A rope, a couple, and a crow

The storm and the rain had come crashing down the day before yesterday; and yesterday, the sun came with its fiery rays, setting everything ablaze; now today, it drizzled in the early morning, while the dark, thick clouds still loomed on the horizon as the day proceeded into the late morning. There was a little hope of seeing caressing rays, descending from heavens. The calm weather seemed to have gone for a spin, with no intention of returning.

But no matter the weather, the calls of harvesting must be answered; and so, the farmers ran back and forth to secure their produce while battling unseasonable rains.

What was promised at the beginning of the season was reduced next to nothing. What they could manage now, in this fickle season, might get them sailing into the next hopeful year; such hopes were daily occupants in their minds; and as they took a long, contemplating look at their produce, they knew how futile the thoughts - hopeful thoughts they called them - were. It was, indeed, a pipe dream to hope to sail through this year.

The fever had spelled more troubles for Surendra for he was down with it six days; his wife - Ajma, was worried sick; her farm was calling her for harvesting, while her husband needed her at home. Torn between the two, she chose to stay by her husband’s side, channelizing every ounce of her being to get him back on his feet; when her efforts bore fruits, they were on the way in all the haste. She longed for so long to fill the crates full of apples that she danced and skipped all her way to the farm.

Eyeing his wife dancing out in the middle of the road, Surendra bit his lower lip and called after her:

“I know it isn’t a good time, but I should apologize for delaying. I do feel bad coming down with a fever at such an important time.”

“Oh, hush!” she chided. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s early October and rains have no business what so ever around this time of the year.” She spun and spun, letting out a chortle, and added, “Besides, you are not the only one who went down with fever. The young men and women fell sick too.”

“What do you mean by young men?” grunted he. “I’m quite sturdy myself. It is that I was drenched the other day.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” Ajma giggled. “59-year-youngling.”

“Oh, wait, wait, I smell,” he sniffed the air, “something burning. Or is it you, out of jealousy?”

“My gods, I must defend my love from young and beautiful maidens. He is going to leave this old hag and be off with a beauty.”

Their talks never made any sense to other folks of their village. They were just a married old couple with no children; going about their lives till the end of their times; and so, they were often seen babbling about anything and everything; but little did the villagers know about the secret trick the couple had invented to protect themselves from ever-growing loneliness.

The void in their life had endured and so, they turned to each other, supporting through thick and thin, laughing and talking, fighting and patching-up almost instantly; doing everything in their power to keep the void at bay.

Little did they know the void was already at their door and only a knock away.

Once they surveyed their little apple orchard, the raging fire in their eyes was subsided; the high hopes turned to ash and withered away as they eyed few apples clinging to the tree, while many lay at their feet. The rain, the wind, and the weather had done their job impeccably.

With their shoulders hanging low, hunched necks, and forlorn faces, they sat under the neem tree, trying to come to the terms.

“Our trees should have borne eighty fruits each,” Ajma said, her voice filled with sorrow and surprise. “Even if the weather isn’t favorable, but only ten-fifteen of them...”

Surendra glanced at the sky; the menacing clouds were still threatening him with another shower. He heaved a sigh and said:

“Well, if we don’t get to work, we might lose everything.”

He heard a soft scoff, but none of them found their feet; they sat there, motionless as if their figures were carved out of a stone, only rising and falling of their chests betrayed the notion.

High above on the bough of the neem tree, a crow cawed. Ajma was quick to notice the flapping and cawing of the bird. Ever so sightly her lips curved and she uttered:

“Your grandma is here.”

“Even with that foolish story. We are not children anymore to believe that ancestors come and visit us in form of a crow.”

“But when we offer our ancestors food on September’s new moon day,” Ajma protested, “the crows do come and feast on it. I have seen it several times. No matter what today’s generation says, I do believe that there are indeed those who have passed into the afterlife.”

“And I have seen other birds too feasting on the offered plate.”

“True... but that bird has been here for the last eleven years. Just after the year grandmother passed on.”

“Fine, fine,” grunted Surendra, grudgingly. He looked at the crow and added, “Looks like we are going to join grandmother soon enough.”

“Why? Because we don’t have any money left from last year’s produce and now this...” she sighed. “We won’t be able to make it, right? Through this year? Even if we make it, what are we to do next year?”

“I don’t know,” he cupped her hands in his. “I don’t know what we are going to do. Our hopes for good produce have been slain.”

With no money and failing harvest, they were staring at a bleak future; at this rate, they would have two choices: sell the orchard or sell the house; both prospects equally tormenting for the orchard and the house was passed on to the successors from the last eight generations; the unsaid agreement cited that death would be preferable than selling, though it did not hold for Ajma, so Surendra proposed:

“You know I shall not sell our house or land. It is my problem that I value them, treasure them. Given the circumstances, however, selling is the only option. You can do it.”

Ajma grinned. “How am I supposed to do that? You’re the heir and have all the rights.”

“Well, rights pass on, don’t they?”

“Yes?!”

“If I happened, let’s say, die, you’ll get the rights to sell and you can live peacefully to the end of days. An acre of land isn’t enough in fetching a great price, but it should get a decent price. Should be enough in supporting one life. Then there is the house. That should be enough in getting you through ten years. So, I can buy you fifteen years, I think, and these years would be more peaceful and filled with joy. After fifteen years, the villagers will take care of you. I mean who will dislodge an old woman?”

