The Pain That Travelled

Jade had her hand on the shoulder of a friend, as she smiled for the camera. The group of five wore identical t-shirts in black with GRL PWR emblazoned in gold, a far cry from the neutral colour palettes she favoured for office and the soft pastels he had often seen her in, the few times he met her outside office. In the background could be seen what seemed like a private stretch of a beachfront, fringed by lush tropical gardens. 

Mark had seen this profile pic for the nth time since morning when she last changed it. The happy vibe in the picture was a welcome change from the mundane quote she had as the display picture earlier. 

The innumerable times he had checked the phone hoping to find a text from her, invited a friendly nudge from his cousin who teased him with a raised eye brow. 

Now finally in bed, an uncanny unease crept in. He had scrolled down on his phone long enough and could no longer see the pictures of all his friends on social media with their partners in tow, cheek to cheek or hands around each other’s waist, fun writ all over their faces.

He had met Jade at work and felt an instant affinity towards her. They formed an affable work rapport and would get into long-drawn conversations on topics not related to work. Just when they were getting closer, she seemed to have got cold feet and pulled back. He didn’t want to let go of her and couldn’t find a reason why she was struggling with her emotions. She would take a step closer because they did connect at some level and then as if some inner demons haunted her, would withdraw. 

Why did Mark feel drawn towards her so intensely? Why did Jade continue going back and forth? 

She had confessed that they had a lot in common and she enjoyed talking to him. She could be herself around him. Yet there was a lack of faith, as if she couldn’t trust his commitment to her. 

He could find no answers for this. 

Hoping to fall asleep, he placed the phone on the bedside and closed his eyes to get some sleep. 

Not long back he had obliged his group with the prompt uncorking of champagne as the neon sign at the restropub displayed 2020! 

It had been like this for a year now and he had grown accustomed to this emptiness but now it seemed to fester, gnawing at the cheerful demeanour he wore all day long and through late nights as he stayed awake well past midnight, creating ‘happy clients’ for his digital marketing company. 

There was apparently no work requiring immediate attention. In despair, he looked around his cousin’s guest room. There were a few books that seemed to have been added more for decor, flanked by marble book-ends. The titles were inviting nonetheless. 

He chose the one titled “The Turbulent 1900s, An Insight Into India’s Modern History”! 

It turned out to be an engrossing read, however after reading it for about 20 pages, he could feel his eyes shut. The exhaustion of the evening was finally registering on him. Barely having the energy to place the book on the bedside he closed his eyes and fell into a captivating slumber.

All of a sudden he was woken up by an aggressive shaking. “It’s 7 a.m. already and you are still in bed”, came a commanding voice. Adjusting his eyes to the brightness of the morning sun, he saw a man who looked like the older version of himself. Confounded, he tried to sit up in his bed, only to realize that it wasn’t a bed, but a charpoy made with woven bamboo ropes whose abrasiveness could be felt despite the mattress strewn over it. 

He definitely was in different surroundings. Different, yet strangely familiar. “Why are you looking around your own room, as if there’s a ghost in here ? Get ready fast. We have a long journey ahead of us.” The man moved towards the calendar on wall and set the date to 1.1.1920. Taking resolute steps and leaving the door ajar, he swiftly went down a dimly lit staircase. 

He could hear the hushed noise from the house. Despite the early hour, there was a flurry of activities downstairs. 

Was it curiosity or the fear that the man instilled in him, he shook himself out of the daze and walking gingerly till the door, peered outside. The wooden steps creaked as he went down. An elderly woman nudged him affectionately, “Happy New Year. Did he scold you again? Don’t look so downcast. Go bathe quickly”. 

He had an eerie feel as he seemed to know his way around the house. A narrow passage led to a courtyard behind the house, at the end of which he could see a set of bathrooms. Some twenty minutes later, he was seated on a mat spread on the floor with two low wooden planks serving as the dining table. He was staring at the round flatbread that was placed on a brass plate along a cup of steaming turmeric milk, when the woman dropped a scoop of a red chutney in his plate. “It’s your favourite, no! The first breakfast of the new year! “. The tangy flatbread was perhaps too spicy for him and he feared it would not sit right with his system. 

The domineering man had finished eating before him, and he was talking to him, though not really looking at him, “ Gandhiji’s train would reach the station at 9. We’ll welcome him and proceed with him barefoot towards the congregation. He’ll address the meeting there and chalk out the plan to launch the Non Co-operation Movement. It will be a tough fight for us. But we Indians are prepared for it. Self-governance is our aim and the British can no longer deny it to us”. 

