Her
With the faded lace curtains swaying slowly, it was a small hole in a sidewall. The only highlight might have been the curtains. I would, in time, feel claustrophobic watching the window. It was far too small to what I was used to. The window at my parent's house was large airy, with a curtain of light pink printed motifs. I would open them out in the morning and feel happy. The view was spectacular, with an enormous garden full of trees and greenery. There would be birds of different species, a transit home, in the garden, to the migratory birds on their way home.
This window in my new house only made me feel more depressed. It was facing a bare, bleak wall of the neighbor’s house. A little alley between both the places without any greenery in between. It was almost like a soulless stretch of land. I could clearly hear my new neighbor yell at her kids and fight with her husband daily. There was a net-like structure nailed to keep those mosquitoes away. I would sit at the far end of the room and look at the window. I lived in a house full of relatives but had never felt more alone.
My new home had too many sounds, which were like wrong music notes to my ears. I could clearly hear the vehicle traffic with the towering buses and trucks; the house faced the main road. My old house was in a quaint old lane that had only sounds of birds twittering. It was paradise having that silence except for the birds. The neighbors in my old house were not exposed in such proximity as it was now.
Rainy days were when I would go near the window and look out at the raindrops falling and splattering. I loved the rain and could spend hours watching it fall and scatter. Through this window, even the rain looked different or was that a part of my imagination. It would be pouring angrily, slashing at my window, and it would be awful. The sight of rain in my parents’ home would make me sit and watch and eventually run out and get soaked. I would wait until the sun came out and the rainbow appeared in the sky. Here, the rain reminded me of the silent teardrops which flow from my eyes on days of loneliness. Did the sky feel lonely when it sheds these raindrops? Yes, I felt totally alone in this house.
Full moon night, I sat on the floor in the corner of the room. I do this a lot these days. The pain that I feel would only be exclusive to me. Suddenly, I felt the cold air wrap a thin blanket around me. It was freezing. I shuddered and had the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. How can anyone watch me in this room where only I live? It must be him, in spirit, to give company to me. I was scared and excited. By some magical force, I was drawn to look at the window. Two tiny marbles stared right back at me. I screamed in terror, pain and everything turned black.
HIM
The man ran away from the window as fast as he could. He was faster than average men; years of training had made him fast. As he approached the tiny bedsit he had hired, he slowed down. He nodded at the old woman who was the owner. She nodded back, wondering why he looked breathless and sweaty. She did not question him; he was not a man who spoke much. She did not care to know what he did, he paid for the room in advance, and that’s all she wanted.
He went back to the room which he had hired for the past month. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He could not sleep; he had not slept in a long month. The memory was clear as a picture.
He was hidden behind a large bush; he had not had a break in four days. It was a sense of tiredness, his skin taut from the dry summer heat. He was on the lookout for poachers crossing the bridge. He nodded off for a bit and woke up to the sound of singing. Shaking his head, he thought the singing was from his dream. He saw a blurry vision of a figure walking with a gun. He immediately sprang into action and shot. He rushed to the spot where the body was facing down. The blood drained from the guard's face. It was a young man with a violin. He was dead, eyes wide, shocked, and his violin close to his heart.
The joy and youth in the face of the dead young man crumpled him into pieces. He heard the sound of an engine in the distance. He moved swiftly away with a cover of the bushes. His heavy heart seemed to grow lighter as he moved further away from the young man. He never told anyone about what happened. It was brushed off by everyone as an unfortunate incident where the poachers had shot an innocent musician.
He took to leave a short time later, giving an excuse that his eyesight was failing him. His health had fallen slowly and steadily after he attended the funeral of the Violinist. He did not know what made him go there. Maybe it was the guilt.
He could never forget the howling and screaming of his relatives. The boy was only twenty-five in age and playing violin for musical events. He had been returning after an event at the Temple when he was shot by poachers.
Unfortunate that he took the shortcut home mentioned an elderly relative. When he went close to the corpse, he could see the body covered with many garlands of fresh flowers and an intoxicating smell of incense burning. The musician lay there with a smile on his face and holding his violin.
