Thursday 24 December 2020

A CHRISTMAS PRAYER

 MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL.

I wrote the following prayer on demand from a daughter of mine. It is in the spirit of Christmas, love, kindness, and compassion to all humanity.
All pacifists profess love and compassion only. They are beyond the narrow confines of a religion. They may be the beginning of a relligion. But only love and compassion are their goals, their mission.

A CHRISTMAS PRAYER

Thirty silvers cannot betray me
Dog-bone whip does not deter me
Crown of thorns is garland to me
Spear in the gut only emboldens me.

What is life without kindness and love?
Choose between the eagle and the dove.
Stand up for poor when push comes to shove
Have compassion for humanity, by Jove.

Cut across all religious jingoism
Embrace kindness and humanitarianism
Humanity is catapulting towards cataclysm
Let a rainbow stream out of life’s prism.

Humans trapped in insurmountable obstacle
Caught up inextricably in hate’s tentacle
Was my blood in vain through atrium and ventricle?
Oh Lord, guide me in these times impossible.

To spread compassion, here’s the season
Emancipate humans from hate’s prison
For cheering every human, offer a reason
Oh Lord and Father, give strength to your son!

... shyam sundar bulusu

Monday 30 November 2020

గుండె మంటలు

పడమటి ఆకాశం కాషాయ రంగులో స్నానం చేస్తోంది.

లోని మంటలార్పుకునే ప్రయత్నంలో సూరీడు నీలి సంద్రంలో మునక వేస్తున్నాడు.

చల్లటి పిల్లగాలి మరుగుతున్న ఇసుకని చల్లార్చడానికి పాట్లు పడుతోంది.

గోరు వెచ్చటి సంద్రపు నీటి అలలు ఒంటరి పాదాలతో దాగుడు మూతలాడుతున్నాయి.

పంచ మహా సంద్రాలు కూడా గుండె మంటలార్పలేక పోతున్నాయి.

ప్రాణం వదిలిపోయాక గుండె మంటలెలా చల్లారుతాయి? ఎవరు చల్లరుస్తారు?

Sunday 29 November 2020

THE BREAKUP (A love story)


PROLOGUE

Sudha was sitting in a rocking chair in the porch of her father’s house. She was lost in thought with a book lying face down in her lap and a half-filled teacup losing steam on a small side table. She was gently rocking forward and backward in the rocking chair.

‘Why did you do this to me, Sudha?’ Katik’s voice was reverberating in her mind. She was looking at his bloody body and face. Bubbles of blood spurted out of his lips as he repeated the question, ‘Why did you do this to me, Sudha? I always loved you.’

Suddenly, a spout of blood gushed out of this mouth and drenched her face and breasts. He opened his lips as if to say something even as she screamed insanely, ‘Kartik, Kartik…’

His words never left his lips as his body sagged and he slumped lifeless in her lap.

Sudha’s screams were lost unheard in the universe, as she was jolted back to reality.

The chair continued to rock with Sudha still sitting in it, crying uncontrollably.

 

CHAPTER 1

The kiss was long and passionate. Sudha stood on her toes to match Kartik’s height and kiss him.

“You must allow me to come up for air once in a while,” Kartik quipped as he was gasping for breath.

“Oh, don’t make a big fuss of it. I won’t see you till evening. Come on, give me one more,” Sudha said to her husband and matched her words with action.

Kartik was literally gasping when she let him go. Her face was flushed and breathing was rapid and shallow.

“See, what you have done. How will I drive now?”

“Don’t go…” Sudha ran after her husband to his car in mock anger.

***

Kartik was standing in front of his boss’s desk.

“The Gulati party has landed a day early, Kartik, without informing. They said their boss wanted to finalise the deal immediately and sent the guys today. Can you manage?”

“Don’t worry, sir. The documents are all ready; only signatures remain. I shall see Mr. Gulati at the hotel and settle him. We can complete the formalities tomorrow, instead of day after tomorrow.”

“You are a lifesaver, Kartik.”

“Remember that when the promotion list is prepared, sir,” Kartik said with an impish smile on his lips.

“That’s blackmail. Get out and get the work done,” the boss said suppressing a smile.