These words only added to Mark’s confusion and she looked at the woman as if hoping to find a plausible explanation. 

Worry lines creased the woman’s forehead as she hesitatingly chimed in, “The British are jailing the protesters at the drop of a hat. Stay safe.” 

Her warning seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man rose to his feet and placed a turban on his head. Raring to go, he looked at Mark impatiently. Mark had to get up. However, he felt too dazed to stand on his feet. It was all too much to fathom. How did he land up in a world hundred years ago, that too in India! The room was spinning around him. The two strangers in the room turned to help him as he passed out. 

“He is unwell”, she said in a concerned voice. 

“Did he have alcohol last night?”

“Certainly not”. 

“These youngsters! What to make of them? You go ahead mollycoddle him. I can’t delay my plans.”

The scholar in Mark protested. The scholar who had visited India twice and travelled through the length and breadth of the country exploring the historical places he had read in detail. He wanted to accompany this towering figure who dressed like a Gujarati peasant and somehow seemed like his father to him. He wished to meet Gandhi, receive him at the train station and witness one of the historic meetings with his followers. 

But the spinning in his head wouldn’t stop.

The afternoon sun was blazing. The coastline adjoining the Arabian Sea experienced mild, sunny winters. From the courtyard he could hear women singing. Not wishing to be seen, he stood behind a banyan tree, to take a look at them. There were about ten of them,singing a folk song, sitting on the floor, embroidering. 

He had spent several hours trying to make sense of the way his morning had started. Lying down on a bamboo mat, he had wished he would fall asleep again and wake up again in the world he belonged to. In 2020, at San Francisco. Yet, even in his bewildered state he seemed to know everything about this alien world he had somehow travelled back to. 1920, In India. 

He knew exactly how to weave the bamboo strips, alternating between the horizontal and vertical strips to create the mat he was lying down on. He knew exactly when to harvest the rice grain when it turned yellow and the flower started drooping. 

Had his fascination for the Indian culture and history led to a time travel that his logical mind was not willing to accept?

The women in the courtyard were now singing a folk song in unison. He knew the words and could comprehend the meaning. India had always fascinated him.However, this level of knowledge that he was experiencing now could have come only after living a lifetime here! 

He was still lost in his thoughts, when a hand tapped on his shoulder. Turning back, he was surprised to see a young girl dressed in a traditional Indian attire, looking at him anxiously. “ She wishes to see you one last time. Now!” 

He stood there stupefied. “Come follow me”, she whispered fiercely, “you can act surprised later on.” 

Hiding from the others, she led him to a secluded corner in the backyard of the house where another young girl stood waiting. Mystified, he began, “ Excuse me! I ......”. Her face now turned towards him and large kohl-lined eyes rested on his face. This was the final blow. He could no longer utter a word. Right now, standing before him, attired in a traditional Indian outfit was ‘Jade’! 

His shock swiftly turned into relief, on finally seeing someone from his present. “Jade, how are we here, perhaps you would know. Its all so bewildering! I want this to end. How do we go back? I.....”.

“I wish you had valued what we had”, she spoke in a grim tone, “You don’t even realise what we are losing now. This needed to be nurtured. You gave it away for frivolous temptations”. Her eyes now welled-up with tears. “ I wish you well in life, however, it would be a life sans me.”

Her words had an ominously prophetic tone. “Never ever betray someone’s faith.” Suddenly she turned and vanished into the narrow alleys. 

Was this the answer he had been seeking for over a year? The connection from the past creating an affinity that drew Mark and Jade towards each other. His conduct in the past causing insecurity in her mind even hundred years after they had separated! How immense her pain had been! It had travelled a lifetime with her, becoming a part of her. 

He had lost someone’s precious. He had to set it right. For a better future for them. 

How could he undo it all. In flashes, his mind revealed his own misadventures to him. She had witnessed it all. 

How could undo it all? 

He could only ask for forgiveness and plead her to overcome this pain now. Bury it here. In this lifetime. So that it didn’t leave imprints on her soul. 

He was down on his knees. “ You are exquisite. You deserve better than this. Better than a philanderer. I should move away from you and let you heal. You must heal. For your own sake. You don’t have to cut people off. As you grow, they’ll fall away. Believe in yourself. You are powerful.”

At night, he sat on his harsh cot, hoping that what belonged to this lifetime would stay here. He sat in the same position for hours as sleep seemed to be elusive. The night seemed darker than before. 

Finally, the sun was rising. 

A beep on his phone made him jump out of his bed. 

It was a text from her.