TITANIC LOVE

Staring at the stars I stood a while,

Waiting for the bus that carried you,

Lightings at the shops were twinkling bright,

Listening to my heart I slowly sang…
 

 Our ship of friendship sails along,

The calm sea of love.
Let there be no ice-berg,

To break it on it’s way.

 

 Walking by my side you held my hand,

Talking of the day you clung to me.

Moving in the crowd with hand in hand,

Together did we sing our song of love..
 

 Our ship of friendship sails along,

The calm sea of love.
Let there be no ice-berg,

To break it on it’s way.

 

Riding with you leaning on my back,

Glowing in the morning rays of sun,

Caring little for the safety ride,

Daring went my heart to sing aloud..
 

Our ship of friendship sails along,

The calm sea of love.
Let there be no ice-berg,

To break it on it’s way.

 

Driving with you sitting by my side,

Watching up the endless road ahead,

Worrying little for the distance run,

Stopping at a lonely place, I sang..
 

Our ship of friendship sails along,

The calm sea of love.
Let there be no ice-berg,

To break it on it’s way.

 

 Diving in the lakes to swim with you,

Roaming in the gardens and the lanes,

Riding on the horses, sitting in the parks,

Sharing our lives, we proudly sang..
 

Our ship of friendship sails along,

The calm sea of love.
Let there be no ice-berg,

To break it on it’s way.

--------------

DAD AND SON

Down my head as you want,

But be comfort, my dear son.

Let your feet bang my chest,

But keep your head high above.

A father’s pride I felt indeed,

As I kissed you soft in greed,

My touch of love you know so well,

Or else should you be smiling well!

I saw you born, I saw you grow,

Your little steps did make me glow.

As days and nights went along,

I found my little world in you.

I shoulder you with all my heart,

And raise you up to face the world.

Let my darling spread around,

The love and glory of His grace.

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IN SEARCH OF AN ABSCONDER

The Customs Officer opened the mail folder before him. He went through the inward communications, looking for any urgent case which needed his immediate attention. Most of them were ritual and automatic in nature. Calling for statistical data, establishment matters and communications of irrelevant circulars etc were a regular feature. In fact, who cared for the data? Sent data were often asked for again. But, the reports had to be promptly sent again. Delay would be questioned, but not its accuracy. He remembered the advice of a senior officer when he joined the service. The most important thing was the promptness in submission of reports called for. Immaterial it was whether it contained the fact. That could be rectified or altered later if at all questioned, the chance of which was remote. But non-submission or delay in submission would raise the eyebrows of the higher-ups instantly.

The officer’s fingers came over a mail marked urgent. Yes, that could be important and should be given priority. The letter was marked as reminder in red ink. Going through the content, he remembered its earlier receipt in the previous week. It was to enquire and report on the whereabouts of an absconder who happened to have been involved in a gold smuggling case long back. More than a decade had passed since he was caught for smuggling gold in its primary biscuit form. The gold was seized, a case was booked and the person was arrested and released on bail. The person had simply jumped the bail. Later, prosecution action was initiated against him under a stringent Act for prevention of smuggling by which he could be imprisoned for one year even with out a trial. But, the person was found missing. The letter directed the officer to find out the whereabouts of the accused and report urgently. The officer remembered that, earlier, any one in possession of gold in primary form could have been arrested and the gold seized. The laws against gold smuggling were very stringent in those days. There were limits set even for possession of gold ornaments by an individual. The stringent Act had later been dispensed with. That, however, did not dilute the gravity of the earlier cases booked while the Act reigned.

There were umpteen works to be attended. Office and administrative works apart, there were field works such as patrolling, conducting searches, tracing persons to effect recoveries of long pending customs revenue and detecting fresh cases. The letter received in the last week was not purposely left unattended by the officer. True, the work was important. But, how was he to enquire on a person whose address could hardly be made out from the letter. Only the name was given as Ahmed Faizal and his native place was also given. His place was a developing town. There could be many Ahmed Faizals in that locality. There was no photograph and no identification particulars. The officer felt that it was absurd to enquire to any one on the whereabouts of a person without showing the photograph or home address for identification. There were more important works which could be attended to without any difficulty. A decade had passed since he absconded. A few more days would not make much difference. Going through the file, the officer noted that such letters were also a routine. Okay, that could wait. The officer decided. Fruitless enquiries could be done when time permitted. Some times, this letter would also die naturally like many others in the file; he hoped and had left it unattended. But, then this reminder had come. It was better to send a reply after conducting a formal enquiry in what ever manner possible, he decided.