***

Kartik bade goodbye to Mr. Gulati from New Delhi, came out of his hotel room, and briskly walked towards the lift. It was a 5-star hotel near the Shamsabad Airport of Hyderabad.

As he passed by the door to the next room, it suddenly opened and a woman rushed out and crashed into Kartik.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” Kartik apologised holding her from falling down on the floor.

Kartik looked up at the woman and was stunned.

It was his wife, Sudha!

“What happened, Sudha? Are you okay?” A male voice emanated from inside the room. A bare-chested man in his trunks came to the door.

Kartik recognised him. He was Narendra, Kartik’s friend!

The three of them gaped at one another in consternation. Sudha and Naren were desperately trying to say something but words failed their quivering lips.

A few moments later, Kartik, still in shock, turned away and ran to the lifts, ignoring the calls of his wife, “Kartik, wait. Kartik…Kartik…”

 

CHAPTER 2

A pall of gloom had descended upon the room. It was semi-dark and silent. The silence was intermitted by the sobs of Sudha who was sitting on the edge of their bed. Kartik was standing several feet away in front of her with his legs spread apart and arms crossed in front of him.

In between sobs Sudha murmured, “It was a mistake, Kartik. I am sorry, very, very sorry.” She was greeted by studied silence. She made to speak again. Kartik halted her with his raised palm.

“Why, Sudha?”

“I am sorry, Kartik, it was a mistake; won’t happen again. I promise.”

Kartik’s pained looks were not lost upon her when he said, “Oh, you promise? Like the promises we made to each other on our wedding day?”

Sudha could only sob.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Sudha looked at him pitiably. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

“Just happened? Nothing just happens, Sudha, especially such a thing. So, tell me how long this has been going on.”

“Only this once, Kartik…”

“At least now be honest with me, with yourself.”

“I love you so much, Kartik. You know that.”

“Answer me, Sudha. Truth will come out eventually.”

“Over…a year,” Sudha murmured.

“Oh my god and we are married for just under two years! So, from the beginning it was…”

Sudha hung her head down in silence.

“I know you had a relationship with Naren even during our college days but when he dumped you for another girl, Ketki, you became friends with me. Then, sometime later, you declared your love for me. I always loved you but backed off when I realised your love for Naren. When you declared that you loved me, I reciprocated with my true feelings for you. Eventually, we got married. I thought we were good. Now I realise we weren’t good at all!” Kartik paused. “When did Naren come back into the picture?”

“Last year. I ran into him at a friend’s wedding at Vijayawada…”

“Vijayawada wedding! That was within months of our wedding; I couldn’t attend because of a conference here.”

Sudha couldn’t lift her head and look him in the eye.

“Go on,” Kartik said sternly.

“He was staying in the same hotel as I did. We had dinner and got to talking. He broke up with me to marry Ketki but she was tired of him within a few weeks and dumped him. He said he was very sorry for what he did to me and asked if we could be friends again. I was surprised and didn’t know what to say; I said ‘just friends’. After dinner, he walked me to my room and said he had a lot more to talk with me. He asked if he could come in for a few minutes. I hesitated but I didn’t suspect anything amiss…”

Kartik interrupted her, “Didn’t suspect anything? Seriously? Are you really so naïve?”

Sudha was fumbling for a reply, “Well…you see…I was…we were…”

It was difficult to tell if it was pain or anger behind Kartik’s consternation.

“Be honest, at least for once. You wanted him to go into your room, didn’t you?”

Sudha remained silent.

“I think I got the answer.”

The tension was palpable in their forlorn bedroom.

“Then what? You…did it?”

Sudha softly cleared her throat and murmured, “We got to…talking and…one thing led to another and…we…just…” Sudha paused and continued after a few moments, “…it…happened…I am really sorry about all of this, Kartik…I…”

“That was in Vijayawada. How did he end up in Hyderabad?”

He had a job in HiTec City.  He went to Vijayawada for the wedding. I didn’t know it. I accidentally met him at Vijayawada.”

“And, after you guys returned to Hyderabad, you chose to continue your…your…affair…with him. Right?”

Sudha did not lift her head up nor did she reply.

“How many times did you guys…ahem…meet…daily or weekly or monthly?”

