Murmur of the Lonely Brook (2 page)

At night when the whole family sat near the bukhari watching TV, the ownership of the remote rested with Ria and it was she who decided what everyone should watch. Normally she flipped between the news and children’s channels. But the moment her parents fell asleep she shifted to soap operas and serials. The brothers remained silent through this ordeal and while Pravin dozed off, Diwakar listened to music from his mobile phone and his newly acquired earphones. Then, Ria had a partner in Nisha as they both watched the serials together late into the night while keeping her brother waiting in the other room. Though she was friendly with her, Ria kept a close eye on Nisha, but so far, she hadn’t found anything to complain about.

Diwakar looked at the peak far ahead that stood opposite their village on the south side. It hid the sun everyday, far before the actual sunset while teasing them with bright colors that bounced on the floating clouds high above. Diwakar had a special fascination for this peak. Much of his childhood was spent exploring the various pathways that ran across it. In summer, it was his duty to take the cattle out for grazing every morning, and it was at the base of this peak where he spent the day with them. There were meadows hidden across the river and the hills, meadows of green grass holding the dew that captured the sun in a mysterious way with little yellow, white, and pink flowers breaking the monotony and swinging in the wind flowing across the valley cooled by the river. Occasional saplings of young pine trapped in boulders stood with a promise of soothing shade. The streams flowing down from the hills lost their agility and excitement when they reached the plains and traversed at a slow undulating pace until they touched the river. The banks were a riot of colors with wildflowers blooming in very curve. Small wooden bridges helped people cross these streams in places where they were wide.

High across the meadows the hills rose steeply between the pines, deodars, and poplars. Wildflowers in the shadows nourished by streams emerged through the rocks. The beds, rich with pine needles, some green but mostly brown with aging, provided a soft cushion to the birds and roaming animals. During monsoon season, the rains swept across the valley in gentle drizzles, washing the greens with affection and love. Clouds traveled low here and sometimes the mountains wore a shawl of fog that hid them from view only to emerge again when the breeze visited them. In the evening, the hills lost much of their color and the village was lost except for tiny dots of light coming from some of the houses.

In the evening, the whole family huddled around the bukhari. Pancakes and curries were cooked on the same fire. Parvati cooked while Nisha served and both waited for the others to finish before they had their own dinner. Parvati had developed a genuine caring and regard for Nisha. Earlier, she never had anyone to confide in. She had lost her parents at an early age and after marriage, hers had been a life of labor. Her day started at six in the morning, first cooking and then taking a long walk to tend the fields. After that, she collected cow dung, grass, and wood, carried them back home, and cooked the evening meal.

She had to put up with the temper of Shevak and the tempers of her children, except for Diwakar who was different. She rarely complained, believing that her hard life was atonement for some sin she had committed in her past life. She was close to forty but hard work and harsh weather had left a visible mark on her. The only relief she had was during winter when the family traveled down to the Dongri (makeshift winter home in a warmer place near the plains) where, except for spinning wool and brewing liquor, there was nothing much to do. Parvati rarely smiled. She was a dutiful wife and mother. Nisha was a source of relief for her, as she shared in the burdens of farm work. Nisha listened to her stories and tried counseling her with her limited wisdom. Although Parvati felt distressed with Pravin for his arrogant nature, she started liking Nisha.

Diwakar was just two bends away when he met Yashobant. “Namaste,’’ he said, and Yashobant greeted him with a smile. Yashobant had been the village head for the last thirty years and though he was seventy, he never missed his six-kilometer morning walk. His dark eyes glittered below white bushy eyebrows. Wrinkles nestled among folds of loose skin complemented his wisdom, and though frail, he never suffered from any ailment.

Yashobant was aware of Diwakar’s failure to pass the army exam, and said, “Never lose heart, son. You can always try again.”

Diwakar said, “Yes, Mamaji (uncle), I’m sure I’ll pass next time.”

Diwakar was lost in thought. A chilly breeze brought him back to the present as it pushed away the fog, much to the delight of the birds that startled him with their loud chatter. He reached the ice-cold stream flowing down the middle of the forest where it crossed the road, sloped, and dropped precipitously to embrace the river down in the valley. Bushes, trees, wildflowers, and dead pine needles near the stream formed another small planet and each corner rebelled in its own unique way to gain attention. The sun poured in through the deodars and pines and started painting the valley in colorful pink, yellow, and green patches that lined both sides of the river and the slopes near the base of the mountains. It was the harvest season. Apple orchards were in full bloom with the juicy red fruits glistening in sunlight much to the delight of the village folks who made merry through various festivals and dance rituals when the local wine flowed as freely as the Baspa River.

