Folks, Inspired by Madhu, I have written a short story. Just for the fun of it and out of sheer boredom (even though I have loads of work to do before another overseas trip next week). The story seeks to develop ACD's character, something that the soap can't do in its 20-minute time slot. Here it goes; comments would be most welcome. Cheers.
Durai was stunned, listening to the old man's wistful plea. The man spoke of the loss of his son in war, of the dangers of a life in uniform, of his desire to give his daughter a decent life. Much of what the man was saying was lost on Durai except the words "forget her, please". They kept stabbing at his heart mercilessly.
Finally, he muttered, "I understand your position, Uncle. I would have done the same if I were in your position. So, rest assured. Go home and I'll take care of this matter."
As Priya's dad left the room, Durai slumped into his seat. There was a numbness in him. He didn't know what to think. He unlocked his screen saver and looked at the report he had been reading when he had been interrupted by the man's arrival. He kept reading the same lines over and over again but couldn't absorb a thing.
A constable stepped in to ask if he wanted to discuss the harbour case. "Not now, tomorrow!" he snapped, forcing the constable to scurry away like a frightened mouse. He tried to scribble some notes but tore them up one after the other. Some of the pages failed to yield to his clumsy efforts at tearing them and he simply stuffed them into the trash can out of frustration.
At barely 4.00 pm, he packed up, put on his shades and walked out of his office with his briefcase, leaving his staff to speculate about the cause of his unusually early departure. He didn't even acknowledge the officers who dutifully saluted him on his way out and just grunted a terse "yes" when his driver wanted to know whether he should be driven home.
Durai's mother was pleasantly surprised to see him back home so early. Her son was a conscientious police officer who rarely got home before 8.00 pm. Durai lied that he had a headache and needed to have a snooze. "Have a cup of chai first and maybe a panadol," his mother suggested with great consternation. "No ma, I really need to sleep." Durai barely looked at her and raced up the stairs.
As soon as he stepped into his room, he locked the door behind him, flung himself onto the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. He buried his face in the pillow so that his mother wouldn't hear him.
Oh, God. Why must this happen to me again? Why me? First Divya and now Priya have both eluded me. Why, oh why? What have I done to deserve this?
Durai had handled Divya's death rather well. She was his murai penn. Marrying her was to be a family duty; it had been decided by the elders long before Durai even had any sexual stirrings. Even though he had his fair share of college flings, he knew that he was meant to marry Divya someday, so he had never been serious about any other girl. He had never been in love before. He was also indifferent to Divya since they had grown up in different cities. He barely knew her even though she was to be his wife someday, so her death was not a calamity for him. That she had died young saddened him. That she had been murdered enraged him. But her death was like that of any other relative who had died young or been murdered. He had no special feelings. He did not feel as if a part of him had been cut off.
But it was different with Priya. Totally different. He had first seen her as a flighty and cocky girl when he confiscated her cell phone and summoned her to the police station to retrieve it. But over the months, he found her to be intelligent and witty even as he feigned irritation with her frequent appearances at the police station. She blossomed into a warm and kind-hearted girl. He was especially touched by her kindness and devotion during his friend Shanthi's illness.
At their first coffee-date after their chance meeting at the museum, Priya had set his heart fluttering with her charm and lively banter. She had a twinkle in her eye as she spoke. Durai got a quick glance of it every time she shyly lifted her gaze from the coffee cup. And, she was also a good listener, barely looking at him in the eye but absorbing every word he uttered. She showed great interest in his work and peppered him with thoughtful questions. Durai wanted to sweep her off her feet. He wanted to hold her tight in his arms. He wanted to smother her with kisses. She kindled a sensation in him that he had never felt with any of his girl-friends from college days. He wanted to take her hand and walk away into the sunset. This was someone he could spend a lifetime with.
Darkness soon enveloped his room. But Durai didn't care. His life was already dark. He sat in the dark for a long time. It was about 9.00 pm when he finally emerged from his room and went downstairs, where his parents were waiting for him at the dining table. Durai could barely eat but his mind was now clearer. He told his parents matter-of-factly about the visit of Priya's father and about the old man's entreaties.
Durai's mother was in tears. "Aiyoh, Rama! Is this my son's fate?" His dad's reaction was stern. "Shut up, Nirmala. Stop crying. What a stupid old man he is! How can he wreck his daughter's life with such old-fashioned fears and paranoias about how risky a policeman's life is. There is risk everywhere. One can be working as a clerk in the World Trade Centre and find two planes crashing through the building one day. What a fool. I shall go drive some sense into his thick skull."
Durai calmed down his mother and announced coolly that he didn't need his parents' intervention and that he had decided he would not marry Priya.
"What nonsense!" his father remarked. His mother was too emotional for words.
"Dad, a policeman's life is about making sacrifices, it's about civic consciousness and duty. And this will be just another sacrifice I make."
"Don't give me that Hindu crap about sacrifice and fate, son! You should think about yourself. You have a life. And, your life is what you make of it. Besides, what about that young girl who has been pining for you, who thinks the world of you? What will you tell her? Where's your sense of responsibility towards her, Durai?"
"Dad's it's my life and I can handle it", Durai stormed out of the dining room with those words.
He switched on the lights in his room and went into the balcony. It was a dark night. The streets were quiet, apart from the occasional tooting of a car horn in the distance. He gazed at the stars and tried to fathom the course of his life. It didn't make any sense. He had no idea where he was headed.
He went back to his room and switched on his CD player. Hariharan was singing a ghazal. "Begana vaar unsay …." in a melancholy Darbari raga, of all ragas. As the singer traversed through the alapanai, his rich baritones headed straight for the belly, just as Durai's life had crashed right through the floor.
Durai switched off the player abruptly, poured out a shot of cognac and sank into his armchair. This is dharma, he thought to himself as he nursed his brandy and stared into space. Life is meant to be and I will just have to take it one day at a time as the heavens have preordained it to be. I must be detached from everything I do, as the Gita instructs, and just do what I am expected to do.
Durai had read the Bhagvad Gita for the first time just a month ago. A friend had given him a copy. None of the lines he had read had made any sense then; it was just some transcendental, abstruse crap, some metaphysical mumbo-jumbo. It was all clear now.
Udne Ki Aasha