“Kartik…Kartik, what I did was horrible. I can’t repeat the details. I am ashamed. I…”

Kartik was livid when he interrupted her. “Oh, you are all decency now! You can’t repeat the details but you could do it over and over again and hide it from me? You did not feel any guilt, any shame?”

Sudha slumped to the floor like a broken rag doll, sobbing uncontrollably. In between hiccups, she blurted out, “Stop, Kartik, stop. It is torture. I can’t bear it. I did the unthinkable. I don’t know what got into me. I know that I have hurt, no, wounded you grievously. I can’t take it back. I want you to punish me as you wish, as harshly as you want, for as long as you would like to. Please Kartik, please, please, I beg you…”

Kartik began pacing the floor up and down. He fell completely silent. Finally, he asked, “Do you still love him?”

“Kartik…I love you…”

“Tell me honestly, Sudha. Do you?”

Sudha did not reply. She remained slumped on the floor.

“I got it, Sudha; you still love him and I was your rebound.”

“No, Kartik it is not like that.”

“What is it like, Sudha?”

“Kartik…I am really sorry. Any punishment you give…”

“What would be the purpose, the meaning of any punishment? Everything I thought we had between us over the two years of our marriage – the love, the affection, the bonding, the relationship physical, intellectual, and emotional – was a sham, a lie, a painful dishonesty, a cruel disloyalty. Everything is finished, destroyed between us. I had been in love with a woman, my wife, who never loved me…”

“That is not true, Kartik…”

“It is true. It was all a lie. Only, I didn’t see it. You managed it all so cleverly.”

“No, Kartik…”

Kartik was lost in deep anguished thought for long minutes, while Sudha sat up on the floor and adjusted her dress.

Finally, Kartik broke the silence.

“We are finished, Sudha. We can’t live together anymore. I shall…”

“”Don’t say that, Katik,” Sudha screamed, “Don’t say that. We can still work this out. I want us to work this out.”

“To what end? The very trust that binds us together through thick and thin has vanished now.”

“No, Kartik…please…no…”

“Just tell me something, Sudha…”

“Anything you want to know, Kartik, anything,” Sudha said eagerly.

“Why did you do this to me, Sudha? I always loved you.”

 

EPILOGUE

“Why did you do this to me, Sudha? I always loved you.”

A visibly shattered Kartik rushed to the door that opened on to the balcony, opened it, and jumped over the parapet. Within seconds, he hit the ground six floors below in a bloody mess even as Sudha screamed her heart out, “Kartik, Kartik…”

***

 

Thursday 19 November 2020

OUR DREAMS

There still are our dreams to realise

On the horizon are dreams to dream

Milky Way has dreams to materialise

But you are so far away now!

 

No bridge can walk me to you

And wheels can’t roll me to you

Wings can’t flap enough to reach you

And you are so far away now!

 

There’s a splendorous rainbow time

Our parallel paths merged into one

Bells of fusing dreams did chime

Why are you so far away now?

 

Can’t bequeath our unfulfilled dreams

“Tomorrow” vanished from my lexicon

What’ll happen to our golden dreams?

 ‘Cause you are so far away now!

 

shyam sundar bulusu

Tuesday 10 November 2020

SOLITUDE

Life isn’t cosy, living isn’t easy,

When you aren’t there beside me.

Full moon has lost its meaning

Dark night is beyond my caring.

Days became months, months turned years

Every breath a sigh wetting eyes with tears.

Can’t see a goal, can’t find a path,

Trudging along blindly, unmindful of life’s wrath.

Friday 6 November 2020

I HAVE BROUGHT LOT OF LOVE

I’ve brought lot of love

Where’d you want me to leave it, darling,

In your heart or in my heart?

Sweetheart, for your answer I’m waiting.

 

I’ve brought lot of smiles

Where’d you want me to display them, darling,

On your lips or on my lips?

Sweetheart, for your answer I’m waiting.

 

I’ve brought lot of good thoughts

Where’d you want me to leave them, darling,

In your mind or in my mind?

Sweetheart, for your answer I’m waiting.

 

I’ve brought lot of verve

Where’d you want me to leave it, darling,

In your gait or in my gait?