The river had run between these peaks and made its way through the boulders, polishing, rounding, and smoothing them for millions of years. In some places, large boulders forced the river to curve around and sometimes jump over them, creating sparkles and music. Often the river jumped down several feet before again running across the valley. In the daytime, the water had a turquoise tint while at night one could only listen to her, except for times when the moon painted the water silver. There were bends and corners, which held a special place for many birds that chattered and made small sorties trying to catch insects and flies.

On the next bend, the sky opened up and Diwakar had a clear view of the ravine below. The peak on the other side caught the sun much earlier than the plains in the morning but now it held on to a few puffs of clouds as if for company. Some of the peaks also sent down water in torrents, which ran, fell, and sometimes crawled across the peaks to meet the Baspa River flowing down below. The sound of sweet surrender could be heard at the confluence of such waterfalls, with rich green foliage guarding and appreciating such union and sometimes a few large boulders offering a resting seat to watch over them.

Diwakar sometimes accompanied Nisha in the morning when she went out to work. On one such outing, he took her to a bend in the river and they both sat watching the stream. The boulder was smooth and slippery and Nisha sat close to him. Diwakar could smell the scent of oil from her hair as a few strands escaped and teased her face. After some time, Diwakar stood up. Nisha extended her hand and said, “Help me get up.” He took her hand and pulled her up and they stood there holding hands looking at the stream sparkling and making noises with hidden words as it splashed on a rock. He was unable to release her hand and Nisha made no effort to free hers.

Diwakar was now negotiating the last bend before he could see the valley. He thought about the past month in Chandigarh and wondered how different it was from what he was used to. Life in the city came with a lot of noise. Here it was different. Here there was silence and he could listen to himself. While in the city, he never missed anyone except for Nisha—though her thoughts only visited at night and made him restless. Nisha was only slightly older than Diwakar, but being a girl, she often appeared more mature and full of wisdom. The village was approaching and Diwakar could see men and women moving out to the fields. He increased his pace to reach the village before Nisha left. In his mind, he organized his stories about the city, adding some colors here and there and sorting them in order of excitement. He was happy to be bringing home a bagful of stories to impress Nisha for the next few days.

Chapter 2

Parvati was up at six in the morning like every day. Having pushed a log onto the dying fire she went out to the toilet, which stood on the other side of the courtyard away from the house—a short walk, except in winter when the snow was three or four feet deep. Diwakar, known as Diwa by everyone at home, had told her that people in the cities had toilets inside their dwellings. She was shocked, wondering how people could be so dirty!

Parvati had never been out of the village except for one trip to Hardwar where she accompanied Shevak to float the ashes of her father-in-law in the holy Ganges River. She did not eat anywhere on the way as she had grave doubts about the cooks; she could not have foods cooked by someone in a low caste. She carried boiled gram, nuts, and sugar with her and munched on them whenever she felt hungry. When she reached the Ganges, she had taken a holy dip though she was doubtful it really washed away her past sins.

Her husband Shevak was already up an hour before her, had made his own tea and taken the cows out. Both Chotu, which was Pravin’s nickname, and Diwa were out of the village, so Shevak had to take care of the herds. Ria and Nisha slept together and Parvati knew that Nisha would be up soon.

At this point, the baby goat bleated and was immediately joined by the lamb, which was just a few days older. Both slept in a box outside the rooms and followed Parvati everywhere. The two of them set up a shrill noise, breaking the morning silence. Parvati threw a twig of dried leaves to silence them.

Nisha was up and came out hiding a yawn. “Pravin left for Peo yesterday,” she said. “Before he left, he had an argument with Shevak. He asked him for some money but Shevak flatly refused, saying he would have to earn it on his own. So Pravin left without another word.”

Parvati had never understood this son of hers; few people did. She wondered how Nisha was coping with him. “Is everything okay between you?” she asked.

Nisha did not reply but gave her a reassuring smile before she headed for the toilet.

Ria was still under the covers though she would be up soon. After the kid and the lamb finished the leaves, one started munching on Shevak’s pants hanging in the courtyard while the other was jumping up and down on all fours. Parvati chased them away and returned to find Nisha cleaning the courtyard, sweeping away the leaves and dirt which came with the rains. The buckwheat was ready for cutting and she had to go do it today with Nisha. It was getting late. Sometimes the snow came in early and damaged all the crops, trampling the plants that otherwise stood erect, making it easy to cut. It would have been a big help to have Diwa there. Chotu always avoided fieldwork whether he was home or not. He always gave some excuse or another.