The officer proceeded to the locality of the accused on the next day morning. He asked the driver to take him to the only post office in the locality. There were two postmen, sorting out the letters. One was young and looked as a new appointee. The other was quite old. The old man might be able to give some clues, the officer expected. He went straight to the old man and whispered in his ears that he was a Customs officer and had come to enquire some thing from him. Immediate response would come if the identity was revealed, the officer knew from his experiences. The postman looked up respectfully. “Please come outside for five minutes”, the officer requested. The postman came out with the officer. The officer enquired whether he knew one Mr. Ahmed Faizal in the locality. The postman thought for some time and said that there were three Ahmed Faizals known to him in the locality. One was a business man running a grocery shop, one a teacher and the third an auto driver. The officer made a rough calculation in his mind. None of them matched for an occupation of a retired smuggler. “There could be some one else also”, he prompted the post man to recollect better. But, the post man was adamant. “Sir, I had been working for fifty years as postman here and I know every one here. There isn’t any other person by this name in this locality”, he asserted. The officer gathered the addresses of the three persons the postmen knew and left after thanking him.

It would be better to check-up with the business man first, the officer thought. That stood a better chance among the three. He gathered information on the business man from others nearby. From the information gathered, the officer realized that there was no chance for him to be the one looked for. He was also an old man like the postman and had been running the shop by himself roughly for thirty to forty years and is presently assisted by his son. He had never been to the Gulf and known to every one around for many years. He could be returned to later if needed after checking up with the other two, the officer thought. The school where the teacher worked was also nearby. So, the officer proceeded to him next. He knew that the teacher stood the last chance. But, better check on before ruling out, the officer thought. He contacted the Headmaster, introduced himself and requested to give the date of appointment of the teacher in the school. The teacher was found to be appointed much before the smuggling incident took place. “Had he ever taken long leave and left the school after being appointed?”, the officer enquired. “No. never”, the Headmaster replied and added that he had been a sincere teacher liked by one and all. Then the final question from the officer came. “Do you know whether he had been to the Gulf at any time?” Prompt was the reply, “No sir, never after his appointment in this school”. The teacher could be totally ruled out, the officer decided. He thanked the Headmaster and requested him not to disturb the mind of the teacher by informing his visit. He further said that the teacher was not the person he had been looking for.

Now, the third one only was left to be enquired upon. He was an auto driver. So, it would be easy to trace him out. Any auto driver in the small town would be able to give the information on him, the officer thought. Suddenly it crossed his mind that it wouldn’t be an ideal choice to make the enquiry in that manner. An enquiry in public would attract attention of his colleagues and might cause the driver to be looked upon suspiciously by others. That was not required. And there was also the chance that the driver could be part of a stubborn and powerful union in which case the situation may turn around against the officer himself and his antecedents would be questioned up roughly instead of the officer questioning him. No, that was not a wise option. It was better to make enquiry at his home. He decided. “There is a kilometer distance to his home from the main road”, the post man had said. “Walking is good for health not only in the morning, but in such situations also”, the officer comforted himself. It was a narrow path. He left the jeep and the driver on the road side and embarked upon the healthy endeavour.

Tired in the sun, the officer finally reached the home. He was surprised to see that the home did not look like even that for an auto driver; leave alone as that for an ex-smuggler. It was an old small home in a very dilapidated condition. The small veranda was plastered with mud. Tiles made of clay managed to stay together, above a bending wooden frame which constituted the roof. The windows did not have doors, but were covered with old cloths put together in a feeble attempt to make it look like curtains. On a string tied between the two nearby trees in the courtyard, lay a khaki shirt left out for drying. Should he call up the inmates and enquire or leave them alone? The officer thought for a moment. The walk should not be for nothing. He would just make a casual query and go, he decided. Before he could call out, an elderly woman appeared from inside. Seeing the stranger, she pulled down her veil a little more and enquired to the officer what he wanted?

 “Is it Mr. Ahmed Fazal’s home?’   The officer politely enquired.

 “Yes, but he is in the town. He is running an auto. You could have asked any auto driver there”, she replied.

“But who are you?” It was her turn to ask now. He could tell a lie he thought, but then changed his mind. No, not to an elderly woman like that who was as old as his own mother.

“I am from the Customs department”, the officer answered.

Suddenly, the woman’s eyes widened with fear. With one hand she took support on the door frame. She looked as if she was going to collapse down. Staring glaringly and pointedly at the officer, she called out in a loud voice, “Khadeeja..”. It was rather a cry and not a call.

Even before the voice died down, Khadeeja appeared at the door step. The officer realized that Khadeeja had been listening to the talks, hiding herself behind the door. She immediately supported the elderly woman and guided her to a room inside. The officer could hear her consoling the woman and making her to lie down and relax. Then she came out again. She looked a little confident of herself. She offered the officer to sit down on a plastic chair which she brought from inside.

“Are you the wife of Mr. Ahmed Faizal ?” The officer asked.

“No. I am his sister”, came the reply.

“Are you not married?”, the officer queried.

“Yes, but I was left off by my husband”, she replied.

“Do you have children?” The question came out naturally from the officer.

