The Past That Binds...

The sound of the raindrops hitting the window panes in a quiet residential part of a small town is so different from that in a big city. That is the thought in her mind now, as she looks out of her kitchen window. The trees around her property are thick and dark as they stand drenched in the heavy downpour. It is the second day in a row that heavy rains continue to lash their area. She has heard in the morning on the radio that the rain will continue for a couple more days. It is good, she thinks, that she has just picked up her groceries, having moved in only a few days ago.

     

From the small gap in the trees, she can see across to the blue-walled house, just as she could see as a child. It is drenched too. The creepers outside its kitchen wall making a brave attempt at holding on through the heavy downpour. She can see its kitchen window clearly from here. How amazing, she thinks, how few things change over a period of time, although everything is changed eventually.

As she stands warming milk and a cup of water for her tea on the gas stove, she notices that there is no movement in the kitchen of the blue-walled house. Latabai must have left a half hour ago, having cooked dinner and cleaned up for the day, she knows. And any moment now, he would come to the kitchen to make tea. That was something he did himself, she has noticed. Unless he has visitors. Then that was the job for the help.  

She is lost in thought, when the doorbell rings. She switches off the gas, walks out, and opens the main door to see him standing there. He stands with an umbrella awkwardly balanced in the crook of his shoulder, with his walking stick in one hand and a small empty bowl in another. The umbrella drips all over her doormat, she sees, just like it would when he would come over in their childhood on some errand, and her mother would spend hours cleaning up the porch after he had left! She suppresses her smile and quickly gestures to him to come in.

He shuts the umbrella clumsily (still!), trying to get to the catch with the same hand that holds his stick. The bowl in his hand slips and she catches it before it falls to the ground. He gives her a look that says “I am impressed” and she backs into the living room, allowing him to enter. He shakes the umbrella and leaves it resting outside the door on her porch.

“Nice reflexes!” he says by way of greeting.

“Good afternoon to you too,” she says. And they both laugh at the memory of all the nonsensical things they would say to each other as children.

She holds up the bowl. “What’s this for?”  

“Umm…I am out of sugar.” He says sheepishly. “Latabai usually does my grocery shopping, but she forgot when she got the rest of the stuff on Saturday; and now with this continuous rain…”

“Say no further” she says, holding up her palm. And turns towards the kitchen. Then she turns back again. “Why don’t you stay for tea, instead?” she asks. “I am making some for myself anyway.”

He agrees. And she nods and goes back to the kitchen. She pours another cup of water in the vessel she has been boiling the water in, and lights the stove. She turns to take out sugar from the cupboard and sees him at the kitchen door. He stands with one hand on his stick and one on the doorframe.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says pointing towards the living room with her chin. “I won’t be long.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” He says. “I’d much rather stand. I need the exercise. This weather plays havoc on my knees.”

“So, that is why the stick...” She says.

“Yes. My knees are shot. In fact, when walking, they just take their own twists and turns.” He says. And then gives a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t have believed if anyone had told me when I ran around so much as a child, that I would have unreliable knees later in life!” he says.

She smiles.

“So? You all settled in?” he asks her, looking around.

“Yes.” She says. “There isn’t much to “settle,” though.”

He nods. “I see you have cleaned up the garden.” he says. “And you’ve got it all dug up too…didn’t figure you for gardening…”

“Neither did I!” She shrugs. “I began with the weeds and the overgrowth, and now I am thinking of flowers…I just feel I need to see some colour. I mean, the greenery is great. But it is too monotonous.”

He nods again. “Spoken like a true city-dweller,” he says.

She rolls her eyes.

They sit in the living room with their tea. She has set out a plate of Marie biscuits, that he refuses to touch. “I am not a dog!” he says grinning, reminding her of his aversion to biscuits in general and Marie biscuits in particular. She cannot help but laugh at the memory of him always saying that when offered biscuits as a child.

For the next few hours, with steaming cups of tea in hand, they take a nostalgic trip down memory lane. They talk about their shared childhood - the regular disappearances they would pull as kids, running wild into the corn fields; the pranks they would play – that one time they had stuck crackers on the outside of a friend’s bedroom window, lit and run away – they laugh at the memory of the play they put up in their Tenth Grade, where the boy playing Bheem had been so skinny that the entire cast couldn’t help giggling when he was on stage. They talk about the punishments that they would get as children, getting into mischief too; and talk of common acquaintances and as many teachers and friends from the past as they can.

“Oh, by the way, I went grocery shopping the other day, and guess who I met!” she exclaims suddenly.

He looks up at her, intrigued.  

“I met Sudha!” she says. “Sudha…Shivu’s sister?”

 “Shivu?” he frowns.  

 “That boy who taught us swimming? The gaunt, dark boy…he used to live on the other side of the railway tracks, remember?”

“Oh that boy! That boy? The boy that drow…” he stops abruptly.

“Yes.” She whispers.

The rain continues to pelt against the windows and it starts getting dark outside.

He looks at her intently and asks, “You knew?”

“Yes,” she says.

“But I thought no one told you…”

“They didn’t, initially. But then one day I had a fight with my brother, Abhi, you remember? And he was upset with me; and he said, ‘sometimes I wish it should’ve been you instead of Shivu!”

He gapes at her, shocked.

She sighs. “Then I kept pestering my mother till she told me the whole truth.”

“It was my fault,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Mother said you tried saving me, but before you could get to me, Shivu had dived in very fast. He managed to pull me out of the whirlpool, but got sucked in himself instead. 

They didn’t tell me because I was so scared I had high fever for days…” she stops when she sees him shaking his head. “What?”

“It was my fault Krishna,” he says gravely, without meeting her eyes. “After we boys came up leaving only you girls in the river, we were just goofing around. Next thing I know, I heard you calling for help and I saw you get pulled in the whirlpool. But I was too scared to go in after you. I stood there, frozen. Shivu had heard your cries too. He just dived without a thought. Yogesh and that other boy…Keshav? They too dived after him. But I still stood there like a statue. I saw Shivu get to you and then Yogesh swim with you to the shore. I think the other boy tried to save Shivu. I remember him coming back scared, running towards the village when Shivu had gone under….

Much later, when Shivu’s fate was sealed, I remember him giving me a look of such contempt….I still wake up sweating some nights when I see his face in my dreams.” 

She sits there, staring at him. He doesn’t meet her eyes.




Note: This is the second part of the story I am writing for Write Tribe's October 2017 ProBloggerChallenge. 
The story is being serialized for the duration of the Challenge. 
You can check out the story so far in Part 1 and here's what happens next in Part 3.