Among the screaming women beside the corpse, he saw the serene face. The widow of the musician. She held herself with poise and bewitching eyes which seemed to stare into space. Silent tears were pouring down her cheeks. She did not hit at her heart or howl when women increased their pitch of sorrow. She just sat around like a marble statue. He could not get the scene out of his mind. He watched the house for a week from the funeral and realized she did not go out of the house. Quickly scouting around the house at midnight, he found that one room with the window opened in an alley on a dark no moon night. The passage was deserted. He found a ledge to climb and felt thrilled that he had seen her.
For the last two weeks, he had been watching her. She did nothing but sit in the side of the room and watch the window. It was just like from the funeral. She would sit like a statue and stare into space. Sometimes she would cry silent tears. Other times she just sat there. The relatives in the house would come in and try to talk to her. She would answer in monosyllables. It was full moons night and, she had somehow noticed him on the ledge. He had not meant to scare her; he wanted to be there for her.
HER
I woke up to the new surrounding of white walls and the smell of spirit. I was confused about where I was.
“How are you feeling?” my mother was beside me, touching my face. “Your in-laws called me that you were ill”.
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. I shook my head. It felt heavy. My arms were poked with a syringe and had some glucose being sent in.
“You woke up? Feeling better” inquired a matronly nurse. “You are anemic and starved. You should eat. Fragile, my child.”
I remembered the window and looked around. There were other patients. It was safe. I looked at my mother, who had somehow grown older since the day.
“I will call your mother-in-law and tell her that you are ok” my mother said, moving off to the corridor.
“Don’t go. I am scared” I stopped my mother.
“What are you scared of? Did something happen?” She looked at me.
I just lay there staring into space.
“So much has happened. You are likely to be scared” mother sobbed.
“Don’t upset the patient. What is this crying? She needs rest and food. You can take her home soon. The beds are much needed for some other patients” said another nurse who appeared with a glass of water and some pill.
I drank the pill and water fast. I wanted to go home early, to the safety of the room. The smell of the hospital had embraced me, and I did not like it. I closed my eyes and lay down. They discharged me in the afternoon; it was exhaustion, the doctor said. It was strange that I could be exhausted from doing nothing all day. He suggested a change in my daily routine.
We were back home in the evening. My mother sobbed and bid goodbye. I wondered if she was relieved to go back to our house after being with me. I knew I had to stop being selfish with my pain. My mother in law who had lost her son of twenty-five years was trying hard to hide her pain from me. Little did she know that it was etched in her eyes, which did had, lost its luster?
“If you like, we could go to the temple this evening?” She asked me.
I nodded my head in agreement, although I did not want to. I have not stepped out of the house or prayed in months.
“You cannot blame God for what happened. It was unfortunate,” said his grandmother. “I would have gladly given my life for his.”
The men in the house, his father and older brother, did not talk to me much. His brother’s wife spoke about the happenings of the town and never expected any reply.
“It will be good for you to get some fresh air. You can sit by the rock and watch the sea” she said.
“We'll go,” I said softly. It could have been my imagination, hearing my voice.
No, but I think I had spoken, the family turned towards me, and I could feel all their energy directed at me in surprise.
I had a shower and changed my clothes. I combed my hair and reached for the red powder we wear on the forehead, the red dot, to denote a symbol of a married woman. The dust in my finger was screaming accusingly, you have lost the right to wear it. I dusted my hand to dust off the sin and looked at my face, an empty canvas with no colour. I walked out to find his family ready and waiting.
“You could wear a small black dot on your forehead,” said his sister-in-law.
I shook my head to say no, but my eyes welled with tears at her kindness. His family was kind, just like he had been.
HIM
It was two days since he saw her, he could not stay still. He was restless, wondering where she was. He had scouted the room and around the house in the night and no sign of her. She had disappeared into thin air. Today, he would go back and check if she was there. He was clueless about how to track her. He stopped to have a cup of tea in the shop, in front of the Rock Temple. He had never gone into the Temple but had discovered the cheap tea shop.
