Dry Leaves & Other Stories
By Raja Sharma
Copyright@2011Raja Sharma
Smashwords Edition
Chapter 1: Dead Bodies
The dead body was lying on the table in the operation theater. They had already performed postmortem examination. When they removed his eyes, kidneys, lungs, and other organs, he had his eyes shut. Being a male nurse and a helping hand in the operation theatre, he had seen the repetition of this scene many times but this time it was different. He did not want to see the dead body which was being dissected and he knew that they would sell the organs to the private institutions who forwarded them to the students who were ready to pay the good price.
It had been going on for years and he had been the witness for five years, the time spent in that government hospital. When bodies were stitched, the person performing the task seemed to be a cruel cobbler who was mending shoes by stitching them.
After the sale of the organs removed from the dead bodies, they all shared the bounty. He got his share too. Income was good and life was easy but with every passing year he had gone more silent.
His wife often said to him, “Why have you stopped talking to me?”
“What should I talk about?”
“You used to talk a lot before our marriage but in last three or four years you have gone almost silent. Are you not happy with me?” she would insist on getting an answer.
“No, Rama, it is not so. I am very unhappy with me and I can’t tell you why I am unhappy and please don’t ask me,” he said softly.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, go on,” said he.
“Of late I have seen that you have been buying very expensive things for me and for the house. Your salary has not been raised. Could you tell me how?”
How he could tell her that in last two years unnatural deaths had increased immensely, thanks to terrorists and police encounters! About four years before, everything was peaceful in that district but suddenly the winds changed and the young boys began to prefer guns to books and career. Target killings, bomb explosions, kidnapping and killings, and police encounters began to result in scores of dead bodies in a week. Before that it was difficult for him to live on the salary he got from the hospital but one day the three big ones in the operation theatre offered him a proposal. They said that there was good demand of human organs in big cities and they had decided to supply those organs.
On very first day, he was shocked when an unconscious young man, with two bullets in his stomach, was brought to them. With a little effort they could have saved him but they did not do so. One of them said that an agent had offered him a huge sum for a fresh kidney. The other two agreed with him and they killed the wounded young man but after his death they removed one of his kidneys and put it in a special refrigerated box and sent away from the hospital. He wanted to protest but they threatened him of dire consequences. Secondly, the money they gave him was more than his three months’ salary.
Next morning, the three big ones informed the police and the relatives of the young man that they were unable to save him. They had already done the postmortem examination of the dead body. They handed the relatives a certificate of death and postmortem examination.
That night, in spite of having a fat sum in his pocket, he was unable to eat. His wife tried to persuade him and offered to press his legs and body if he felt tired but he made an excuse that he was not feeling well and went to bed without anything in his stomach.
The guilt and burden of that heinous act lasted for a few days and after a few days everything returned to normal. He had sold his soul and he had accepted that disgusting and frightening aspect of human conduct.
Three years passed and in those three years he bought a house and furnished it with the best of the available items in the market. On being asked by the people, he said that he had sold his share of land in his village whereas the truth was that he did not have an inch of ancestral land in the village. His father had already sold whatever land he had.
His wife often insisted on having a baby but he never agreed, giving one or the other excuse.
“We have everything now. Don’t you want to be a father?”
Hiding his embarrassment, he said, “I do want to be a father but not now. You will have to wait for a few years.”
His conscience did not permit him to bring up a little child in the house whose very foundation had been raised on the organs of the fellow human beings. He was dying every day and smiles had left him forever. He never rejoiced at festivals and other occasions which brought happiness. On such occasions, he would mostly tell his wife that he had to go out of station on official duty. His innocent wife never suspected that her husband was going through a turmoil never even imagined about. He would pack his things and leave the town. Away from that town, he would reach an unknown place and check in a hotel and spend a few days there, mostly reading books in his room.
Last week, his father retired and he decided to live with his son. He was happy that his father’s presence would give him the support he needed. His mother had already passed away when he was in college. He was the only child of his working parents.
Three days with his father passed quickly. He had resolved that he would not assist in the crime he had been committing almost every day in his hospital. He knew that it was not going to be easy and the three big ones would never agree. He had determined if they did not agree, he would leave the job. In his thoughts and plans he had gone to such an extent that he would sell his house there and move to his village with the money and buy a piece of land there. He wanted to start afresh.
He was in the operation theatre when, suddenly, the sirens of ambulances disturbed the calm prevailing in the surrounding garden of the hospital. Six ambulances entered the main gate, one after another. Sixteen people had been seriously wounded in an explosion that had taken place near the Shiva temple in the centre of the town.
They began to bring the victims in to the emergency ward. The three big ones seemed to be overjoyed because they had already taken advance for the supply of a few organs.