Her confidence began to shatter down. “Yes. I have two sons. They have gone to school.”  The officer kept silent for a while and looked up at her face. He could see that tears were gathering in her eyes. Breaking the silence she continued, “My brother is looking after all of us by plying the auto that he hired from some one.”

It was time to come to the point, the officer thought. “Had he been to the Gulf earlier?”

“Yes”, she said. The silence crept in again. He waited for her to continue. She knew that he was from the Customs department and that he had come in search of her brother. So let her continue, he thought. After a few minutes, voice filtered through her lips. The nutshell of what she said was that her brother had been offered a visa by a person for a handsome amount. He managed to sell out the only plot of a few cents they owned other than their home-stead. The dream was that every thing could get compensated and bettered once he got the Gulf job. But to his dismay, he found that the remunerations he got for his job in Gulf was hardly enough to meet his own needs and therefore he decided to come back thinking of the predicaments of his near and dear at home. Meanwhile her husband was annoyed at selling the plot without his knowledge which provoked him to leave his wife and children high and dry. “That was only a reason to be told”, she said and continued. He had been threatening to leave her even much before. Her brother did not have the money even to buy a ticket back to home. It was then that a person there offered him a flight ticket. In return, he was to hand over a small packet to a person who would identify and approach him on his arrival back in the home land. He did not even guess of the content, until the Customs opened the packet and showed him. Even if he knew, he would not have made any objection as he didn’t know of its consequences.

“Why did he jump the bail?”, the officer asked.

“He had to feed us. He is the only bread winner in the family.” She answered and continued the story. "To avoid being caught, he went to some other places and worked and sent to us what ever money he could get. Years have passed and he thought the case would have been wound up and no body would come in search of him again."

The elderly woman was back on the door step. She seemed to have gathered a little mental strength. Looking distantly, she declared, “He will come after some time. You can take him if you want. Enough is enough. With that we will all end up our lives”.

The officer got up from the chair. Enough was enough for him too. He said in a low voice, “Think that I have not come. I won’t cause any problem to you. Do not tell your son that I had come. That would unnecessarily perturb him and prompt him to run off again. Live as you are. Good-bye”. The officer felt comfort in having to walk a kilometer back. That would contain his emotions and the tears which had started gathering in his eyes. He wondered why the Almighty impose life on people without their consent, only for them to struggle for a survival till they breathed last.

The driver was patiently waiting for him. Sitting inside, the officer requested the driver to drop him at his home. “I am in no mood to work any more today”, he reasoned.

Next day morning, the officer came to the office early and started writing the reply to the reminder letter.

“Even after persistent and earnest efforts, the accused could not be located and no one in the locality seemed to know about his whereabouts..” The reply went on..

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LIFE IS NOT FOR EVER

I had been once in Androth, the largest island among the Lakshadweep islands in the Arabian Sea. It was in the early eighties that I was there. Even though the largest, it has an area of only about five square kilometers. I, along with another person, Joy by name, was to remain there for two months. We were to relieve another two who were already there and who completed a two months term. Two in a batch were deployed for a term of two months to attend to the maintenance of a beacon transmitter there and to operate it as and when the need arose. There were other equipments too required for communication with any oncoming aircraft. Facilitation of landing for a chopper as and when it arrived for any purpose was our job there. We would get the itinerary well in advance through wireless communication. We took our deployment there, as a chance to visit the island. The onward trip had been by an Air Force helicopter from Bangalore en route Cochin. It took about a little more than an hour to reach Androth from Cochin. We were to travel by ship, but fortunately a helicopter was going to the island on that day. We could avail the opportunity as there was sufficient space for us too. It was a large helicopter and could accommodate about eight in comfort.

Joy, my friend with me, was really a joyful man. True to his name, he always looked pleasant. Our interests were almost common and so I considered him as a very good companion. I was rather lucky to have one like him with me in the island.

There was a large library in the island, where plenty of books and other reading materials were available. The ship came to the island only once in three weeks in those days. It brought with it the mails, the newspapers of the past three weeks and the magazines. Food grains and vegetables were also brought by the ship. When the ship came, there would be plenty newspapers and magazines for us to read; sufficient till the next batch arrived. The arrival of a ship was celebrated by the people there, like a festival. We stayed in a guest house and often deeply engrossed ourselves in silently reading the books that we procured from the library. It was a rare chance to have so many books and so much time. We made good use of both. There was no television to steal our time. There were no phones; either mobile or landline. Our means to know of the mainland was the newspapers brought by the ship at a gap of three weeks. Our means to know of our family was the letters received, more than a month after it was written.

In the evenings we would stroll around, conquering the length and breadth of the island. It was often a walk from shore to shore. Leave the sea from one side, only to meet it again on the other side. During such walks, we could get ourselves acquainted to many teachers from the mainland who worked there. There were a few Government schools in the island. The land looked like any village in Kerala with a lot of coconut palms around.