Parvati put another log in the bukhari and blew air though a pipe to revive the flames. She placed a plate on top and started making pancakes. She never counted, as a few extra would be for dinner. They had only two meals a day and it was mostly buckwheat pancakes with a vegetable grown in their own fields or pickle. She seldom cooked rice or chapatti because they had to be purchased and couldn’t afford much. The meager sum Shevak earned went into schoolbooks, dresses, shoes, salt, sugar, spices, oils, soaps, and electric bills. Though Shevak and his sons all had mobile phones, the expenses were not much. While Shevak only received calls, the sons used their phones for listening to songs. A lot of money came from the sale of apples but that money went mostly to repaying loans and winter rations.

Nisha came in and sat beside Parvati. She had washed her face and it was radiating from the fire. A full shower was rare and happened only once or twice a week during summer. Parvati looked at her with appreciation. For once she was ready to forgive Chotu because she was sincerely happy for Nisha’s company and friendship. Parvati had heard weird stories from other women. They said that times were changing and one could not depend on one’s own children to take care of their parents. She was really shocked and taken aback when someone mentioned that Vinod lala’s son had built his own house and was now staying alone with his wife. She had spent sleepless nights wondering how a son could do that after his parents had spent so much time, energy, and money—what little they had in rearing him. After all, they had not saved anything for old age. Nisha looked at her mother-in-law and said, “Aama, can I make the vegetables today?”

“Yes, you may, but what will you make? We just have a cabbage and a few radishes left. We must pick some spinach and mustard leaves today.”

“I will make cabbage; Aau loves it.”

Nisha knew that it was her main duty and responsibility to keep everyone in the family happy—the seniors, her in-laws, and also the young ones. She has seen how dedicated her mother was from morning till night, and when she came here, she saw the same in her mother-in-law. Her mother had often told her that a husband was like a god to the wife and should be treated as such. In earlier times her aaya told her how the women used to wash the feet of their husbands when they came back home. She never questioned this and thought it was quite natural. Women were always considered the lesser of God’s creations. She tried to fulfill her role and was even prepared for more just to earn her place in the family. She thought she had found what she wanted: a home beyond her native hills, a loving husband, and her in-laws’ family. And though they were not well off, and though she missed her parents, brother, and Sheru (her dog), she felt happy as the mere thought of Pravin made all other shortcomings look small.

Nisha went on to cut the cabbage with a knife while Parvati placed a kadai and poured some oil into it. She added a few cloves of garlic, dried red pepper, and salt and the dish was ready. Shevak came in and took his seat next to the fire.

“Father, we have made cabbage today.”

“That sounds great,” said Shevak, a rare smile escaping through his unkempt and sad moustache.

These days he smiled less often as he was uncertain about both his sons. Diwa had failed the army exam while Chotu simply roamed about doing nothing. The family was growing while his income was fixed. He rushed with the food while both the women watched. Shevak was on duty though he never had an office. He would eat and then just wait in the local shop. He was an emergency linesman and there were few emergencies during summer. It was only in winter when he was called to fix snapped cables, uprooted poles, and overloaded or broken circuits.

Ria was up and was washing her face. She rubbed her face with the Fair and Lovely cream she borrowed from Nisha. She was not dark but not fair either and this cream was her only way to fairness. She had seen on TV how girls turned into fairies in a short while after using the cream. Being young, the cream was beyond her reach, but Nisha was an angel sent to her by the gods. It was then she heard the kid bleating in a high pitch. She ran outside thinking that the dogs must be chasing them but to her surprise, she found Diwa walking up to the house.

“Diwa has come,” she shouted as she ran inside.

Both the women came outside to greet him. The kid and the lamb also started jumping in excitement. Though exhausted from the long walk, Diwakar brightened at the sight of Nisha. He smiled at Nisha and followed them inside. But his sprits went down the moment he saw Shevak. Shevak had finished his brunch and was lighting a bidi (tobacco rolled in a piece of dry leaf and tied with a string) when Diwakar entered. He looked at him, and though he did not utter a word, his eyes reflected pain, frustration, and anger. Putting on his worn-out boots, he left the house, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

A few moments later, Parvati broke the silence. “Nowadays, one needs a lot of money to get in the army. Everything is decided beforehand.”

“Don’t talk rubbish,” said Diwakar. “Not all seats are decided like that.”

“I’m sure you will get a chance next year,” said Nisha.

“I’m sure you will,” added Ria.

Diwakar removed his bag and kept it close while he sat down. He did not want Ria to explore his possessions, as the two packets of maggi were right on top. He wanted to give them to Nisha at a more opportune time.

“Aama, I am hungry.”

“Nisha, give him food, and eat fast so you can come with us to the field.”

“Aama, let him rest. He walked all the way from Sangla,” said Nisha.

But before Parvati could say anything, Diwakar said, “No, no, it’s okay, I will come with you.”