Sweetheart, for your answer I’m waiting.

 

I’ve brought lot of peace

Where’d you want me to preserve it, darling,

In your soul or in my soul?

Sweetheart, for your answer I’m waiting.

 

Wednesday 4 November 2020

DEVASTATION

Wherefrom did the lightning flash?

Wherefrom did the thunder smash?

Wherefrom did the hurricane splash?

Wherefrom did the heavens crash?

 

Oh, can’t you see my love departing?

Won’t you help me rekindle the flame?

 

Oh, can’t you see my nest burning?

Won’t you help me douse the blaze?

 

Oh, can’t you see my heart wailing?

Won’t you help me lift up my soul?

 

Oh, can’t you see my universe shrinking?

Won’t you help me expand my horizon?

 

No light at the end of the tunnel.

No solace to the wailing heart.

No companion to the orphaned soul.

No end to the dreary trudge.

 

Won’t you help me?

Monday 26 October 2020

IN A HEARTBEAT

The arduous path uphill and

Tough rowing against current

Don’t frighten me one wee bit

I’d choose you for partner-in-arms

In a heartbeat.

 

The flowery path of love and

Onerous trudge of life’s travails

Don’t tire me even a little bit

I’d choose you for fellow traveller

In a heartbeat.

 

Those fluttering doe eyes and

Smiling dimples on the cheeks

Don’t deter me a small bit

I’d fall in love with you for eternity

In a heartbeat.

 

Those long dark tresses and

Silken shining velvet skin

Don’t push me away a little bit

I’d choose to caress them my whole life

In a heartbeat.

 

All the exciting moments and

The tempestuous testing times

Don’t daunt me a minute bit

I’d choose to shrink them into my heart

In a heartbeat.

 

Wading through dark travails and

Wallowing through sinister designs of life

Don’t scare me one tiny bit

I’d choose you as the beacon of my life

In a heartbeat.

 

The atria and the ventricles

The arteries and the veins

Don’t bother me an infinitesimal bit

I’d choose to rip open my heart and offer to you

In a heartbeat.

 

 

Saturday 17 October 2020

YOU TAKE MY BREATH AWAY

Cool mountain breeze

Waltzing down the slope

Picks fragrance from you, as

You take my breath away.

 

Seen deer’s elegance

Seen peacock’s grace

Seen mare’s verve, but

You take my breath away.

 

Seen twinkling stars

Seen silver-lustre moon

Seen resplendent Nature, but

You take my breath away.

 

Kissed your succulent lips

Their sweet ‘n’ juicy dips

They proffer nectar sips, and

You take my breath away.

 

Your hazel-brown eyes and

Fluttering long eyelashes

Give the doe a complex, and

You take my breath away.

 

As does the first kiss to a lass,

First shower to parched land,

And dawn’s first moist rays, So do

You take my breath away.

 

Your eyes see for mine,

Your ears hear for mine,

Your heart beats for mine, and

You take my breath away.

 

shyam sundar bulusu

Wednesday 7 October 2020

THE BRIDGE

 The goal is distant

The road is long

Got miles to go

To the place I belong

 

Looked for company

Could not find you

Trudging along alone

Darling, where are you?

 

The river is wild

Her current is rough

Darkness is on me

And the night is tough

 

I find a bridge

Rickety and worn

Tied by old ropes

Threadbare and torn

 

Help me to cross it

Hold my hand tight

Guide me across, dear

Let me take step right.

 

My life lies yon

On the bank afar

Can’t do without you

‘Tis a bridge too far!

 

shyam sundar bulusu

Saturday 19 September 2020

BIND THE PIECES TOGETHER

I’m shattered to million slivers

Bind the pieces together, my love.

 

I’m bewildered by life’s labyrinths

Find me in the wilderness, my love.

 

I’ve lost all good things in turmoil

Rewind my life to good ol’ times, my love.

 

I hear no whisper soothing my soul in ruins

Kind words please shower on me, my love.

 

I’ve but one true friend that's you

Blind eye don’t you turn on me, my love.

 

***

Monday 7 September 2020

MY ALZHEIMER’S and I





The evening sun is bleeding an orange hue in the blue sky. Orange is the complementary hue of blue, the colour of the sky. I cannot recollect wherefrom I learnt that, but I know that.

