Life without you

The sketch pad lay open on the table as Abhilash twirled the 4B pencil. His brows were knitted, forming a deep furrow on his forehead and beads of perspiration stuck there like mini pearls in clams. The fan overhead moved listlessly and in futility, as the voltage dipped again. Abhilash felt his inspiration evaporating in the unbearable heat of the mid- day sun beating down relentlessly. The fan moved in ever slowing circles and finally came to a stop.

“This place is just terrible to live in now”, Savi shouts from the bedroom.

Abhilash feels his temper rising. The last few years have been stressful for them. It is not as if Abhilash has not tried to give a good life to his family. Like all struggling artists, he was sure that his talent will be recognised one day. But ever since he had eloped with Savi some five years back, their fortunes have been on a steady downward spiral. Her rich father had immediately disowned her and the commission he had given to Abhilash for painting a large portrait of his late wife obviously remained incomplete and unpaid. Two years back, Rahul arrived prematurely, a thin, weak child, which strained the finances further.

He can hear Savi sobbing inside. His temples throb. He stands up with a jerk, sending the chair crashing backwards and stomps to their bedroom. Savi is crying and packing a backpack. Rahul is sitting up on the bed, wide eyed, looking at his mother weeping.

“Stop this drama, Savi.”

“Drama? This is my destiny now. You and a child who is deaf and dumb and these luxurious quarters,” she waves her hand around.

“Right. You should have stayed with your rich father and friends.”

Savi’s left hand starts twitching as her stress builds. She glares at him speechless. Her pampered upbringing had made her blind to the realities of life. Her head was filled with Bollywood’s happy ending stories, where all is forgiven when a child is born to the eloped couple. But that was not to be in their case. They had gone to meet her father when Rahul was born. But his maid told them that he was out on a business trip which was clearly a lie, as they had seen the curtain move slightly in his upstairs bedroom window when they rang the bell. They were too proud to call out the falsehood and turned back immediately. They assured each other that they do not need any help. They just needed each other and their love will overcome all obstacles.

But they had not foreseen such hardships that made every day an uphill struggle to survive.

Abhilash exhibited his paintings on the roadside, but people mostly hurried by without even a glance. Savi joined a nursing college run by a philanthropic Keralite jeweller. She passed with merit and got a job in a nursing home but had to quit after a year because Abhilash threw a mighty tantrum when she was asked to do night shifts. She has turned bitter and easy to anger since then, reciprocated by Abhilash in equal measure.

Abhilash wags his finger, “Your miserly father, that arrogant man, he did not raise even a tiny finger, even though you went to see him again last month.”

“He was on his death bed.” Savi’s twitch becomes more pronounced.

“Yeah, and a fat lot it helped. He left nothing for us.”

Savi continued to pack.

“And where are you off to?”

Savi looks up with eyes that are pools of reproach. “It is my birthday. I don’t expect anything from you. But my friends have not forgotten me.”

Abhilash felt a twinge of guilt and covered it with contrived rage, “So, you will spend it with your spoilt friends? Where are you going if your highness would like to share with us poor folks?”

“To the river. Rajan and others have organised a picnic there. I will be back by seven, eight.”

A car horn sounds outside. “That would be Rajan. Can you take Rahul to the sign language class? I will be happy if this is my only gift today.”

Abhilash stands aside to let her pass. Savi kisses Rahul on his head, slings the bag on her shoulder and walks out without a backward glance. From the window Abhilash sees a Mercedes parked near their tenement, surrounded by raucous children. Rajan is standing outside looking disapprovingly at them and hastily opens the car door for Savi when she emerges into the shimmering heat. The car speeds away.

Abhilash turns away from the window and goes uncertainly into the bedroom. He mimes eating and Rahul nods eagerly. Savi has cooked dal and rice and both finish the meal in quick time. Thankfully, power comes back and the fan tries valiantly to lull them to sleep.

It is dark when his mobile rings. He picks it up to see Savi’s number flashing.

“Abhilash, I, I am Rajan,” the sound of heavy breathing comes floating over the ether.

Abhilash sits up with a jerk. “What? Where is Savi?”

“She is gone,” Rajan’s voice is trembling. “She went for a swim, and we can’t find her now. The police are here. Divers too.”

Abhilash feels numb with shock. Although he thought that his love for her was dead, he realises that it was merely lying dormant in some corner of his heart, covered by layers of neglect.

“Ugh, I am coming there.” His eyes swell with tears and a lump rises in his throat. He cries unabashedly as he wakes up Rahul. The child does not understand but cries with him. Abhilash did not even know if Savi could swim. He wonders if it was a suicide but keeps his thoughts to himself.