The local people were Muslims and talked Malayalam with a very ancient Malabar accent. There were small hotels, but we preferred our food made in the guest house by its keeper. Ducks were available to be bought from some houses and we often got its meat cooked to suit our taste. Fresh vegetables were not available. So, we depended on a non-vegetarian menu. Chapatti, bread and rice with egg curry, fish curry, duck or chicken were often the dishes for us.  Days in the beginning were very interesting. As days passed, we started getting bored. Two months went by, but there was no information to us on when our relievers would reach.

One day, as we sat in the library, the guest house keeper came to the library to inform us that the ship had come. He said that our relievers had arrived in the guest house. We knew that the ship would be arriving on that day and we had entrusted him to inform us immediately, if the relievers arrived. Normally, the relieved would go back only by the next ship when it came or by any helicopter, if one luckily arrived. It would ordinarily be not possible to return by the same ship. But, we were determined to give it a chance.

“The ship arrived at about five, but it was six by the time the passengers reached the island”, informed the house keeper.

We knew that the ship would anchor only at a distance of about five kilometers from the shore. The passengers to the island would have to be brought in by boats.

“Your relievers reached the guest house now only”, the house keeper explained the reason for his delay in informing.

I looked at the watch. It was already 7.00 PM.

 “The ship is scheduled to leave the island in the midnight only. But the boat service to it from the port would be wound up at 8.30 PM. You will have to hurry fast if you want to return by the same ship.” He warned.

We had to pack our personal belongings. That wouldn’t take much time. Each of us had carried an airbag only. But, we had to brief the newcomers on the equipments and introduce them to the set up. After that only, we could go to the port. We might make it up. Better try rather than wait again for another three weeks. If we failed in our attempt, it was only a matter of carrying the bag back. It was worth giving a try, we decided. Staying for another three weeks was too much for us to bear.

We hurried to the guest house and got ourselves acquainted with them. We told them of our intention to return by the same ship and requested to accompany us to the building, where the equipments were kept. It was about a kilometer away. Even though tired after their journey, they co-operated with us. After briefing every thing, we returned to the guest house. I looked at the watch. It was already 8.15 PM.

Fifteen minutes left out. And the port was about a kilometer away. We, almost,  ran the distance. It was a difficult terrain to negotiate with. When we reached the port, the time was 8.35 PM. What we could see was the boat rushing to the ship with the last batch of passengers in it.

“Some times the boatmen may ply once more exclusively for you, if you pay for it.” Encouraged a person nearby who saw our plight, standing with the bags and looking at the departed boat.

“But, the ticket counter is also closed.” I pointed out.

“That is no problem. It will be closed once the boat made its last trip. But, there would be counters in the ship also as you enter. You can buy the tickets from there.” He seemed to be quite experienced.

The boat was on its return trip from the ship.

When it reached, we pleaded with them to take us also and agreed to pay the extra. They readily agreed. We entered the motor boat and it started its journey to the ship. That was the first time I traveled in a motor boat in the open sea. Reaching nearer to the ship, I noticed that there was no ladder for us to climb in the ship. Only a big rope was hanging by the door, which remained opened.

“Since the last batch was already inside, they must have pulled up the ladder. You need not be bothered on that. There are step cuts on the side wall of the ship on which you can take support with your toes while climbing, pulling on the rope”, said one of the boat men to us in a very casual manner, as if it was a very easy thing to do.

I looked at Joy. He was studying the situation and measuring the risks involved. But he was still in a joyful mood, a confidence brimming on his face. He seemed to be ready to take up the challenge. It was re-assuring to see him that way, and I too felt confident. Any way we have plunged into this. It would be shameful to return now.

When the boat reached near the ship, the boatman asked us to throw our bags into the ship. Joy promptly threw his bag inside the ship in a swing. He started his way up by the rope. It was about a ten feet climb. Reaching at the top, he caught hold of a handle and landed himself safely in. The boatman, before I could do it myself, snatched my bag from me and threw it up inside the ship.

 “Hurry up, We are already late”, the boatman snapped. I started my climb. As I reached the middle way, I heard a roaring sound of an engine gaining momentum. I looked back and found that the boat was leaving. It was immaterial for them whether I climbed up or fell down.

“Don’t look here and there. Climb up.” That was Joy shouting at me.

Climbing up was the only thing to do now. There was no question of any going back. That cautioned me further. Somewhere within me, I felt an extra confidence developing. I felt quite confident of making it up. I have to, I told myself.  I was no more perturbed and my mind became strong. With deliberate and swift movements, I made it up. I caught hold of the handle and Joy supported me to enter the ship. I turned around and looked at the boat. It was out of sight.

As we sat comfortably in the ship, I told Joy that it was a big risk that we had taken.

