Hide and seek

I quietly stepped out of the suffocating shadows of the house, into the freedom of the searing afternoon heat. Slipping on my rubber slippers, I walked down the broad stone steps that led from the verandah at the back to the courtyard. I hesitated on the last step, trying to remember the paths of my childhood. It wasn’t easy; everything was the same, yet everything was so different. Where were those two mango trees? That chicken shed? The mud path?

I sighed and contemplated retreating into the cool interiors of the house. But someone might see me outside my room and I knew what would follow- concern, pity and remorse. The thought made me grit my teeth. I mean, I understand the sentiment; he was my father, after all. What made me angry was my inability to grieve with the expected intensity. My sadness, like so many other things about me, could not match society’s standards.

I shook my head. If I went inside the house, I would hear my thoughts clearly. In the sultry April afternoon heat, the rush of nostalgia and the chirping of crickets would drown out the voices in my head. I stepped into the sunlight.

Tying my dupatta around my head as a feeble shield against the heat, I started counting under my breath, like I would do as a child. Ten steps away was the well, still in use after all these years, judging by the pots placed by its side. I peered over the edge, and a dull face looked up at me from the depths. Pulling back, I looked around, picked up a smooth stone and flicked it into the well. The ‘plop’ was as satisfying as ever.

I moved towards the front of the well, turned towards the left, counted 30 steps and stopped. The chicken shed should have been here. When the door was opened, the hens would come tumbling out, clucking and rushing to peck at the grains strewn for them. Sometimes, little, fluffy chicks would follow them. They would have to ferret out their own food though; the mothers could not be bothered.

There was nothing there now, just a couple of manicured plants in their pots; green, healthy and uninspiring. My eyes travelled ahead, to the wilderness just beyond the borders of the paved courtyard. It was a riot of green. I don’t think we have named all the shades of this hue found in the hidden bylanes and backyards of Kerala. Not that we should; some things should not be bracketed and filed away into boxes. Like human beings…

There it was! Six steps from the boundary of the erstwhile kingdom of the matronly hens, a narrow, moss covered path. Most of it was overrun by weeds but I could still make out the faint outlines of the passage to my childhood adventures. A small smile floated down from the skies and rested on my face.

I walked on the path, looking around at the memories of the many summers I had spent here. There I was, in my favourite red dress, picking jasmine flowers for grandma to braid into my hair. A little distance away, I was giggling crazily as Kannan tried to catch a dragonfly for me. And there we were, trying to hide from our parents to eat the cola-flavoured popsicles that my uncle would always get for us from the town, despite my mother being convinced that it was made from water taken from the roadside canal!

By now, I had walked quite some distance; only the tiled rafters of the house were visible. In front of me was my most special childhood hideaway – a group of massive mango trees that grew close together, their leafy branches blocking out the light, swaying lightly in the wind, now weighed down by green and light-yellow mangoes. Located at a considerable distance from the house, they remained neglected and so, flourished in all their wilderness. All the trees closer to the courtyard had been trimmed or chopped down, because the dead leaves and rotting fruits were an eyesore for the overlords of the area.

I sniggered, wondering when the last time was my aunt or grandmother had even seen the backside of the house. With all chores left to servants, most of their time was taken up by the television, the phone or visits to the neighbouring houses.

I stepped closer to my aged friends, running my hands lightly over the rough bark, wishing that Kannan would come running at full speed and skid to a halt near me, like he used to. He would have definitely plucked a ripe mango or two. Or pestered his father to make a swing for us, with wooden planks and sturdy ropes. We could have spent the afternoon exploring the quiet lanes of this nondescript village, like we did for so many years.

Kannan and I were best friends for two months every year, when I came to my maternal grandmother’s house in Kerala for the summer holidays. His father was one of the plantation workers, and his mother did odd jobs in our house. As expected, our friendship was wholly disapproved of by everyone, except my mother. I think she realized I needed a companion to see me through the long, boring afternoons and dull evenings.

