Gently Falls the Bakula Read online

Shrimati walked up to the seaside and sat on the concrete embankment. At this hour, very few people were around. Under normal circumstances, Shrimati might have realized the danger in coming out alone at night and felt scared. But that day such things were of no importance. She just wanted to be alone. Her eyes filled with tears and rolled down her cheeks, wetting her saree. She remembered all the fights at home. The cool sea breeze ruffled her long hair and touched her face. It brought back memories of the happy days of the past.

  She was dreaming once more . . .

  So many flowers of splendid colours were in bloom in the month of Shravan. She could smell the fragrance of the champaka, jasmine, rajanigandha and above all, the delicate bakula . . .

  Her mind was full of sensation. Her heart was full of hope and longing. She would gather all the bakula flowers and make a string that would adorn her plait. Shrikant would come. He would take the string of bakula from her hair and inhale its fragrance. He wouldn’t let her wear any other flower in her hair . . .

  He would always say that the flowers in her hair smelt doubly sweet . . .

  The waves were crashing against the rock without rest, and so were her dreams.

  She sat there for a long time, and then without warning it began to rain. It was an unseasonable shower. Shrimati was drenched. There was so much water in the sea and there was so much water in the clouds but she felt thirsty. All she needed was a few kind words from Gangakka or a few words of appreciation from her husband, to quench her thirst.

  The night policeman who was patrolling the area, called out to her, ‘Madam, please go home now. It is dangerous to sit here all alone.’

  Shrimati was in no mood to argue. So she got up and started walking back.

  When she returned home, Shrikant was still busy with his files.

  By this time she had calmed down and wanted to talk to him.

  ‘Shri, can you do me a favour?’

  Shrikant was happy that his wife was her normal self again so that he could work more efficiently, with peace of mind.

  ‘What is it, Shrimati? Is it something impossible?’

  ‘If you make up your mind it is not difficult.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Shrikant, you have achieved a lot in life. We have enough money for the rest of our lives. Give up this job. Let’s go back to Hubli. There you had so much time for us. We can do whatever we want.’

  Shrikant laughed. He pushed the files across the table and came round to where she was. Putting his arms around her, he said, ‘Shrimati, are you aware of what you just said? Think rationally, and be practical. You want me to retire at the age of thirty-three! A man is in his prime at this age. It is the time for him to grow professionally. Besides, I still feel that I have not achieved much in life. I cannot live in Hubli. What would I do there? Hubli is my past. I will be like a fish out of water in Hubli, though I was born and brought up there. My present and future is in Bombay. I do not waste even a moment here.’

  Shrimati did not know what to say to that.

  ‘Shrimati, the past is always beautiful because we cannot get it back. Childhood looks beautiful when you are young. Youth looks romantic when you are old. Whatever we lose is always precious. Think of adjusting and looking forward to an ever-changing world. Don’t get into the past.’

  Shrimati was speechless at Shrikant’s words.

  Shrikant looked at her and said, ‘Why are you not saying anything?’

  She replied sadly, ‘Shri, if you can’t understand my silence, then you will not understand my words!’

  Shrimati could not sleep that whole night. But Shrikant slept soundly. Things like this did not affect him. He would fall asleep as soon as he hit the bed since he worked hard all day.

  Unable to sleep, Shrimati got out of bed and went to the Godrej almirah in the room. She took out the bundle of letters that Shrikant had written to her during his IIT days. She had wrapped them neatly in a silk cloth and had kept them in a sandalwood box, as if they were a great treasure. She thought if she read them she would feel better. Also, it would help her find out if it was the same Shrikant who was now her husband. She opened one of the letters and started to read it. It was the one written to her when he had seen the Taj Mahal, during the first industrial tour from the college.

  My dear Shrimati,

  I saw the Taj Mahal today. The city of Agra is very dirty. I do not know what you feel when you see it from your historian’s viewpoint. But the immediate thought that came to my mind was how many marble slabs the builder must have used! He must have emptied many marble quarries in India. No one can build another Taj Mahal, because obviously, there won’t be enough marble! I wonder how many men worked relentlessy for this project and did the emperor really pay them all! I am sure that you and I will visit this monument sometime in our life and when we do, I know you will be amazed to see it. The Taj Mahal is surrounded by a huge garden. When we come here, I want to lie down under a shady tree, my head resting on your lap, reading a computer book . . .

  Shrimati smiled, forgetting where she was right now. She felt that each word in that letter was filled with affection. Affection does not require beauty or intelligence. It only requires mutual love and intense faith. That is what ultimately builds trust in any relationship.

  Shrimati put the letters away, switched off the light and tried to sleep. Shrikant was snoring. Shrimati wanted to ask, Shri where have you gone? Where have I lost you? She felt she was searching for a path of love in the darkness, without a torch.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Shrikant woke up at five in the morning. His disciplined mind could wake him up at any time. He never required an alarm. But that day, even though he was awake, he did not get out of bed. Was it more than just laziness? Was it because of what had happened the previous night? After tossing and turning for fifteen minutes, Shrikant felt that he could not afford to waste any more time. He got up and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He did not feel like disturbing Shrimati. While having his tea in the balcony, he looked at the sea. A fresh cool morning breeze was blowing. Though it was pleasant, he felt the chill. He pulled his gown tight around him and went inside and brought Shrimati’s shawl to wrap around himself. Once again he felt like watching the sea, standing in the balcony. Normally, he would never waste time like this early in the morning. He would rather make overseas calls at that hour. But that day, he did not feel like doing so. Probably this was one of the few occasions where he listened to his heart rather than his mind.

  In the dawn, Bandra looked different. The fisherwomen carrying their baskets of fish, walked briskly towards the market. They were slim, well dressed and hardworking. They were the Koli community who had once upon a time, occupied all of Bombay. However, it was not just a city any more but a mega city and the economic capital of India.

  Shrikant contemplated how in fifteen years Bombay had changed and so had his life. In spite of all the problems, Bombay was most dear to him. He appreciated its cosmopolitan nature, its professional approach and work ethic. He thought if he hadn’t left Hubli, he would not have been in this position!

  While watching the sea, Shrikant remembered his childhood. Hubli was an inland town so the sea was unheard of. He remembered the first time that he had seen the sea, when he was about twelve years old. He had gone to Gokarna with his mother on one of her pilgrimages. It was the first time he had gone anywhere outside Hubli. He had very few relatives to visit. The only place he could go to in the holidays was his uncle Sheenappa’s house.

  Along with memories of his childhood, came the thought of his mother’s hardships during that time. Below him, the roaring waves were dashing against the black rocks and then receding. When one wave flowed back, it merged into another one. This went on, continuously. So did Shrikant’s thoughts. Once again he remembered his mother. Her only desire was that Shrikant should become an engineer and join the PWD. It was because Gangakka’s role model was Shyam. Shyam used to look down upon them. Things had turned