“There is no life in living without risks. But, take only calculated risks”, he advised.

“The boat and men were ready below when you climbed up. But I was like a trapeze artist performing in a circus without a net below.” I tried to gain a point.

“That made no difference. If I were to fall, it would definitely be between the ship and the boat. No one would be able even to see me”, he laughed enjoying his adventure.

“I would not have even attempted, if you had not shown the way first”, I admitted.

After having the food from the dining room inside, we spread out our sheets to lie down.

The hang over of the adventure was still haunting me. As we lied down to sleep I told Joy that this was worth remembering through out our life.

“Life is not for ever, any way. One should live up to it as it comes and not be scared by it”, Declared Joy.

I kept silent.  I pondered over what he said. His words were penetrating deep into my mind. For a while, I kept chewing over it.

“Joy.”, I called him.

“Yes”, he answered.

“From where did you get that?”  I asked.

“Get what?” He queried.

“Those words you said a little ago.” I reminded.

He thought for a moment trying to recollect it.

 Then he said, “Oh that! No man, that is not from any one. It is my own philosophy.” His words were weak. “I am feeling sleepy. Good night”, he stated in a withered voice.

That was to tell me that I should not disturb him again.

“Good night”, I responded.

I kept thinking over the episode, watching our climb in the mirror of my mind.

I looked again at Joy. He was already asleep.

I did not feel sleepy. “Life is not for ever…” The words kept on ringing in my mind, like the toll of a temple bell.

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THE GOLDEN NECKLACE

I was in a mood to wind up these writings, thinking what worth it was to write on my past. After all, I am not a popular person. There was nothing for any one to learn or copy from my life. Such incidents which I write might have often happened in any body’s life. It might be because I am too sentimental that these remain as unforgettable memories with me. Yes, that had always been so. Time can not wash away certain incidents that captured my heart.

Yesterday my daughter called me up from Bangalore and asked why I stopped the writing. She had been in fact the inspiration behind my blog. When I retired from the service, it was her suggestion that I should try to recollect the eventful incidents of the past and give them a shape in writing for her to read. She probably had the idea to make me engaged in something, so that I don’t feel bored sitting idle.  

I told her that what ever remained green in my memory had been already unloaded.

“Okey; but there could be still many other incidents too which you might have deleted time to time from your memory as not worth storing. You can try to restore them from the recycle bin”, she rather pleaded.

“There could be”, I replied. “But those would look too silly to be written”, I explained.

That was when she asked me whether I have read the books of Smt Sudha Murty, wife of the Infosys giant. Seldom did I read books in my later years. I said, “No”.

She said that she had bought two books written by Smt Sudha Murty. She had already read one, titled ‘The day I stopped drinking milk’. She is on to the next, which is titled ‘Wise and otherwise’. She said that she enjoyed the one she already read which contained several incidents in the author’s life.

 “These may appear to be silly at first. But, each incident revealed a lot, firing my thoughts”, She said. “Silly things also matter. That is my point”, she continued convincing me. And I agreed. She had a habit of pestering me with such ideas which she considered great, but often it was my way to snub them as foolish. But in the arguments to be followed, she often won. Be it that, but deep in my heart, I had a feeling that she is more sensible than me. And I often surrendered to what she suggested. Let these at least be a substitute for the stories failed to be told by a grand father to his grand children, to be read in future, I thought. May be, they would know and remember me through these silly narrations from my life.

And so comes out this story of a golden necklace. It was of about a two and a half sovereign gold which my wife wore for her marriage. That was the most precious and valuable item which we possessed then. She had a little bit of other ornaments, but she made it a point to wear the necklace while attending any marriage function. With glittering red stones studded to it, it was a marvelous piece. The images of her early days imprinted in my memory had always this necklace around her neck. It suited her well and she proudly wore it too, as if it was a symbol of her social status.

For her first delivery, I got her admitted to a private hospital in our home town. Certain symptoms prompted me to consult a doctor there and he suggested that it was time to admit her for the delivery.  I should have been looking for a Government hospital in fact, considering the financial position I was in. But, I was seriously concerned with her comfort and safety rather than my financial prospects.  I had a little savings from my salary and I thought I would be able to afford her the luxury of a private hospital. The dreams about the new to be born filled our hearts.

What I did not expect was that it would take too many days at the hospital. Three weeks passed since she got admitted. I remained at the hospital all along. My money reserve got dried up. The expenses were going beyond my expectations. And I had to fetch more money to pay the final bill and get her discharged after her delivery. I didn’t even know how many days she would have to remain further in the hospital. Dreams slowly paved way to anxiety.