And by God, did he do his job well! With him, I saw sights I had never seen before. From twisting dried leaves to make a hat to crafting paper boats that I could float in the stream, Kannan made sure I ticked off every item in the checklist of essential experiences for a Malayali kid. In return, I told him about life in Delhi, with the big buildings, bustling markets, malls and movie theatres. We didn’t need our grandmothers or mothers to tell us mythical tales, we were content in each other’s rambling prattle. Then the vacations would end, my mother would pack our bags, I would say goodbye to Kannan, and forget about him within two days of reaching our flat. Till the next year. This cycle continued for 11 years, till I stopped coming home.

I rested my head on a tree trunk. The heat was oppressive and the light breeze did not provide much relief. Should I go back?

A heady fragrance came floating through the air and I turned my eyes towards the distance, spotting the lone ‘Pala maram’ that stood out elegantly against the blue sky. The ravages of time had not really diminished its beauty nor had the flowers lost their bewitching charm. Rather unfortunately, this was given the moniker of the Indian Devil Tree, being the preferred dwelling place of a type of female demon.

I stood and stared, not at the faraway tree but at the decrepit structure behind it. Tucked away in a desolated spot on the sprawling estate was the old garden shed, given a wide berth by both young and old alike. While some feared the wrath of the mythical demon, others were concerned about practical dangers like snakes, rats and rusty implements. This led to the shed remaining locked for most of the time.

I started walking towards it slowly, taking in the beautiful hibiscus and Jungle geranium flowers that were growing in plenty in that part of the grounds. I wasn’t really thinking anything, I just wanted to see what the place looked like after so many years.

As I neared the shed, it seemed the years were falling away quickly. Too quickly. By the time the door came into view, I was again a scraggly 11-year-old, flushed with the excitement of playing hide-and-seek and pumped with adrenalin at being near the ‘forbidden’ place.

The year was 2004, and I had come down for my summer holidays, once again. Kannan was delighted and we spent the first few days aimlessly roaming around the village. Every afternoon, after lunch, I would bid goodbye to my mother and happily set off with Kannan. That day, we had planned to go to the stream, where he promised me my first swimming lessons. Giddy with excitement, we walked towards the paddy field, which we had to cross to reach our destination. But halfway across, Kannan stopped, a frown stretching across his face. He was looking at some people who were crossing the field from the other end.

“That’s Madhavan…he’s a rowdy. And those are his friends. I don’t think it’s safe to let them see us now, without any elders around,” he looked at me, with concerned eyes. I was old enough to understand what his fears were.

“Let’s go back,” I whispered, and we ran. Ran all the way back to my house, our fear slowly dissolving into mirth. Just before we reached the gates, he pulled me aside and warned me, “Don’t tell them what happened. They won’t let you come out with me anymore.”

“But if I go back so soon, amma will definitely sense something amiss.”

“Don’t go into the house now. Let’s quietly go into the yard, stay there till evening and then return as if nothing happened.”

My excitement reached peak levels. A narrow escape, followed by a deception! What a reckless life I led! I agreed immediately and we sneaked in through the side, sprinting across the deserted courtyard, into the comforting embrace of the overgrown estate. We made our way to the mango trees and sat down in the shade, out of breath but triumphant.

After some time, when we were sure that no one was outside, we agreed to play a game of hide-and-seek. But no screaming or shouting, as that might alert my family members to our presence. It was to be a silent process, and if one saw the other person, they had to throw a small stone and hit them. Small stones only please, bruises can’t be explained easily.

We played for some time, each one spotting the other within 2-3 minutes. There weren’t many places to hide between the plants and trees, and we couldn’t risk going too close to the house. Which is why, during my fourth attempt at hiding, I thought that the shed would be a brilliant choice.

As Kannan closed his eyes and counted, I darted away. But as I neared the shed, fear began to set in, and I decided against going inside the ramshackle building. I could always hide outside, at the very back. He would not think of searching for me there. 

I crept towards the back, taking care to avoid stepping on twigs or dry leaves. Hardly had I reached the corner when I heard someone speaking. From inside the shed. Damn! Who would come to this place at this time? If they saw me, both Kannan and I would get into trouble. I crouched and sneaked under the window, counted till 50 and then slowly peeked inside. That is when I saw my mother. With her arms around an unknown man. Locked in a passionate embrace that left me in no doubt about the magnitude of what I was seeing.

