Vermillion

Vermillion. The colour of her saree matched with the pigment of Kumkum she had applied in the middle of her forehead. She was carrying a small basket in her hand, laden with coconut, flowers, betel leaves, arecanuts, turmeric sticks, and some fruits. She had braided her hair into two long plaits and adorned them with jasmine. She was accompanied by Kamala Maami (aunt).

The temple was huge and the cool granite floor contrasted with the scalding anxiety that Chinna was feeling, hiding behind a pillar, out of sight.

Chinnaswamy still couldn’t believe that this was happening, and yet he knew he wouldn’t dare provoke providence by questioning it. Only such an unprecedented encounter could justify a brother cowering behind the pillar of a temple, to watch over his sister. He couldn’t stop thinking about this morning.

It was an unusually hot day of 1982. He had woken up in the morning, gone about his day, and then gone to the cupboard to retrieve a shirt. And there it had been, a letter, unmistakably placed within sight and impossible to ignore. Before he could pay attention to the handwriting, the contents of the letter had left him both incredulous and terrified.

‘Dear Chinna,

Who I am doesn’t matter, but what I wish to tell you will be a matter of life and death. You have to intervene Time, and make it stumble away from the tragedy that destiny has in store for you and your family. You will live a contented life, but today (if uninterrupted), will mark a turning point in your life that will wound your heart. I am begging you, don’t disregard my warning, and trust my authority on being aware of what is meant to happen. Your sister, Malar, will be killed in an accident today, and I am seeking your help in trying to alter the path of destiny. I understand you have no reason to believe me, you don’t even know my identity, but to prove to you this is no joking matter, let me predict two more things that are to occur today. Your father will be disappointed that Kitta Chithappa (uncle) who was to send a money order of 350 rupees, would change his mind and send him a letter about the same. Also, your family will get news from Sivaraman Uncle across the street, that the family from Anbil village has liked Malar’s profile and would like to discuss about an engagement as a pre-cursor to the wedding. Once both these instances prove true, I know you will fight this war against Time and make the day end differently.’

The letter continued for two more pages.

Of course Chinna had no idea what to do after reading the entire letter, but to think someone could send a letter of this sort to tease seemed beyond imagination to him. He still asked around in the house if any letter had come in for him that morning. No one had any clue about any letter. The discomfort in the pit of his stomach grew deeper. He was on edge the whole morning, praying that even if improbable, let this whole thing be a prank, or even more rational, a bad nightmare; and that none of the two prophesied things mentioned in the letter come true.

A family confirming they liked his dearest Malar could be highly probable.

However, a letter from Kittu Chithappa with the exact amount and his inability to send it would be too specific a prediction for him to ignore.

Hence, if the Money Order came through as agreed, then he wouldn’t bother testing the other prediction regarding the alliance. He would simply burn the letter from existence and his memory.

Thus, from the early morning coffee till the time the postman came knocking on the door, Chinna had been tethering on anxiety. The moment the postman came, Chinna’s father took all the letters, and before Chinna could ask him, the father walked to the the wall (adorned with deities and paintings of Gods where the family prayed), took out one letter and placed in reverence to God. Chinna felt a wave of relief that the money had come through. After the prayer, Chinna’s father opened the envelope and his face furrowed in confusion. This was more than Chinna could bear. He rushed to his father’s side and asked to see it. The tethering anxiety morphed into suffocating panic when he read the letter. The 350 rupees could not be sent this month.

Before he could respond, his Paati’s (grandmother) voice called out, asking if anyone could go to the shop and get some betel leaves, jasmine and a few more things. Obligated to take up the task, he scurried with his wallet, and said he’d be back with the things.

His mind at complete unrest, he came home as fast as he could, and to his dismay, he saw Sivaraman uncle stepping out of the house, cheerful as sunshine!

“They loved our girl! The jadagam (astrological chart) has matched so well that the boy’s side is eager to fix the date for the wedding at the earliest. I told you, didn’t I? Any family would be blessed to have our Malar for a daughter-in-law!”

These words which on any other day would have gratified a doting brother, made Chinna’s gut wrench in worry.

He rushed into the house and asked to see Malar, and was told she had been asked to go to the temple with her Maami to seek blessings for the good tidings that Sivaraman uncle had brought.

———

Snapping back to the present, he waited outside the temple as he saw his sister tell the priest all the details for a quick Archana (prayer) for the well-being of her family. He flashed back to the letter. His heart thundered as he recollected a particularly chilling excerpt from the letter. It had claimed that while returning on horse-cart towards home, this vehicle carrying Malar would collide with a speeding bus, ironically leaving the horses intact, while causing her fatal injuries. What he’d felt when Paati had informed her that Malar had already left for the temple in the household horse cart couldn’t be described. He had taken an auto to reach the temple, tailing the cart carefully. He was past rationalising the authenticity or logic of the letter. He would worry about that later, when his Malar would wake up healthy tomorrow morning, far away from this God-damned day being endured today.

“Anna (older brother)!” Malar said, eyes glinting in delight as she spotted Chinna. He had been waiting for her outside the temple. “How come you’re here? We could have come to the temple together!”

He grunted diplomatically and asked her how she was going back.

“We came by horse-cart!”

“Seri (okay), now you take an auto and head back home.”

“We have the horse-cart! Why spend money on auto?” Maami asked.