I was never in the habit of saving money. Definitely, I had the thoughts for the day next. But, I never cared for a long future. And there wasn’t much left to be saved also. When I wanted to purchase anything more than the normal expense, I didn’t shy to borrow money from my friends. I never felt any wrong in doing that. I would repay it at the shortest possible time. Borrowing from friends, to me, was like using the ATM card now-a-days. When I needed money to meet an extra expense, I simply asked some friends who had it. Never did any one deny. And so was with me too in giving out loans. That was the way in the camp. Every one reaches and helps out, because all have the feeling of sailing in the same boat.

But, that was not to be so at my native place. Here I didn’t have such friends. I had relatives. But I was soon to realize that my camp friends were better than relatives. My attempt to borrow, from some whom I considered reliable, also ended up in disappointment. Every one had some excuses to express their helplessness. There were advices also that I should have preferred the military hospital. Yes, I should have. That would have been better. But, I thought to have my wife’s first delivery at my native place itself where all our close relatives would be at an arm’s distance. I thought that my wife would feel more confident and comfortable if it was at the native place, rather than at a distant military hospital. It was her first delivery. I should give preference to her wishes…

I had to get some money somehow. I was told that the delivery would take place any way on the day next. The doctor decided that my wife would either undergo the normal delivery or the caesarian on the following day. He would only wait for that day more. Drugs to cause pain would be administered to her the next day morning if she didn’t develop it of her own, the doctor said. And if it didn’t work out, she would undergo the caesarian.

I was half listening to what the doctor said. My mind was drifting to some other matters. How to fetch money? That was the big question before me. I pondered over my remaining options.

I thought of the golden necklace. We valued it much. I knew that she was deeply attached to it. And I too liked to see her with the necklace adorning her neck. It was the only one. It was almost like a symbol of our sentiments; our love.

I considered pledging it with a Bank to obtain a loan. I could redeem it later. With the necklace in hand, I started my run from Bank to Bank. No Bank was accepting it. This was partly expected. Because, it was in the Newspapers that many banks decline to accept gold as pledge considering the immense theft cases reported. In the last Bank I went, I had a bitter experience too. I was asked to wait for a while and the Bank man called up the police. I was taken aback when I realized that it was for the police to come that I was asked to wait for. I showed the police my military identity card and explained the situation I am in. He went back. The Banker excused himself telling me that it was an instruction from the police to call them if any one came to pledge ornaments. He declined to accept it even then, and I decided not to try with the Banks any more.

Frustrated and deeply distressed, I decided to sell the necklace in some jeweler’s shop. It was a painful decision. I hoped that I could explain the situation and my wife would accept it. Parting with it would definitely sadden her, but I expected that the pleasure of seeing the smile of our new born would compensate it to a great extent. Thinking of her, I wondered what would be her situation then. Could it be that she had already given birth. For more than three weeks I was with her at the hospital all the time and when the D-Day neared, I was away. I cursed my destiny.

Before selling it, I decided to make a last attempt with a Bank. I had a cousin working in a scheduled Bank. I called him and requested to help in getting a loan from his Bank. He replied that his Bank also doesn’t accept gold pledge as a policy matter, but told that he knew of a bank which still gives loan on gold. A person quite familiar and known to him was working there and he would try through him. He kept his promise and later informed me that he had talked to the person and it was agreed that the loan would be given on the next day morning.

The most important next day arrived. My wife was to have her delivery. That was her business. I was to get the loan. That was my business. Things were now in that way for me. My mind was almost blank, inconsiderate, caring less, neglectful, non-bothering and leaving things to fate. I proceeded to the Bank.

After a long wait, I got the loan. I heaved a sigh of relief. I didn’t expect the police because of the recommendation tagged to the loan.

I felt as if I was rich. Without wasting any time, I proceeded back to the hospital.

“Where were you all this time? She has already given birth to a female child”. My wife’s grandmother told me; half in informing and half in accusing.

I sat on a chair and took out my packet of cigarette. I could relax now. I was a habitual smoker in those days. Suddenly I thought of my new born. How would she be? She must be like her mother, I thought. After all it was a female child. I took out a cigarette from the packet and searched for the matches.

For a moment, I looked at the cigarette. It crossed my mind then that I would be kissing my baby with the nicotine tainted lips, if I light it. No, I should not do that. I should save on its expenses too. I should be a responsible father. I should care for my baby’s health. No more unnecessary expenses. I should have money always to meet the family needs. I threw the cigarette along with its packet to the dustbin.

I took two decisions on that day. First, I would not smoke again. Second, I would not borrow money from any one any more.

32 years elapsed since. Thanks to His grace, I had been able to follow both till this day.

My second child, for obvious reasons, was born in a military hospital.

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PAST, IS NOT ALWAYS PAST

It was after tenure at a hard area that I got my transfer to Bangalore. Hard area, we called in our military terms, for places where living was not ordinarily comfortable. The uncomfortable nature might be due to extreme bad weather or the place being at a remote hilly area or sometimes in the border area. When one completed the tenure there, he would usually be given certain preferences and privileges. One such preference was that he could get a posting to a place of his choice. I preferred Bangalore because that was the nearest place from my home in Kerala, to where I could get a posting. Another privilege was that you could get quarters to stay with family, superseding the waiting list for allotment. This consideration was given, as the person was likely to be staying alone in the hard area without the comfort of his family.