I twiddle with the ring on my finger. It is an open-set, red-stone ring on a thin golden band. Somehow, it disturbs me. I don’t know why. Despite the creases on my forehead and between the thinning eyebrows I cannot remember wherefrom I got the ring, but I know that it has always been there on my finger, the narrow white band on the tanned bony skin on my finger bears proof.

                                                                                 ***

“Here’s your tea and biscuits, papa...” the soft voice speaks. I raise my head and see a miniature teacup and two Parle G biscuits in two tanned hands that bespeak of decades of patient experience. I accept the evening snack and immediately put my lips to the teacup.

“Ouch.” Scalding of the tongue and irritation. “What the #$%^?”

“It’s hot, papa,” a comforting smile, “you did not let me complete.”

I look sheepishly into two twinkling eyes while I dunk a biscuit into the hot tea.

***

“Morning, papa…coffee and biscuits. It is hot.” The never-fading smile.

“Coffee is bad,” I blurt.

“You haven’t even tasted it, papa!”

“I mean, caffeine is bad.” I try to explain.

“Oh, that…yes.”

“I should not drink coffee.”

“Do you want to give up coffee, tea…?”

“I don’t know…should I?”

A deep, understanding sigh. “Look, papa, I do not want you to give up anything…coffee, tea…unless it contraindicated for your health; the homoeopathic doses of coffee and tea you drink won’t affect you. I want you to be happy; do things that make you happy. Okay? Don’t worry, go on and drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“Happy. Okay.”

“Anything else? I am going to make breakfast…”

“Beer?”

“Don’t push your luck, oldie.” A touch of mock anger.

“Just asking.”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I remember. I had one, in a large glass mug, a tankard.”

“When! I haven’t seen you have a beer for years. I surely didn’t buy one for you.”

“No, I had it at the kitchen island. There were lot of other…things…on the island. I remember.”

“But we don’t have an island in our kitchen!”

“I remember…I had beer at the kitchen island. There was a…girl…woman, cooking, too.” A little anger.

“Oh, that…” laughter like water flowing in a mountain brook. “That was years ago, papa. Not here, though, in the US.”

“The US? When did I go there?”

***

“Are you happy, papa?” I hear concern in the tense voice.

I remain silent.

“Papa?”

“I don’t know.”

“You keep staring at the wall or the blank TV screen. Care to share your thoughts?”

I struggle. My hands go to my head. Two soft hands remove them and bring them to my lap.

“It…it is confusing. I can’t remember anything. I am scared.”

“Why are you scared? We are here with you?”

“Where is here? I don’t know. It is confusing. You said we. Who else is here?”

“Your granddaughters.”

“I have granddaughters?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember?”

“No. I am confused. Where is here?”

“Secunderabad.”

“You said the US?”

“Oh papa, you visit US once in a few years.”

“Who is there?”

“Your second daughter, son-in-law, grandson, and granddaughter.”

I can’t recollect. It is all dark. I struggle.

“I have so many people there?”

“Yes, and here, too.”

“Good.”

I fall silent.

“You can do some writing, painting or sketching, you know.”

“Painting? Sketching? I don’t know how to. I never did any!”

“You have done so many; good ones, too. Try to remember.”

I shake my head.

“See those five small paintings…Radha-Krishna…there?”

“Radha-Krishna…yes, I see them. They’re good.”

“Yes, they are; you painted them for me.”

“I did!”

“Yes, you did.”

I wrack my brains.

“I remember a painting. Lots of black birds flying; orange sun behind them. There was sea, too!”

“Yes, papa, I remember that, too. Go on. Remember anything else?” Childlike enthusiasm in the voice.

“No…”

Silence.

“Wait …there were lot of children. They were painting; hands were all covered with colours. I was there, too, painting.”

“The black birds?”

“No, no, no, no…something else. Can’t recollect.” Irritation.

“Go on, papa.”

“There were beautiful chubby fingers, long nails, red nail polish, flying over the canvas…yes, canvas, painting. Bright brilliant sun, sea, and rocks, lot of rocks. My teacher…Share on ma’am…I think her name was. Can’t remember.”