“No I need the cart. I have some errands to run. Need to sort something at the bank and then the lawyer.”

“That’s okay Anna, you can drop us at the bank, we will walk down from there.”

Before he could oppose, Maami said, “No, no. You’re about to get engaged. You need to be extra careful with negative energy.” She was referring to the traditional superstition of to-be-brides asked to exercise caution, especially before marriage and engagement, to avoid any negative energy and mishaps.

“I’ll find you an auto,” Chinna said, already waving at an empty auto, “you both get home.”

The auto driver was a known man, so Chinna simply told him to drop them home and paid him a rupee on the spot for the ride.

He waited for a few minutes, and then decided to take the horse cart himself, hoping to divert the ill-fated destiny away from her. He found the horse cart and headed to the bank. It was the same route as toward home, so he could see the horse cart a few hundred meters ahead.

Though still anxious, he was starting to feel a tad calmer. He just had to ensure she reached home safe. Then he would be able to put this day behind and look forward to happy times. His next thought was cut off by the sound of the horn of a bus blaring from behind, intermingled with screams and then everything went black.

———

He woke up with a start. The dream had felt surreal to the extent of goosebumps. The alarm was ringing on outdoor mode. He turned and reached for his phone blindly and shut the alarm. A chill breeze enveloped him as he took a few deep breaths to bring back his heart rate to normal. He blinked twice in the darkness to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the phone.

He checked the time: Wednesday, 17 May 2022, 3:32 AM.

His wife stirred around him, murmured if he was okay. Assuring he was fine and asking her to go back to sleep, he got up to use the washroom. Coming back to bed, he shifted restlessly, and finally reached for his phone.

Whatsap notifications from his son Anand in the US and daughter in Pune had piled up. Anand had texted around 2:00 am India time.

‘Hey Dad. Sorry couldn’t speak with you before, placement season has been crazy.’

‘COVID protocols also slowing down interview processes. COVID’s also cut down recruiters on campus.’

‘Just gave an interview. Can’t say if it went well.

‘Feeling anxious Appa. What will I do if I don’t get placed?’

‘Not calling as you’d be asleep.’

Meanwhile, his daughter had texted ‘Just got home dad. Senior has confirmed I don’t need to go for hospital duty in the morning. Will speak to you tomorrow.’ She had texted him at 12:30 am, after finishing her night duty as a resident in a hospital in Pune.

He was glad that she didn’t have any duty in the morning. Poor girl, she’d been on continuous duty for the last 36 hours.

Realising he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, Chinna got up, grabbed his AirPods, changed into tracks and went for a walk. He called Anand and spoke to him. After assuring his son that placements weren’t the end, and they’d figure out something if he didn’t crack the interview, he checked his phone for news updates.

He sighed as he recollected that fateful day forty years ago vividly. Not the distorted dream version that his mind had conjured to create an alternate reality, but the actual sequence of events that had unfolded on that single day in 1982.

He’d woken up that morning on the terrace and gone for a bath. After dressing up, he’d gone down to get coffee. His father, Ramanujam, had been extremely cheerful, owing to the anticipated Money order that Kitta Chithappa had promised. Ramanujam had been stressed due to the impending expenditure of his daughter’s marriage, though no alliance had been fixed as of then. Yet, he knew it would be a matter of time. The postman had just then brought the letters. Ramanujam started rifling through the letters looking for the money order. There was none, except a telegram from Kitta Chithappa stating that due to unexpected expenditure, he was unable to send money this time around. Ramanujam’s disappointment was forgotten as Sivaraman uncle had come knocking on the door, beaming with delight that the family in Anbil had expressed desire to get their elder son engaged to Malar, Chinna’s nineteen year old younger sister.

Chinna’s phone rang, bringing him back to the present. It was his wife. “Yes,” he responded, “I just came down for a walk. No I am fine. I will be home in five.”

By 5:00 am, he’d bathed and freshened up. Earlier than usual, he went to the Swami room (Prayer room), and said his shlokas (prayers). After finishing them, he showed the flame around the deities and paintings. Once done, he glanced at the photos of his parents on the side of the wall. His glance lowered to the photo of the one below, containing a smiling nineteen year old, with two long braids and the kumkum in the middle of her forehead.

He teared up. The memories that he had paused during the walk came gushing with an intensity, almost blurring as the images and moments replayed in mind incredibly fast.

Chinna, beaming with pride and emotion that his baby sister was going to get engaged. His father, overwhelmed at the news and anxious about money. His Paati, ordering Malar and Maami to go to the temple for good blessings. Maami, insisting on the ladies taking the horse-cart instead of walking, even though the temple was walking distance. Chinna stating he had to finish some errands with the bank and the lawyer, and Paati reminding him to get some things for the house on the way back.

Chinna, finishing up the work in the bank and heading to meet the lawyer. Chinna, on the way to the lawyer. Sivaraman uncle’s thirteen year old son Ganesh, running and catching up to him. Chinna, running barefoot home with Ganesh. The crowd, gathered outside home. Maami’s voice, howling and cursing the bus that had over-sped. Ramanujam, sitting stoic, looking soul dead. Paati, lamenting the ill-fated decision to send Malar to the temple. Neighbours weeping. Chinna, jostling through the crowd, numb with disbelief. Chinna, stopping dead, to find a body covered in white, with only a familiar fringe of a saree peaking out. Vermillion.