I had gone on transfer to the hard area just fifteen days after my marriage and the area was considered so hard that the tenure was limited to just one year. I knew earlier itself that I would have to move to the hard area immediately after marriage. My parents tried to dissuade me from marriage and to wait for completion of that tenure, but I insisted. I was already decided on whom to marry and therefore, I did not want to risk that possibility by postponing the marriage. My parents agreed, and I got married. On expiry of the leave period, I proceeded alone to the remote place to where I was posted. Honeymoon days were spent by us in isolation.

I was very happy when I got my posting to Bangalore, after a long wait of one year. Immediately on arrival at Bangalore, I was allotted with a newly white washed quarters for my stay with family. That was the first time for me to start living with my wife. A quarter was a single unit among eight or ten such units in a block and there would be similar blocks all over the area. Like the abundant flats growing up like mushrooms in the present days. The blocks were in two floors. People usually preferred the bottom floor as they would get a little ground space for gardening or cultivation of vegetables, apart from getting rid of the burden of climbing up and down the stairs. Even with the preference from hard area, it usually took a few weeks to get the allotment. But I got it immediately on my arrival and that too in the ground floor itself without any effort. I felt that I was lucky. Being a beginner to the family life, we did visit our neighbours to acquaint ourselves as also to know them in return. I expected visits back, but none was to come for a few days.

One day, returning from my office, I found my wife in an uneasy mood. I enquired why she looked uncomfortable. She said she was feeling afraid to stay in the home alone in the nights. I could not understand. My work necessitated me to undertake night shift duties quite often and she had been staying in the nights alone on such days. Never did she make any complaint on that. She knew that it was a camp area and there was nothing to worry. No chance for any burglars and there would be many to respond from nearby houses incase an alarm is raised. Patiently, I asked what disturbed her mind. And then she told me about the visit of one of our neighbours.

The neighbour woman had enquired about her well being in general and asked her whether she was feeling uncomfortable during the nights when I was away. My wife had replied that she was quite comfortable and found no scope for any fear when there were so many families living nearby. The woman was not to leave her at that. She wanted to know whether she heard any sounds at any time during the nights or whether she felt any unusual things happening or saw any shadows passing by. That raised the curiosity in my wife. She asked her what she meant by that. The woman replied that our quarters had been lying vacant for many days as none was willing to take it. The woman who stayed earlier had committed suicide by pouring kerosene and blazing herself. The walls were blackened completely and that was the reason it was white washed afresh. All in the camp knew of the incident and so no one was willing to stay there even when offered out of turn. That was when we came with our preference for out of turn allotment. “If nothing had happened so far, may be nothing would happen in future also”, the woman had consoled generously before leaving.

The kerosene had been anyway poured into my wife’s mind too, I thought. A small incident would be sufficient to ignite it at any time.

I picked up and carried forward further on those consolation words of the woman. I said to my wife that we had been staying thus far without any problems. “That poor unfortunate woman might have ended up her life for reasons best known to her. Let us not say a word to any one which might turn out to be of blaming her even after her death. If others were afraid, let them be. We had been staying for many days and we knew that there was nothing to be worried of”, I tried to pacify my wife.

Nevertheless, the next day morning I went to the officer who was in charge of the allotment of quarters. I complained that my ignorance of the incident had been taken advantage of by him. He said that the quarter could not have been left idle like that for long. At the same time, he did not want to force it on any one who knew of the incident. So, he had been waiting for some one from outside to come with a preferential allotment. He repeated the same words that the woman had said to my wife and in turn I had also said. “You had been staying already for many days and you did not feel any discomforts. So, why do you worry now? Nothing would happen. Just leave that unnecessary fear from your mind. That was all required”, he consoled.

In my boyhood, I had read a lot of ghost stories. When the subject of ghosts came within our discussion, I always tried to maintain to my friends that those were only stories and nothing of that sort could really exist. One of my friends never agreed to what I said and explained to me that there were many people near his home who experienced the ghost effect. He challenged me to visit a particular spot near his home in the dead of night and experience myself if I had any doubt. He told that once a lady appeared in white dress before a lonely person there and beckoned him to follow her. The next day the fellow was found lying unconscious and when he came to his senses he narrated the incident. He said that people were afraid to walk there alone in the night, after that. I dismissed his arguments by telling him that the story would always end like that. People would see ghosts in the form of ladies only and never in the form of gents. And that too in white dress alone. “Why do they not wear colour dress?” I queried. Prompt was his reply. “They might be coming in colour dress also. But when they wanted you to see them, they would come in white”, he said. I did not take up his challenge. He would never agree even if I went alone because I would not be able to prove that I was alone. I did not believe in ghosts. And that was all. I did not want to prove anything to anybody.

