Short Story

Plea for mercy

by Yasmin Jaldin

After living for thirty years in an apartment in the city they decided to move into a suburb. Scanning through several advertisements a two-storied house was purchased far off from the city. It was a private housing scheme and every bungalow varied in structure. Even though the house was moderate, there was ample garden and Clara started planting her favourite fruit trees instantly.

Theirs was the fifth house and it was on the right-hand side. There were ten lanes in the neighbourhood with ten houses in each lane, five on the left and the other five on the right. With high surrounding walls sheltering the houses none of its inmates could be seen.

The immediate neighbour was unaware if the members of his next house were in or out, such was the case. Occasionally, one or two went on errands, otherwise the lanes were practically a ghost town on week-days. It would only be a smile and a nod if you just happen to meet one. On the contrary it was good, but in the long run it was also bad, since none had the time to look into another's grievance if something worst cropped up.

Sweeping

Clara's immediate neighbour rarely came out and she was seen only in the evenings sweeping her compound or picking flowers for her altar.

Virtually, everyone seemed to mind their own business and it was not like the city when friends all around would pop in and say a simple 'hello' or walk in for a little chat. We, Sri Lankans love a little gossip, don't we? It relieved the boredom and was also soothing, just to know that people cared.

Two weeks after settling in, one late night nodding in deep slumber she vaguely heard screams of an elderly lady speaking in gasps and later subsiding to a moan.

Sobs

'What was that? The sounds emanated from an upper floor of a house increasing and decreasing later into painful sobs.

Curious, without disturbing her husband she tip-toed to the corner window of the balcony to peep below. The wailing voice was now clear and it was heard from the third house in the lane, when an old lady was repeatedly pleading, 'I beg of you, please, don't hit me'. After a few minutes the voice was inaudible and the sounds trailed away.

Were the sounds a reality or ghostly, it could not be since the time was only eleven-thirty. Ghosts appear after midnight is it not?, thought she. Now, there was complete silence.

The following week too at the same time she heard the screams and threatening voices of a man and woman speaking in foul language, obviously it was noted that they were scolding the poor old lady. She decided not to tell her husband, 'mind your own business, go to sleep you are dreaming', he would say.

Pleasantries

Determined to find out about the unusual screams she decided to go to the 'pola'. Fortunate to find the company of another neighbour who walked her way, after pleasantries, Clara swiftly shifted the topic to the third house of her lane.

What she heard made her quiver. 'Oh! this is a usual occurrence, it is very pathetic to listen to the old lady's wails, sometimes I have tried to intervene and all you get is a rebuff', she said.

The old lady, wife of a very rich businessman after his demise inherited his legacy. Being the owner of a plaza building and a palatial villa in Colombo she was forced to sell part of her assets and the money was divided equally among them. She thought they would be content but it was not so. The elder one is domiciled overseas and the feeble old lady in her late eighties was now living with the younger son and daughter-in-law.

Even though he owns a house gifted to him by his in-laws, the man pesters his mother for a share of her house already gifted to the elder brother which has been re-gifted to his daughter. She pleads for mercy saying 'nothing could be done now, please don't hit me', he punishes her for the lapse, it is very sad, said her friend.

'Very pathetic, could we not do something?', said Clara.

Coaxed

'Just forget it, none could help or speak to the man on this issue, he is very rude and so is his wife, they are not good neighbours' said she.

After a lapse of two weeks the screams of the old lady were heard once again and this time she nudged her husband. Muttering for disturbing him, she somehow coaxed him to come up to the balcony, when he craned his neck to hear the screams. He was shocked and held his head in dismay 'Satisfied are you not, you did hear the wails' she said.

'How could anyone do this to his mother, this is terrible', cried he.

The following week was unusually very quiet. Again it was the week-end when she decided to do the marketing. Stepping out of the lane what did she see? White banners hung at the top of the lane.

The old lady was no more, she had passed away this morning, said her new friend. Was she beaten last night too? Why is man never content? The clamour to embrace more is the root of one's unhappiness; if this desire stirs in one, it is evil.

Two months later, there was commotion again in the same house. Someone was screaming and wailing loudly when it was learnt that the son had been bitten by his pet dog. None of the neighbours came to his aid, it was only a passerby who volunteered to take him to the hospital.

Although prompt medication was administered, the wounds were deep and festered. Gangrene had set in, resulting the right leg below the knee to be amputated. Wearing a Jaipur foot, one could see him sit by the wayside; perhaps paying for his sins?