*****

Savi's body was never found. Her friends told the police that Savi had entered the river while they were laying out the picnic lunch. It seems the current that day was very strong due to release of water from the dam upstream. Bad luck, that is what everyone said.

Savi’s death was briefly reported in local newspapers. Soon thereafter, I got a call from a firm of lawyers. They informed me that an anonymous person would like to send some contribution towards my monthly family expenses and they needed my address. A cheque of Rs.20,000 from the firm arrived soon by courier. My ego urged me to refuse the charity and I considered sending it back, but times were tough. Next cheque was easy to encash and thereafter I started looking forward to the mail. I sent a letter of thanks to them but received no reply. It is probably Rajan assuaging his guilt. I am beyond caring now.

Insurance has finally paid up the claim after accepting her death as a drowning accident. I have spent these seven years looking after Rahul and concentrating on my art to fill the void. The social media has been a great boon. I have shamelessly promoted myself on various platforms. Slowly, I am being recognised as an artist and my paintings are selling for modest sums. I have also been getting some assignments from patrons. Life is now comfortable though not luxurious. I have purchased a small apartment in a somewhat better locality with the sale proceeds of my paintings and the insurance amount.

Rahul and I share a room. He has become quite adept at sign language. Me, I muddle along. He goes to a school for special children. I hope to save enough money someday to organise a surgery for him. I think it is called cochlear implant. But he will never be able to speak, I suppose.

My loss has made me very calm and patient now, helped no doubt by acceptance of my fate and Rahul’s sweet nature. He is a good boy and reads a lot. I had planted a sapling in the housing society’s garden in Savi’s memory and Rahul has taken it upon himself to water it daily. Both are doing well, all things considered.

The other room has good natural light and I have set it up as a studio. Savi’s portrait hangs on the wall. I talk to her when no one is around.

“Look at the details in this painting I am doing. Notice the minute work on the kurta? Nice, no?”

“Where are my bike keys? Yes, yes, I will sort out the mess soon.”

“Rahul scored 85 percent. What’s that? Yes, he needs to do better in maths.”

I have started concentrating on landscapes now, which seem to have a universal appeal. Mountains are my thing. I admire Roerich and Clyde Aspevig.

It is winter now and I am feeling restless. “Rahul, let us go to Malana,” I signal and mouth the words.

He looks up from his book quizzically. “It is in Kullu. I want to paint snowclad mountains. And you can enjoy your winter break there.” Rahul’s excitement is infectious and he comes over and hugs me.

Malana is very quiet in the winter. Hardly any tourists. Rahul is trudging behind me making snowballs, as I walk up a trail, looking for the perfect scene to create the perfect painting. The setting sun is making the snow laden pathways blush. I hear soft running footfalls behind me and see Rahul trying to catch up.

“What?” I signal.

Rahul launches a fast flurry. “Whoa, whoa. Hold up, Rahul. I can’t understand.”

He smiles and slows the gestures, “I am hungry. And tired. And cold. Let us go to that place.” I look to where he is pointing. It is a small café made of logs. Smoke is rising lazily from the chimney. ‘Café Majestic’, says the sign, which brings out a chuckle from me. We dust the snow off our shoes and open the door.

A fireplace is providing a soft glow in which our shadows dance on the walls. There is just a couple sitting in the Café. The woman turns around on hearing the door open, and I see that it is Savi. Her face remains blank and she looks right through me. I stand still for a moment in shock but Rahul tugs my arm and takes me to a corner table.

I sit with my back to them. Rahul notices the woman and his mouth falls open. He signals excitedly, “That is mommy.”

Before I can say anything, the owner ambles over for our orders. The interlude helps me to overcome the shock. I conclude that I will not have any peace till I find out what is happening here. I ask Rahul to stay and I walk up to the man.

“Excuse me, do you have a light?”

The man looks up and smiles, “Sorry. I do not smoke.”

“Good for you. I am Abhilash,” I say extending my hand.

“I am Amit. This is my wife Samvedna.”

“Glad to meet you.” She smiles and extends her hand. Her hair is shorter and greying. There is a small scar on her forehead, which was not there earlier. But there is no doubt in my mind. You cannot fool a portrait painter who minutely observes facial features. She definitely is Savi. But she is looking at me with absolutely no sign of recognition.

“You live here?” I ask.

“No, no,” she laughs. “We are on our honeymoon.” Same voice too.

“Err, my son there,” I point to Rahul, “thinks that you look like his mom. She passed away some time back.”