I fall silent. I am confused. I struggle.

“Yes, she scrapes paint of the canvas with them…her nails…” I smile, “her primary tools, like brushes and paints.”

We both laugh.

“Another teacher…she reminds me of…I can’t remember…”

“It’s okay, papa. It will come to you. Go on.”

“She…she used to say ‘there isn’t any paint in your brush at all! How can you paint? Take more paint on the brush’.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t remember…I can’t remember…she reminds me of … Modi.” My hands go to my head.

“P.M. Modi?!” A smile. “It’s okay, dad, it will come to you. You did good today, didn’t you, dad?”

“Did I?”

***

“Dad, your lunch…careful, it is hot. Here is your favourite spoon. Call me if you need anything. Okay?”

“Lunch? I just had toast for breakfast.”

“That was in the morning, dad, it is lunchtime now. Have it peacefully.”

I nod my head and go back to Amy, Heartland, and horses on the TV.

***

 “Good, dad didn’t waste even a grain, as always!”

“Must not waste food.”

“You are right.”

“Who are those two girls running around the house, neighbour’s daughters?”

Silence, pregnant with sadness.

“They are your granddaughters.”

“My granddaughters?”

“Yes, dad, my two daughters.”

“Who are you?”

Crash of lunch plate, loud sobbing, and running footsteps.

Epilogue

“I remember who gave it to me.” Unbridled exhilaration.

“Gave you what?”

“The ring…”

“The horror movie?” Mischievous smile.

“No, no…the ring…I wear on my finger…”

“Is it so?” Happiness oozes from the voice. “Who?”

“Swarna.” I beam a smile.

“Wow, you did it, old man.”

“…and…and…and…she’s my wife…wife.” I almost shout with joy.

“Great, papa. What else do you remember?”

I fall silent. It is dark and confusing. I can’t remember. I struggle.

“Where is she?” I ask.

***

 

Tuesday 25 August 2020

I’M LEAVING, WHY AREN’T YOU STOPPING ME?

Those silver moonlit nights

Those grassy evening walks

Those starry twinkling skies

Where have they disappeared?

 

Those summers of scorching love

Those blankets in frosty winters

Those TV dinners on drizzly days

Why are there no encores?

 

Those hungry smooches

Those tight, warm hugs

Those shared cappuccino cups

Where are they hiding?

 

Those rainbow promises

Those electric dreams

Those butterscotch ice creams

Why have they withered away?

 

Those shocking indiscretions

Those numbing infidelities

Those endless arguments

When did they shred our bonds?

 

These deafening silences

These silent touch screens

These gaping distances

Wherefrom have they sprung?

 

I’m leaving why aren’t you stopping me?

 


Friday 14 August 2020

THE BOATMAN

The small boat looked as if it was drifting in the indolent current of the river. The sound of the splash of water was serene, divine actually. The shrill and sharp squawking of birds, in search of their morning feed, filled the moist morning air.

The boatman was easily handling the long pole to navigate the boat to the other bank of the river. He made the strenuous work look very easy. He was lightly humming under his breath some local folksong. Unlike the boatman stereotyped by our movies, he was clad in a pair of frayed light blue jeans, a green-and-white striped tee shirt, and a pair of worn out white canvas shoes.

However, it was a completely different story with his face. The week-old stubble, the sunken dark brown eyes, the thin pale lips, in fact the entire countenance exuded an aura of deep suffering, understanding, and serenity. There was a kind of radiance emanating from his presence, radiance associated with untold privation, profound knowledge, and experience of matters concerning life and living.

Seated on a rafter in the middle of the boat, I broached the conversation by means of timeworn topics of weather, rising prices, and politics.

***

On way here, I stopped at the shanty that goes for a tea stall; the tea was sweet but good, though,” I made a beginning.

“Yes, Ramu kaka makes good tea, not the fancy one you city guys drink in restaurants, though. It is sufficient for us down here.” There was an impish smile on the boatman’s face, no malice.

“In fact I heard a lot about you when I travelled in this area during last year’s elections to the state assembly. I work for a news paper.”

The boatman just nodded silently.