Since it was his last day there, he did whatever he could do to help them in the operation theatre. Thirteen people were out of danger but three could not be saved, or the three big ones did not want to save. After the postmortem examination, having removed the organs which they needed, they gave him his share of money.
He was about to inform them about his decision of leaving the job, when his eyes fell on the feet of one of the dead bodies. One foot had six toes. His heart began to race and he came close to the covered body. He removed the white sheet and looked at the face. He was stunned and frightened. It was his father lying dead, dissected, and stitched in front of him.
The three big ones had already left the theatre and he was alone with those dead bodies. He did not know how to react, for tears refused to develop and mouth did not help in the production of a cry or a shriek.
He rushed out of the room and began to run aimlessly.
The next morning, the brutally butchered dead bodies of the three big ones were found in their rooms in the hostel of the hospital where they lived. Everything had been performed so professionally that no clue could ever lead to the killer.
He continued to do his job for a few months. He had already found a buyer of the house.
After a few months, while the bus was carrying him and his wife to the village where he had already bought a piece of land, he said to his wife, “I think I want to be a father now.”
His wife jumped with joy from her seat, indifferent to the presence of the other passengers in the bus. She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
The bus was passing over a huge bridge and a flowing river could be seen below. He pulled a long knife which he had kept hidden under his shirt and, making sure that no one was watching him, flung it into the rushing river.
He was happy that he was going to live to see his children. He had earlier decided to commit suicide. He closed his eyes and slept peacefully in that running bus. He slept like a baby after about three years.
Chapter 2: The Love Story of a Movement
She is the most beautiful girl in this world; she loves me more than any other thing; she gives meaning to my life; and she is made for me, etc. are the lines which are so banal that love has gradually begun to lose its weight and platonic aspect of human existence. I had never, before the tragically grotesque and magical moment which I am going to relate, realized that a moment could be enough to change every preconceived notion of love. That one moment, that one glance, and that storm changed the meaning of life forever. It has become an inevitable part of my existence, a page in my life on which the love story of my life has unwillingly been scribbled.
Notwithstanding its momentary existence, it left behind the sense of ages. To categorize this story under the heading of tragedy, tragic love, or misfortune would be injustice, for it is so subtle that words don’t suffice to express it. I have experienced it and I am sure that once you have gone through this small story your concept will definitely and drastically change.
After the partition of British India, riots had broken out everywhere, Hindus killing Muslims, and Muslims killing Hindus in their respective parts of the land, left to them by their former British masters, India and Pakistan. I was in a border town of Rajasthan, in the Hindu dominated area. I am a witness to the ugly and hateful dance of humanity.
It was my first major assignment given to me by the newspaper I had been working for. I had to cover the situation in that area. The editor had already sensed that something big was going to happen there, so I was sent there. Being a journalist, it was my duty to meet people, ask them about their village, their neighbours, and the tension that prevailed in the area.
One night, I was given shelter by a villager. The very next morning, the riots broke out. The minority community was the target. The rioters were burning houses, looting shops, killing people, and shouting slogans. The Muslims were trying to go over the border to their Pakistan but the people, the Hindus, who chased them, did not want them to go there alive. Not even children were spared. Being a Hindu by birth, I felt safe there because the majority belonged to my people.
Suddenly, a Muslim family appeared from a house from the other side of the road. I was on this side of the road. Old parents and their young daughter and a little son began to run for their lives. A group of our people saw them and ran towards them. They had swords, tridents, and knives in their hands. A few policemen were standing with me but they were mere spectators because they belonged to the majority community too.
They killed the old parents on the spot and the little child was crushed to death, under the feet of the rioters.
The young girl, around 20, ran across the road. When she was about three yards from me, she fell unconscious. I ran towards her and lifted her in my arms. Her shawl had fallen off and my eyes stuck to her bright face. She was the most beautiful apparition I had seen in my life up to that day. Her young body was so light in my arms that I felt I could easily escape from there, carrying her. That touch, her closed eyes, and warm breaths reached my face when I lifted her up and almost held her tightly to my chest. I knew that I was in love and I had to save her. I began to run, without looking back. The policemen did not assist me at all. I did not know where to go and how to save her. The most important thing that I wanted to do was to change her dress because her Kurta and Salwaar distinguished her from the Hindu girls and women. The embroidery on her dress eloquently spoke that she was a Muslim.
Suddenly, I heard shouts and I looked back. A group of the rioters was running towards me. I realized that it was useless to run. I began to think the words which I would use to beg for her life. But before I could open my mouth, a young man pushed me and the girl fell off my arms. She was lying unconscious on the ground. A sword came down on her throat and I saw the head cut off. Her body stirred and then stilled forever. I was on the verge of collapse but I controlled myself.