‘Oh, no. So sorry,” says Amit and gestures to Rahul to come over.

Rahul comes straight to Savi/Samvedna. He signals that he is happy to see her. “I miss you. Where have you been? Come home now,” his hand signals are so fast that they are a blur of movement.

“He can’t speak? What is he saying?” asks Samvedna.

My heart is beating wildly. I am trying to make sense as to why Savi is ignoring us. Is it amnesia? I decide to sit and think with a cool mind.

“Nothing much. He is just saying hello and that you remind him of his mom. Excuse us, our order has arrived,” I say and turn towards my table virtually pulling Rahul with me as he twists and keeps staring at her.

Rahul is attacking his omelette with gusto. I go over the possibilities. Obviously Savi has no memories of the past. Making a fuss over it will only ruin her present with no real gains for anyone. Also, I will have to return the insurance money. I sit quietly and sip my coffee.

*******

It was a real shocker when I saw Abhilash and Rahul walk in. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I would see them after so many years and that too in this small village. It was with tremendous effort that I kept my face blank, even when he walked over to our table. My hand twitched uncontrollably and I kept it hidden under the table, gripping my knee. Rahul broke my heart when he said that he missed me.

Memories that I had forced back come rushing to the fore. Thank God the place is ill lit, and Amit does not notice how disturbed I am. I remember meeting my father in ICU, after his secretary had called me. He looked weak physically but not in spirit. “You have pained me greatly and I cannot forgive you. You have to suffer your fate till you are alive.” He was breathing in short, laboured gasps.

“But my grandson will receive some help, when you are gone, no matter how long it takes. If he is more than eighteen years old at that time, he will receive a lump sum. Else he will receive a monthly stipend till he turns eighteen and the balance in the fund at that time. My lawyers will manage the trust I have set up for him.”

He continued, “You are not to reveal this to your family. I do not trust Abhilash in this regard. Now go, I have nothing else to say to you,” he turned his back to me. I walked out without a word and learnt that he died a week later.

After another month of dreary existence, a plan slowly took shape. I took my nursing and work experience certificates, all my gold, some cash that I had hidden away and packed them tightly in a plastic bag. The picnic was the perfect time to put the scheme in motion. I entered the river with the bag looped around my neck and hidden inside my T-shirt. I pretended to flounder in the water and floated away with the current. I had learnt swimming as a child and it all came back. I came ashore at a secluded spot after putting some distance between me and the group. The Sun dried me quickly enough and a good Samaritan dropped me off at the railway station. I moved far up north to Jalandhar and after a brief hiatus, found a nursing job under my real name. I had always hated my given name Samvedna, and insisted that my friends call me by my nickname Savi. Gradually it had become a habit with all. Samvedna became just a name on some papers. Abhilash also knew me only as Savi when he came to my home to paint my mother’s portrait and love blossomed.

I prayed constantly that Rahul and Abhilash were having a better life now. Many years of hard work resulted in my promotion as a head nurse and I was posted to supervise the nursing station in ICU. One day, Amit was wheeled into the ICU after a severe accident, and I had tended to him. He recovered slowly and shared with me that his wife and daughter were killed in the accident that he was unfortunate enough to survive. He was devastated and I offered him sympathy along with tender care. I had told everyone that I was a widow and kept embellishing the fiction as to how my husband’s family had blamed me for his death and turned me out etc. We continued to chat over the phone after he was discharged, a friendship forged by our individual tragedies. After some time, he proposed marriage diffidently and I accepted after some hesitation.

Amit breaks into my thoughts, “Finished your meal? Shall we go now?”

I glance at Rahul, who is busy eating. A silent tear rolls down my cheek and I hastily wipe it with the paper napkin masking the move to include my mouth. I nod.

Amit picks up his cane and leaves money on the table for the bill. He struggles up and we walk to the door. “That was some incident. A child mistaking you for his mother.”

“Yes, fancy that. Maybe I have a very ordinary face.”

“Nope. You have an extraordinary face.” I laugh out loud as we emerge from the café. It has started snowing and everything looks pristine and beautiful.

*******

I don’t understand why she said that she was not my mom. She very much looked like my mom’s painting at home. I could see that my father felt the same too. Maybe she is happier with the man she was with? It is O.K. My dad loves me a lot and that is all I ever want.

We walk out. My dad lifts me on to his shoulders, which he does when he thinks I am sad. I can see very far from this height and for the first time, am able to see the snow-clad peaks that were so far hidden by the tall pine trees. I playfully cover my dad’s eyes and we both fall in the snow laughing madly.

 *******