Ajma considered for a while; her thoughts racing back and forth, trying to comprehend why it had come to passing the rights. A strange pang overcame her. She wanted to scream, yell, complain, and eventually cry, but instead, she turned towards her beloved and softly whispered:

“I might even buy a silk saree, though, I might have to eat one meal for a month or so. It has so long since I wore one...” She allowed her head to fall on Surendra’s shoulder while her eyes longingly staring at the horizon. “Do you regret selling our lands to save our son, and losing both in the end? Don’t you feel how unfair life is. At first, it gives, gives, and gives, and then, it just takes, takes, and takes, till nothing is left but a memory. I find it such an odd sort of game.”

Surendra felt hot and soft tears seeping through his cotton sleeve; the weight pressed against his shoulder; the unrest in his beloved’s soul. He did not want to talk about his son or the land or the unfairness of life or the hardships. He wished letting everything go and so he said looking at the rope that was hanging low from the branch:

“This rope should do it. It was for hanging tire and making a swing but whatever hangs from it should not matter to the rope. After all, its only purpose is to hold on.”

Ajma lifted her eyes; she saw the rope and the crow flapping about it, trying its beak at it; she felt as if the bird had heard what Surendra had just said and it was up to something that she did not comprehend. Then, she looked at her beloved. He was still seeking refuge in the distant horizon. She snaked her arm across his chest, pulling him in an embrace. Ajma felt the strong pulse of his heart; the sound his nostrils made when air coiling in and out of his lungs. What she wanted to feel was the unrest so that she could soothe it out, but she found a strange calm clinging to his spirit as if his spirit had accepted the only way out from this misery, and then, her breathing became labored at the revelation. ‘This man,’ she thought, ‘means it.’

“I shall not leave your side,” Ajma said after seconds of deliberation. “Where you go, I’ll follow. Just the thought of parting frightens me. I shan’t make it alone. I’ll lose myself.”

Surendra gently placed his palm on Ajma’s head; he patted her head with tender love and said:

“What’s the point of me dying then? I want you to live a comfortable life. The money would be enough, as I had said before. What use it be if you follow me into death?”

“What use it be if I live all alone?”

“Not my problem,” scoffed Surendra.

Snorting, Ajma tightened her grip; and there they sat again, drowning in the sea of silence, which was only broken by the frantic flapping of the wings, occasional thunder in the distance, and the gust of cool winds.

The disturbers of silence kept about their business for a stretch.

“Well, we can manage the rope,” Ajma said after an indefinite period. “There should be room for two.”

“The rope would snap. It is not meant to handle heavyweight like you,” Surendra grinned.

Ajma poked at his chest with her elbow, and he uttered a low ouch. After that, they fell into the stillness once more.

When they were contemplating the death, there was no need rushing; after all, the decision would be irreversible; and Surendra was still skeptical about letting Ajma onboard.

Deep in thoughts, their minds groped for that little glimmer of hope that would avert the death altogether, but also present them with a reason to go on living. The more they thought, the more dying made sense. Not that they were thinking about passing into the void with frustration, but they were thinking perhaps, it might free them of all the misery the life had brought and would bring in the future. It was the future they were dreading, and amid the incessant thoughts, three black feathers fell around them, followed by something that made Ajma jump and ran a little away from the tree.

Screaming, she looked here and there; finding her husband clutching his stomach, made her face and ears red. For a moment or two, she did not understand why he was almost rolling on the ground with laughter; then, her eyes fell on the rope that had fallen from the bough and slipped off her shoulder and was now lying on the ground. The fright it had given her! although, it was not a matter to laugh till your stomach would explode; then she looked with curious eyes at Surendra. He was not rolling out of laughter; the crow was poking its beak into his flesh, making him roll all over the place.

Ajma pinched the bridge of her nose and allowed a heavy, long sigh. Then, she glanced at the rope; it was robbed of its integrity, and along its circumference just opposite of the knot, it was split into two; her eyes followed the bird still toying with her beloved. A thin smile broke out on her lips, soon followed by a stream of tears.

Crouching and extending her palm, Ajma called out the crow.

It looked annoyed at first; the bird stopped toying with Surendra and turned its one eye toward Ajma. Cautiously, it hopped little by little and jumped into her palm, cawing endlessly.

When Ajma brought her other palm over the bird to pet it, the crow flapped its wings with rigor. Its tantrum forced Ajma to burst out laughing, while Surendra was still complaining about how the crow had launched an assault out of nowhere. After a couple of minutes, the crow did allow Ajma to pet it; and she ran her palm across its length, gently cuddling its neck.

“Now, you can kiss living alone goodbye,” grumbled Surendra. “It is the hardships and miseries!” He took a long look at the bird, and said, “Grandma, eh?”

“Didn’t I say so?”

“Damn right, you did. She used to cobble me when I was a young fool, and now, she is going to poke holes in me because I’m still a fool. An old one, given.” He let out a slow, deliberate laugh, filled with a sneer, “Let’s see what you have in store for me, old hag!”