A van stopped near the parking, and he was shocked to see the boy’s family members get off from it. The men and women got off, and there she was. He thought his eyes were playing tricks again, but it was her. The menfolk negotiated to buy some coconut for the Temple, and the ladies were walking towards the Temple.
They had not glanced in his direction. He had to follow them at a safe distance into the Temple. He was not sure what he was doing. He had not been sane lately.
The magnificent Temple loomed in front of them; they climbed the fifteen giant steps to follow to the Temple. The family walked into the Temple and stopped at the main deity to pray. The Temple was crowded and packed; it was easy to blend with the crowd. She closed her eyes and prayed she looked so serene. He did not know why he was so drawn to her. It was confusing and exhilarating.
After ten minutes, the family was still performing various prayers. She whispered something to the older lady, who shook her head in agreement. He saw her walk off towards the rock part of the Temple.
Her
It was a lot of effort expected, but I have been uneasy since coming to the Temple. It was a weekly routine that we both used to go to every Friday here. The Temple was famous for its God, who was blessed with longevity in life. I felt tears flow when I thought of him. The back yard of the Temple tapered down with slippery rocks into the Indian Ocean. There was nobody there; I had to find the rock close to the sea. The stones were familiar to my feet.
I remembered the first time I came here, and he guided me over the rocks to the sea. I was terrified that I would slip and fall; he was laughing and held my hand. The stones had not changed; they were as slippery and dangerous. I had changed; my steps were sure and in charge. I reached the solid rock, which was where we used to sit and plan our future.
Him
There was nobody in the rock area. She was hurrying down to the sea with a purposeful stride. He had to stop and save her. His family was in the Temple. There was no time to call them. He rushed after her and felt himself slip and fall. The jagged edges of the rocks cut him deep. He ignored his bleeding feet and followed her. She was swift and seemed to know how to walk in it. He stopped when he saw her reach a solid rock and sit down and weep. He took the side rocks to get a rock below her. His legs were hurting with the cuts and wounds. It was highly slippery. He held to the edge of her rock and said, “I am sorry!”
HER
I could hear someone speak with the waves crashing onto the rocks. I looked up and got frightened to see a man on the lower rock looking at me. He was holding onto my rock. He seemed to be saying something to me. I had to leave this place; there was a strange man there. He looked about middle-aged. He showed his hand for me to sit still and said, “I am sorry!” He had tears in his eyes.
I got up quickly to leave and noticed the blood on the side rocks, I looked down in horror, and the man’s leg was bleeding profusely.
“I am sorry, it was a mistake. I shot your husband,” he said.
I stopped short and turned around when I heard this. I looked at him, and there was a familiarity in his eyes.
“I am sorry” he repeated. “I was the one who you saw at the window!”
The sky turned gloomy, and a sudden downpour of rain with lightning started. I did not know what to reply. Sorry could not bring my husband back; a mistake had robbed my future. My heart stopped beating for a second. The white marbles stared back at me. I was drenched in the rain; the turmoil in my heart matched the fury. I turned and walked the rocky path.
Him
She was walking away from his grasp. She had not said anything to him. He had no idea why he had spoken. He started to climb the rock when he felt himself slip, and fall and he tumbled down towards the sea. He saw a vision of her at the top of the exit, watching him.
Her
I reached the top of the rock and turned around to make sure he was not following me. He was not on the rocks or anywhere. The temple bell rang loud and clear. A signal to draw our attention to prayers. She saw the man being pulled by the strong currents into the sea.
Bio
Devi Vengadasalam’s passion for writing was ignited during High School but she has since been caught up in the whirlwind of life, and could not find time to pursue it.
Starting a blog in 2007 was the turning point for her. It was when she took the first step towards putting thought into action. Two online courses later, she landed the opportunity to write a column. While the classroom might have ignited her love for poetry, it has always been a constant comfort for her all these years.
Insta handle dd_spice
Fb Devi Vengadasalam