The night duty days were no more peaceful to my wife. When I returned, she would tell me that a dog has been groaning in a peculiar sound through out the night. Or, she would have heard the walking steps of a person nearby. I realized that she was getting too much frightened in my absence in the night. I tried to convince her as much as I could that it was all her imaginations. “You did not hear any such sounds earlier”, I reminded her. “It was all a consequence of that neighbour woman’s visit”, I told to myself and to her also.

The nights on which my duty fell turned out to be too dreadful and horrifying to her. She would tell me that she was sitting all through the night wide awake and praying to God. By then, she had been carrying our first child also. I could not allow her to live a frightened life, in that stage, particularly. When I returned from the duty, I could see that she was far more tired than me. I could read it on her face. I had to think of a solution. I approached my boss and narrated my problems. I requested him earnestly to relieve me from the night duties. He took a sympathetic view of the situation. He agreed, but said that it would be only for two months. “By that time you should be able to clear the fears from her mind”, he advised. “I can’t go on relieving you. Others would complain”, he justified his stand. At least two months relief I got, I thought. That itself was great of him.

My wife was very happy to hear that I would not be going for the night duties. I was to educate her now. Two months time for the course. Till late night, I would keep our doors wide open and chat with her, sitting on the door steps and looking out in the dark. I would take her out for a walk in the nights. I wanted to show her that there was nothing to worry about. I explained to her that in many quarters, the women would be sitting alone in the nights. There might be deaths happened in those quarters also in any of the yester years, which we were not to know. “Had the woman not visited and told you on that incident, you would have been living as peaceful as earlier”, I tried to convince. I promised her that there after when I go for night duties, I would come back the moment my work was over. Yes, I could do that. My work in the night was to ensure proper functioning of the radio communications at the Air Traffic Control, when there would be practice sorties in the night.  I could shut down the equipments and pack up when the practice sorties were over. I told her that she would know when I would be coming back, if she listened to the sound of roaring flights taking off and landing back quite frequently. When the sound died down for a longer time, she could be sure that the sorties were over and that I would be returning. It normally lasted up to midnight and some times to early morning. People on duty would lie down and take rest at the duty place itself after that, till the day broke up. But, I would come back the moment it was over, I decided. I was successful in instilling confidence in my wife by the two months granted to me.

The practice sorties were over by midnight, when I went for my first night duty after the two months break. I decided to keep my word and returned home immediately after the work. It was a cycle which I always used for my conveyance. I was pedaling back to home. There was a square turning when I reach about 50 meters to my quarters. Once I took the turning, I would be able to see my quarters clearly. It was a normal practice with me to look at my quarters immediately after the turn. And when I looked at my quarter that night after the turning, I found that my wife was sitting on the door steps with the doors wide open. That was the place where we would be sitting till late night, chatting. The lights inside were on. She had grown courageous now, I thought. She knew that I would come back and she might be waiting for me to come, without going to sleep. Raising her head, she looked at me. Then, she stood up.

Reaching near the quarter, I applied breaks and looked up at the quarter again. Suddenly the lights inside had disappeared. It was all dark everywhere. The doors were tight closed. What happened? I wondered. Why did she close the doors when she saw me? Why did she put off the lights? Failing to find an answer, I rang up the bell. There was no response. I rang up again, for a longer time. I could hear her moving in the bed. The lights were put on and she opened the doors. She was wearing a maxi. I had seen her wearing a sari, a white one, which she possessed and wore quite frequently. How could she change over to maxi so fast and that too in the dark? She did not look uncomfortable. I asked her what she had been doing after I went for duty. She said that she closed the doors and lied down and she didn’t know when she slept. All that she knew was that she was in a deep slumber till I rang up the bell.

Then, was it my imagination that I saw? I re-winded the cassette recorded by my eyes and played it back again in my mind. Yes, I had seen my wife only. I could make out that clearly from that distance. She had raised up her head and looked at me and got up from there. If it was not my wife, then who was that I saw. Suddenly, I remembered the confident and sure words from my old friend, “They might be coming in dark dress also. But when they wanted you to see them, they would come in white”. What did she want me to see? That she was guarding my wife when I was away?

I looked at my wife. She had already resumed her peaceful slumber.

Years later, and after I left the service and started staying safely in my own home, I narrated the incident to my wife. She wouldn’t believe. She had turned out to be more mature than me. She said that it was all my imagination. “Yes, yes, it could be only an imagination. Everything that we see before our eyes could also be only an imagination. We would know when we die, that this life itself was only an imagination, like a dream lost.” I retorted back in anger.

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Mysterious are the ways of mind…mysterious is death...and mysterious this Universe ..