Short story

Sanctification

by Niranjali Motha

I am relieved to see a vacant seat between me and the young foreign woman. I am on a transit flight to Singapore en-route to the Philippines. I notice the girl fastening her seat belt with caution. I fold the armrest in the vacant seat and ease her. She flashes me a smile of gratitude. I acknowledge her with a similar smile. I start to browse through an in- flight magazine.

“Are you from this country?” her soft voice invites me for a conversation.

I am in no mood for a conversation. I am on an official visit to the Philippines and will be away for the next few weeks shuttling between three other countries in the region.

I was scheduled for a few meeting that needs detailed interactions, which would have an implication to a new project we were to launch worldwide.

Miserable

I was a support member of a global team and was expected to meet my counterparts in the Philippines. I have left many chores that needed my attention at home. Moreover, I have left a ‘not so capable of a man, my husband’ to fend for him in my absence.

A man too gentle to be coaxed to clean-up and tidy the nest.

“I feel miserable.” I hear my fellow passenger mumbling. I am puzzled. Why would a foreigner leaving my home shores feel miserable? She reads my thoughts. “My boyfriend is in Sri Lanka.

I came to visit him,” she says with a melancholy look. “Oh! It must be terrible.” I am genuine in my response. My thoughts try to match her feeling while my looks were trying to gauge her age.

She appears to be in her early twenties. I see her glowing radiant even-toned skin and healthy appearance. She shifts from her seat and occupies the vacant seat next to me.

Delia, only 19, is from a remote island in the Philippines. She met her Sri Lankan boyfriend while following a course in architecture in Manila.

He was reading for a BSc degree at the university. They had known each other for a nearly a year. According to her, “he is a loving person”.

She stops her conversation halfway and inquires about me. I relate to her about me and brief her on my travel itinerary.

Curious

She settles herself comfortably leaning on the headrest. “Do many Sri Lankans marry foreigners?” she sounds curious.

I nod, “Yea a lot” “Are they accepted by the families? How are they treated?” She throws a trail of questions at me. I try to answer all. She is interested to know much about ‘family life’ in Sri Lanka. I share with her what I know.

Her look grows serious. “Do you think he will marry me?” I am hit hard by the unexpected question. I am aghast. I try to be gentle as possible. “That’s for you to know.”

I say with a sarcastic smile. My determination fails and my voice turns stern. I repeat “You should know by now”. She flashes a helpless smile.

“I am pregnant”, her voice breaks.

I am left speechless. I feel as though I have been hit hard by a boulder of some-sort… I want to scream... accuse her ...slap her. All of a sudden it dawns on me that she a ‘nobody’ to me. She doesn’t belong to me... not a daughter nor a niece. (Though I felt for her innocence in a manner that stirred up the mother in me) She is only a fellow passenger.... a total stranger... on whose path I may never cross again....

Pregnant

I try not to be judgemental. “How long?” “Nearing four months” I close my eyes...tight... in an effort to calm myself. I suddenly was feeling as though the cabin air pressure was fluctuating... as though I was caught inside a stalled elevator... A girl of 19 years... pregnant out of wedlock... and a man of a distant land......I cannot fathom...

How dare!

“My parents don’t know of this. It was my elder sister who sent me to Sri Lanka to get married....”

I ask her why the marriage had not taken place....how her boyfriend treated her and accepted her... What the family reactions were on her uninformed presence....?

“They were very nice to me...took me around the country on sight-seeing...Of course, my boyfriend initially very angry that I had come all this way to expose our relationship…but later he calmed down…

His parents too were aloof at first, but for some reason they mellowed by the end of the day…

They even let me share the room with my boyfriend...” I get annoyed with myself... my upbringing...my culture... May be I am too old fashioned to understand the modern era, the evolution of traditions, values and family life...

Religion

“We are from different religions... He wants me to convert...I am ready for it...” “Change your religion for marriage?” “Yes...” she says submissively.

She goes on with her narration... her woe causing a subtle pain in my abdomen. I wonder whether it was the same submissiveness that has caused her this plight.

“My boyfriend doesn’t want to come back to Manila... He wants to find a job in the Middle East and take me there...he has started on his master’s degree, so it will take a couple of years for him to seek employment...” The longer she speaks the dimmer my hopes dip...

“Do you think he will marry me?” I hear her voice mixed in a sigh.... I wish to remain silent... I know the answer... the obvious outcome of her ordeal... I wish I could spell it out...for the whole world to hear... and for my words to echo to the end of the horizon...till the end of time...

I restrain myself... not to kill her dreams...

My mind improvises many a doubt.... I wish I could share them with her... I wish I could shake her vigorously till she regains her senses... to wake her up from the illusion of the event....her life.... I wish I could spell it.... That she might never be the bride of the man she so dearly loves.....the man who had used her innocence for carnal satisfaction... a pleasure of a moment...

Future

I am urged to tell her to break all ties with her man and his modern family and look for a future elsewhere....that she may be is being cheated.... that more pain and agony is awaiting her at her doorstep...that despair, rejection and shame will swallow and consume her in another six months...

Many an adult phrases surge within me... I bury them within me, with much effort... She is a lone traveller... carrying a life within her that is struggling to see the light... the righteousness and the wickedness of the world the beauty and cruelty of its creation...

I have no right over her to condemn or reprimand her... She looks too fragile and pale to me in the reading light above in the cabin.

I wish I could offer her a comforting assurance ...but I fail. The air hostess hands us the dis-embarkation forms. I don’t need one as I am on transit.

Delia grabs one...I tell her that she doesn’t have to... she says she is planning to spend a day in Singapore. She pulls out her travel documents from a pouch, and starts filling the form...

I notice her well-polished long nailed fingers shiver... she gives me a pleading look. I take her documents and start filling the form for her. She softly requests me to copy down her address and correspond with her... I obey and slip the address into my handbag.

Whisper

The landing at Changi Airport was smooth. We walk through the long isle and come to the juncture... the moment has come for us to part...depart... She to the arrival lounge and me to the transit... She takes my hand in hers...

I hear her long sigh...without a warning she hugs me... a tight grip... I feel the slight swell of her belly against me...”When will I see you again?” her voice is a mere whisper...

Her eyes beginning to cloud...”In Sri Lanka with your husband” I say very confidently...I am not ashamed of my lie.

She steps on to the escalator... I watch her till she vanishes from my sight... and take a stroll towards the information desk.

I open my handbag to pull out my passport... a slip of paper comes out entangled to my documents....I redeem it... the address of Delia.

I crush it with my palm and drop it into the nearby litterbin...

Singapore the ‘city of fines’ welcomes me... I wish this country could cleanse my soul and fine me for my inequity... I enter the boarding gate.... walking through a corridor decorated with fresh orchids...

The massive SQ airline awaits me in all its lustre of majesty...resembling an ivory tomb.....

[email protected]