“I asked for your whereabouts; nobody could tell, just that you would be available here with your boat from dawn to dusk. Nobody knew where you lived, who you are, or what your name was. They said you just appeared on the scene a few years ago in tatters, physically injured, mentally shattered, hungry, and thirsty. Care to say something about it?” I paused and looked at him seriously and curiously.

Continuing to pole-row the boat, he took a deep breath and spoke.

***

"Where do you want me to start?” He asked.

“You can begin with your name,” I replied.

“What did the villagers tell? How did you address me when you came here?”

“They said they addressed you as ‘boatman’.”

He smiled and said, “So, it is boatman, then.”

“What is your religion? Are you a Hindu, a Muslim, a Christian, or something else? What is your caste? Please tell me something about you.”

“I am a human being. Isn’t that enough? What difference does it make if I was a Hindu, or a Muslim, or a Christian? When will we evolve from the level of always dumping humans in one slot or the other?”

“You are very secretive, aren’t you?”

“Not secretive but a private person, that’s all, and what’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, wouldn’t it?” The impish smile will not go away.

“Okay, have it your way. Go ahead, please,” I conceded.

“Actually, there isn’t much to tell about me. I am an ordinary person; spending my life as a boatman here. The villagers feed me and clothe me. I live in a small abandoned temple couple of kilometres away. The villagers know that but I requested them not to reveal it to any outsiders.”

“Why is that?”

“I like my privacy.”

“Explain in detail.”

“Oh, we are turning combative, aren’t we?” He smiled.

“Sorry, hazards of being a journalist. Please explain.”

“For a journalist, you are very curious about a non-entity like me! I am not newsworthy; I cannot help your newspaper with high TRPs. What is your reason? What have you heard about me? The truth, please.”

“All right, the truth. I know only that the villagers think and speak of you very highly. They think that you are highly educated, knowledgeable, and philosophical with deep understanding of life and living…”

“Like Mr. Sri Sri Ravishankar?” The boatman interrupted.

“Yes.”

“I am not even a patch on him, but go on.”

“You help the villagers and advise them in their problems, small and big. However, you don’t seek publicity of any kind and you are very strict about it. You don’t make any demands on them. You give away the earnings from the boat to the village chief. In turn, they feed you and clothe you. You help their children with their studies. You regularly conduct classes for education of their womenfolk and also help them conduct their micro-businesses from their homes like making papads, pickles, weaving, etc.; lot of activity for a batman who wants to be a non-entity, a recluse, an invisible man!”

“Wow, you did unearth lot of information about me. You must be very good at your job.”

“Come on, boatman don’t divert the discussion…they that you did some miracles, too.”

“Now, that is a myth if I ever heard of one.”

“So, you say that you did not cure that little girl from an unknown, untreated disease?”

“She was very sick. Her parents couldn’t even take her to a hospital. They asked if I could help. I just spoke to the girl, that’s all.”

“You touched her. You placed your palm on her chest…and she was up and about.”

The boatman fell silent.

“Her parents, no, the entire village treats you as God; you are their god-man.”

“Lo and behold, ignorance speaks. I am an ordinary homo sapien that God created me, just as He created you and everyone else.”

Homo sapien? Shakespeare’s rose? Uncommon expressions for an uneducated boatman!”

The boatman remained silent.

“Okay, boatman I promise. I won’t record our conversation. I won’t take any notes even. I won’t publish anything about our conversation without your permission. Just talk to me. Tell me who and what you are. I want to understand it all. Please.”

***

The boatman spoke softly and slowly.

“I believe you. Actually, it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to hide. I am much older than what I look. I was born in a very poor family and I have no siblings. My father was a farm worker and my mother a homemaker. We lived in a small hamlet in Telangana. We lost our home and every material possession in a cyclonic storm in my childhood and never recovered from that. My father wasted his and our lives by drinking himself to death. My mother followed him two years later leaving me an orphan.”

“I did odd jobs on the farms in our village and gave myself primary education in a street school. Later, the kindly chief of our village sponsored me to higher education in a nearby town and then to college. Struggle became my byword for achieving anything in my life, even the simplest of things. I got sponsorship, scholarship, and part-time jobs and completed my post-graduation; I am a double post-graduate, in English and psychology. I even taught English in a college in a town near my village.

