the
army. What had he to live for anyway. He had lost his entire family and
his fellow villagers in one terrible swoop. Of course there was Lathifa.
He felt he had a duty by her too. And anyway the affinity between
them had developed into something more than platonic now. But this he
felt was his mission; to join the army and make his contribution and he
had done it at a tremendous sacrifice. Involved in the war up North, he
had little time to write to her, though she was foremost in his
thoughts. But the past two years had been a living hell for him. Since
he had some to be an inmate here, several letters had been sent to
Lathifa with no response whatsoever.
This had made him disconsolate. Now that he was disabled may be she
had no further need of him. “Self pity again” chimed in the familiar
cheerful voice of his comrade in adversity Kelum, hobbling along on his
crutches the dangling stumps that he had earned for legs well hidden
from sight. Very few remained in the home this festive season.
Some who like himself, had no home to go to and others again like
himself forgotten by those who had cared earlier. Despite it all, there
was a ring of cheer both in Kelum and the couple or so of companions who
were with him and a kind of chuckling glee.
An unfamiliar footstep broke in on his reverie too. Not the familiar
sound of crutches tick tocking the floor, not the quiet reel of the
wheelchair nor the cat-like footsteps of the kindly compassionate matron
with the cheery voice. A soft touch on his shoulder and then warm drops
and a stified sob.
 “A....Ajantha” the heart broken voice. Was it or wasn’t it a mistake?
A figment of his reverie? Was he dreaming? Was it a hallucination? Was
Kelum pulling his leg with one of his outrageous pranks? But whatever it
was, even at the risk of being good-humouredly laughed at by his
comrades he involuntarily whirled round in his revolving chair “Lathi is
it you? Is it really you? Or am I dreaming my usual impossible dream?”
“It is Ajantha” the sad voice continued. How akin to that of the Koha
he couldn’t help but note. “These two years I’ve been in the Middle
East. I did not want to be a burden to my benefactors.
They informed me of what had happened to you and advised me strongly
to forget about you. But it only made me work harder. Every riyal was
precious to me and I saved considerably at personal sacrifice, after
hearing of your plight. I’ve earned enough for us to manage a life
together and perhaps later I can find a job over here. So Aja I’ve come
for you. Tomorrow we celebrate your New Year together. You and these
your comrades like you left behind” explained Lathi in between sobs as
the warm tears fell on his up turned face. But there were no answering
tears from Ajantha for the dark glasses covered two abysmal caverns. |