I sat down beside the road, with tears in my eyes. The rioters passed by me, laughing and shouting slogans. I did not dare to look in their direction because I was not ready to believe that humans could be so cruel.
My lover, my prospective lover, with whom I had already decided to spend the rest of my life without knowing who she was and what her name was, who had fallen into and off my arms in a moment, was never going to open her eyes to see that someone was going to repent all his life for the beloved. I did not want to cover the story of that area because I had become the part of a story which was going to touch the hearts of millions of my readers.
Chapter 3: This is the Only Truth
The sunlight that had been brightening the yard climbed on to the wall and the groups of school children, carrying their school bags on their backs began to appear. Then suddenly I realized that I had been standing there for about an hour but Sanjay had not turned up.
Somewhat annoyed I enter the room where the books, some open and some closed, are scattered all over the table in one corner. I stare at them for a while and then I open the cupboard and look at the clothes, all stuffed together recklessly. I should not have wasted my time; instead, I could have arranged the clothes. But I don’t feel like arranging the clothes properly and I close the cupboard.
If he was not supposed to come, why did he give me time? This is not something which is unusual; he is always late in coming. I am the one who begins to wait for him hours before his arrival. When he does not come on time, I don’t feel like doing anything. Why doesn’t he understand that my time is very precious? I have to complete my thesis and I can’t waste my time like this. How can I make him realize this?
I sit down and attempt to read something but I can’t. A sudden movement of the curtains startles me and I look at the wall clock. Every stir in the surroundings seems to be a sign of his arrival.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Mehta’s five year old daughter enters the room.
“Auntie, will you tell me a story?”
“No, not now, please come some other time,” I try to get rid of her. She runs out of the room.
Mrs. Mehta is a unique character because she does not visit me for months but sends her little daughter whenever she likes. Mr. Mehta is not like his wife; he meets me at least once in a week and asks about myself, about my health, my studies, etc. His wife is quite arrogant. I don’t mind it because I don’t have to be under her control. If she were close to me, I am sure she would restrain my movements.
Suddenly, the familiar knock on the door brings me back to myself. It is Sanjay. I deliberately pretend to be concentrating in my book. Carrying a bouquet of flowers, Sanjay is smiling at the door. I raise my eyes towards him but I don’t smile. He laughs and takes a step forward. Pressing my shoulders gently with his both hands, he says, “Are you really angry with me?”
The flowers have perfumed the room and ambiance seems to be lively.
I pretend annoyance and say, “Why should I be angry?”
He turns my chair and I face him. He places his right hand under my chin and raises my face, “What can I do? I was with my friends and it was impossible to come earlier.”
I wanted to say, “You are worried about your friends but you don’t worry at all about me!” but I can’t speak a single word.
I look at his face, glistening with the drops of sweat. Had it been any other occasion, I would have wiped his face with my shawl but not today. He gives me a gentle smile, with his pleading eyes demanding my pardon. I can’t help it. He sits on the side bar of the chair and begins to caress my cheeks. I particularly don’t like this habit of his because he angers me a lot and then begins to shower his love. He knows very well that my resentment can’t stand before his love and affection. He throws out the old flowers and arranges the fresh flowers in the flower vase. He knows that I love flowers and he has made it his habit to bring flowers every time he visits me. I can’t live without the scent of the flowers. It helps me in better concentration while studying. Actually, the flowers keep on reminding me of his presence there.
After some time, we go out. Suddenly, I remember Ira’s letter. I inform him about Ira’s letter. She has written that I should be ready for the interview because call might come any day.
“From Calcutta?” he says, after a momentary thought. Then he suddenly springs like a child on his feet and says, “If you get the job, Deepa, it will be the most wonderful thing!”
We are on road otherwise I am sure he would have hugged and kissed me then and there. I don’t like it when he behaves like a child. Does he want that I should go to Calcutta, away from him?
Then he says, “If you get this job, I will also apply for my transfer to Calcutta Head Office. I am really fed up with the clamor of this city. I wanted to get myself transferred but I postponed every time because I think of you. I know that my office life will be better but my evenings will be mournful.”
His voice touches me and I feel that everything has suddenly become so pleasant.
We have already walked for about an hour. Finally, we reach our favourite spot in the park, a small mound covered with grass. Moonlight has already provided silvery shade to the surroundings. Unlike the city, the air is fresh here. He speaks for hours about his office, his future plans but I remain a mere listener. I love looking at his face while he is speaking.
Finally, when he stops, I begin, “I am scared to go to the interview. I don’t know what they are going to ask me. This is my first interview.”