“I married a colleague of mine, who was a widow and had one daughter. We were a happy family until tragedy struck a cruel blow and snatched them from me; they died in a bus accident while travelling to their village. My whole life was shattered. I could not come to terms with that catastrophe. I quit my job, sold our small house, and left. I didn’t have a destination or a purpose. I threw a few clothes in a bag and boarded a train that took me towards an unknown destination. Since then I was travelling non-stop in search of truth, meaning of life and death; searched for answers to why my wife and daughter died. I visited numerous shrines, ashrams of various religions. I read indiscriminately. I debated and discussed matters that troubled me in every religion. Having found no answers to my questions, I completely lost faith in God and religion. I turned a nomad, rescinded all earthly “luxuries”, which are not available to the poor. I restricted my requirement to the bare minimum of food and clothing, just for surviving. My nomadic life took me across our country, through an incredible experience of a wide range of cultures, languages, and religions, mainly people. That helped me understand the insignificance of my tragedy in comparison to the tragedies I saw others suffer. It was a revelation, which turned my thinking on its head. I found myself changing! I started to look at my life and life, in general, from a different perspective.

“Around that time, when I was going through a paradigm transformation in my life, I reached this village. While I was having tea, I heard villagers talking about the ill health of the child you mentioned earlier. I asked for details and went to her house. Her parents were wailing and grief-stricken. I entered the little hut and sat beside the girl. I don’t know what happened but I felt a surge of energy through every cell of my body. Nothing but the little girl was visible to me. I didn’t know if she was already dead; I couldn’t say. The din of some mysterious raw energy, if there could be one, was reverberating in my ears. I was overcome by extreme emotion and placed my palm on her emaciated chest. At first, I didn’t hear anything; I couldn’t hear anything. After a few seconds, I could hear her heartbeat, a faint and irregular lub dub, lub dub. A couple of minutes later her heartbeat was normal and regular.”

The boatman paused. I could not assimilate the profoundness of either the narrated incident or the following silence. It was nothing short of a miracle. I broke the silence.

“How do you explain it, account for it, boatman? It is incredible!”

“Isn’t it?” He said simply.

“Please continue,” I beseeched.

“That incident, that experience was ethereal. It shook the core of my existence, really. Somehow, it made me think, nay, realise that my nomadic lifestyle had reached its destination and I had reached my destiny. It dawned on me that the truth, which I was unsuccessfully searching for all those years, was staring at me. I just had to reach for it.”

“The truth liberated me from myself and my narrow-minded thinking. My search ended then and there. The parents and the villagers were ecstatic and begged me to stay there. I agreed. I never looked back.”

“What do you perceive as the truth?”

“Is there one truth; could there be? What do you think?”

“How so?”

“What we see as truth is often our perception of things. A simple thing like a glass half filled with water itself gives rise to multiple truths, half-full and half-empty. When you see a man and woman from a distance talking to each other, you immediately assume that they are boyfriend and girlfriend. You may not say so loudly but never does it occur to you that they could be brother and sister, for example, or just friends or colleagues, so much for the truth. You must be experiencing this phenomenon in your own profession, on a daily basis.”

Chastised, I asked, “So, what next, boatman?”

“For me or for you?” He smiled.

“Both.”

“For me, I just told you that I arrived at my destination; I found my destiny. I help people reach their destination, the opposite bank.”

“This…this village, this work is your destiny?” I was surprised.

“Why not? Not everyone could think of becoming the Prime Minister or a super star or Sri Sri Ravi Shankar; everyone has one’s own destiny and destination. One must pursue it and find it. For you, I suggest embark upon your own journey, while you are busy with your profession.”

“How will I know if I have arrived?”

“You will know and when know, it will dawn on you that you have arrived at your destination, your destiny, your truth.”

“And then?”

“It is up to you.”

I stared at his smiling countenance.

“We have reached your destination,” he said.

I thanked him, got into the water, and walked away towards my own destination, while he stored away the pole, jumped into the water, and moored the boat to a mooring post.

After walking a short distance, I turned around to see the boatman.

He was nowhere to be seen.

***