I don’t remember what all I felt but one of my immediate fears was that Kannan would see them too, if he came here. I slowly bent down and shuffled back to the Devil Tree. Once there, I straightened and rapidly walked back to the house. I entered through the open back door, went straight to my room, locked the door and sat down on my bed.

I did not know who he was. I did not want to find out. I just wanted to go away from that place, then and there. I didn’t even want to go back to my father, who was waiting for us in Delhi. Just go somewhere. I wanted to walk out of the gates and roam aimlessly through the streets, without ever having to come back.

After about half an hour, there was a small knock at my door. Dry-eyed but exhausted, I dragged myself off the bed and opened the door to find my mother standing there, looking slightly surprised.

“You are back home so early? Is everything all right?”

I stared at her. A part of me wanted to scream at her, push her away, hurt her physically. The other half wanted to fall into her arms and wail. I did neither. I turned away and went and lay on the bed. “I just felt tired and came back. I am fine.”

She came and sat at the edge of my bed. For some time, there was silence. Then she started massaging my legs lightly, keeping up a stream of remonstrations and concerned enquiries. I shut my eyes and stayed quiet.

That was 17 years ago. I never told anyone what I saw. Over the years, I even understood the circumstances that might have driven my mother into the arms of another man, in search of the love she never received from my father. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, held together by the thin strand that was me. That thread snapped two weeks ago, when my father succumbed to Covid.

I snapped back to reality, and realized I was standing in front of the rundown, weed-infested shed. I shook my head and turned around. There was nothing to see there. It was all in my head- the sights, the memories, even the demon.

As I walked back to the house, I thought about the one thing that hurt me most, more than the burden of what I saw. I never spoke to Kannan after that. He must have searched for me for a long time that day. The next day, and the following days, he regularly came to the house to enquire about me. My mother told him what I told her and what everyone believed – I had suffered from severe headaches and leg cramps because of our particularly adventurous outing, and I couldn’t go out with him anymore. To make the story believable, and to stop the questions, I even told them about Madhavan. To protect myself, I broke my best friend’s trust.

I saw him on the day we were leaving. He was standing with his parents, sombre but not angry. He smiled at me when I got into the car and waved. For a second, I considered running up to him and telling him everything. But as my mother sat next to me, I smiled back at him and waved.

I did not come back for quite a few years after that. I convinced my father that the two months of summer vacations could be spent productively. I could enroll for tuitions, pick up a third language, or take up dancing classes. Every vacation, I signed up for a new class and stayed back in Delhi, with my father. My mother went home alone, every year. She did not press me to join her. By the time my heart was healed enough to allow me to return, Kannan had left for a job in the city. We never met after that.

As I neared the house, I saw a servant standing on the back steps, anxiously waiting for me. “There you are, Ammu. Your mother has been asking for you for some time now. She is getting angry,” the old lady told me in apologetic tones. I laughed, assured her I would handle my mother’s temper tantrums and went inside the house.

“There you are,” my mother scowled at me as I entered her room. “Don’t go off on your own like that. The times have changed and it’s not safe like before.”

“I am sure. Why were you calling me,” I sat down on the edge of her bed.

“I want you to go to go meet Rekha chitta and Subhadra ammayi. They always ask for you; it’s been such a long time since you have seen them.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, though I don’t really want to. When should I go?”

“It’s only afternoon now. You can go today and get it over with. I have asked for the car and also found someone to drive it.”

I made a face at her, to which she smiled impishly. Groaning, I went to my room, freshened up, went downstairs and waited by the car for the driver to turn up.

A slight rumble of thunder made me look at the sky. We might get one of those sudden summer showers that Kerala is known for; no wonder it had been so hot throughout the day.

So intent was I on my analysis that I did not notice someone coming and standing behind me. Naturally, I started violently when a small pebble hit my shoulder. I turned around indignantly, and found myself facing a tall, well-built man, fully masked but clearly smiling.

“You did a fine job of hiding that day. I never found you after that, even though I kept searching for you all these years.”

Something loosened in my chest, a knot I did not know had existed. I smiled at him and said, “I got lost. But now you have found me and you must promise to listen to all my stories once again.”

He laughed and gestured for me to get inside the car. “I always do. Are they new stories?”

“Old ones. Never found anyone else I could tell them to.”