He begins to laugh.
“You are really stupid, Deepa! You live away from home, in a rented room in this city. You are doing research and writing your thesis. You travel all over the world, and still you are afraid of an interview?” he gives a gentle pat on my left cheek. Then he continues, “This interview is only a formality, actually you will have to use influence of a powerful person to succeed.”
“But I have never been to Calcutta. I don’t know anyone there, except Ira. I don’t know whether she has any influence there or not,” I say in a resigned tone.
“Don’t you know anybody else there? Nishith lives in Calcutta too,” he says.
“So what? I have nothing to do with him,” I get angry. I don’t know why but I knew that he would mention Nishith’s name there.
“You have nothing to do with him?” he tries to tease me.
I look angrily at him and say, “Look, Sanjay, I have already told you thousand times that don’t bring Nishith in your jokes. I don’t like it at all!”
He laughs loudly but his laughter increases my anger.
We get up and get ready for our walk back to my room. He presses my left shoulder with his right hand. I remove his hand and shout, “What are you doing? People are looking at us!”
“Let them look, I don’t mind it.”
“But I do! I can’t be shameless like you.”
I don’t like it at all when he attempts something like this even on a deserted road. I get worried because we are in a town that is not in UK or USA. We must not cross the boundaries of the social manners of the place.
When we reach my room, I insist that he stay there for some time but he does not agree. He hugs me tightly and kisses me passionately on my lips. It is our daily routine. I don’t object to it, in fact, I like it.
After that he leaves me there and goes out. I come out on to the balcony and look at him. With every moment, his figure begins to decrease in size and finally it changes into a dot and then disappears. I enter my room again and begin to read my book.
I occupy the bed and begin to stare at the flowers in the vase. I feel as if those flowers were Sanjay’s eyes, always watching me. I feel shy when I change my dress in the loneliness of my room. I feel his presence everywhere.
Once I had told him about this experience of mine and he had his laugh and then he had kissed me gently with his favourite phrase, “You are stupid!”
I might go mad some day. Who knows?
I know that Sanjay is often suspicious of Nishith but how should I convince him that I hate Nishith. Even mere mention of his name is hateful to me. I was only eighteen when I was in love with Nishith. It was not really love; it was, in fact, infatuation. Everything had happened too quickly. The love lasted for about a year and after that there was break up to be followed by sleepless nights filled with tears, silence and meaninglessness. But time is a big healer and soon everything comes back to normalcy.
When I met Sanjay, I forgot Nishith and my tears got transformed into laughter and my sighs took the voice of joyous shrills. But Sanjay continues to torment me with the thought of Nishith. Why doesn’t he understand that I feel hurt when he brings Nishith in to our conversation? I think he is still not convinced of my love. How should I make him realize him that I really love him? How should I tell him that he is the centre of my love, my delicate emotions, my future, and my numerous plans? Yes, he listens carefully when I tell him about my thesis, my past life but I feel that something is missing.
I don’t know how to make him understand that Nishith has insulted me and I have been suffering since the break up. Nishith never loved me; he used me.
Why don’t you understand Sanjay that I love you? If I had even the slightest soft corner for Nishith in my heart, would I fall in your embrace, would I accept your kisses on my lips, would I spend hours sitting with you? My culture never allows me to kiss a boy before marriage but I let you do everything. Why don’t you feel my love? There is no place for Nishith in my life. He was a cheat, a fraud.
The day after tomorrow, I am to go to Calcutta but I am really scared lest I should be nervous during the interview. I am forcing Sanjay to accompany me but he is finding it hard to get leave from his office. In a new city, an interview, but it would be easier if someone my own accompanied me. I live alone in my single room apartment, I move around alone, but Sanjay thinks that I am a bold girl. No, he does not know that I am a timid girl. Even the stirring of a leaf is enough to scare the hell out of me.
I have accepted it as a truth that I have got the job and I have started living in Calcutta with Sanjay. It is a beautiful dream but the fear of this interview shatters this dream. I wish Sanjay could go with me!
The train enters the Howrah Railway Station in Calcutta and my nervousness increases. Strange thoughts begin to develop in my mind. Thousands of people are present on the platform to receive their near and dear ones. My eyes begin to look for Ira. I don’t find her. Finally, I call a porter and tell him to carry my bag. He follows the order and, carrying my bag, begins to walk in front of me. Suddenly, a touch of a hand on my arm stops me. I get startled and I turn. Ira is standing there, wiping the sweat with a handkerchief, “Sorry, I am a bit late!”
I thank god and say, “I was not sure how I would reach your house. Look at the crowd of the people!”