It was a month since he had seen Nisha and he hated the thought of spending a day alone at the house. Nisha smiled and gave him a dish of pancakes and vegetables. Ria would eat later before going to school.

Armed with sickles, the procession left the house. In the lead was Diwakar followed by Nisha then Parvati, followed by the kid and the lamb. Ria waved at them from the gate. She was happy to be alone as this provided her some private moments in front of the mirror. She ran inside and saw her brother’s bag on the floor. Diwakar had forgotten to set it aside in his excitement. Ria thought of checking it out but the mirror was calling and time was running out. She needed to check for any changes after using the cream for the last two days. But she noticed nothing except for a bit more smoothness. She decided to ask a few of her friends if they had seen any changes. After putting her hair in pigtails, she was ready for school. She picked up her book of sketches on her way out the door. She had lost her pen two months back but she was not bothered; school was just a daily routine. She was in standard eight and, like most of her friends, knew the tables up to five, the alphabets in Hindi and English, and a few poems. Standards nine or ten were not much different. Nobody worried about the exams, as all would pass provided they attended regularly.

The farming team hit the road and crossed into the field. Parvati had a hard time looking after the kid and lamb, which ran here and there to check out the grass and the vegetables growing around. The road went down to the river and then ran parallel to it. The monsoon season was still active and the river was full. The mountain streams that fed the river ran in torrents now, making a great noise across the pebbles and splashing against the age-old rocks, some yellow and some dark. Clusters of wildflowers bloomed near the edges and the wagtails and flinches made merry catching insects on the small banks that formed behind the rocks. The road followed the river for a while and took a turn toward the hills below where the fields for farming lay.

The road was more a pathway than a road, as very few vehicles came this way except to collect boulders. Pines, oaks, and the occasional bhujpatra lined both sides of the street. Owners marked the boundaries of their fields with piles of stones and boulders collected from the riverbed. The path ran between them, winding down the hillside like a large serpent, its skin decorated with numerous puddles shining from the sunlight that came through the trees. Petunias, cosmos, violets, and wild dahlias filled the crevices on both sides. The wild grass was tall and wet while some of the blades still held on to a few drops of rain.

Diwakar smelled the wet earth and looked around. In the city it was difficult to find a proper tree and they looked very different in parks and on the pavements. Trees in the wild were distinctive; each one seemed to have an identity and together they lended character to the terrain. He looked at Nisha walking in front, her long hair tied in a tussle running up to her waist. Like most other women, she was wearing a green topi, and he knew that in the folds she carried a needle, some money, and the key to her suitcase, which contained nothing but a few storybooks, a picture of Lord Krishna and a scarf given to her by her aaya. A gray woolen shawl was wrapped across her shoulders and tied close to her bosom. In the shawl she carried their lunch, a thick rope to tie firewood, and a flask of salted tea. Nisha was slim with long slender arms but they were powerful; women of the hills worked more like pack-mules and carried loads as heavy as the men carried, or heavier. She was wearing rubber boots and had pulled up her salwar to avoid the splashing mud. Diwakar looked at her exposed calf; she had glowing skin and her build was more athletic then slender. He increased his pace and caught up with her.

Nisha smiled and asked, “So how was it in the big city? Is it true that there are more cars than people?”

“Oh yes, there are so many cars. Big cars, very big cars, and special cars.”

“Did you ride in any of them?”

“Quite a few,” Diwakar said with an air. He did not mention that it took him half an hour and great courage to cross the road every day. “But somehow, I like my village more than any other place.”

“Why so? I heard the city was full of beautiful girls,” Nisha said teasingly.

Diwakar looked at her and wanted to say,
Not as beautiful as you
. But all he said was, “I haven’t met any.”

Nisha smiled and kept walking. Diwakar thought for a while and then took out his mobile phone, browsed swiftly and then played a popular song:

Below the clear blue sky,

with the sun shining bright,

let’s ride away my love,

let me be your knight...

While in the city, he had loaded all the latest songs onto his mobile phone. He was happy that a song could say much more than he could. He looked at Nisha and gave her one of his adolescent smiles, a smile pure and innocent.

Nisha looked at Diwakar and felt sad. She knew how strongly he dreamt of joining the army and how passionate he was about donning the uniform. She remembered the many times he told her about the distant peaks and how one day he would ride to the top and take charge of the country’s border. He was older than her brother, but with him being around, she did not miss her own brother as much. The first few weeks had been difficult. He was shy and never spoke to her. The few times they looked eye-to-eye he moved away with just a faint trace of a smile. It took over a month before they exchanged words but she could always make out his presence in the form of small gifts passed on through either Parvati or Ria. Be it some wild flowers or apricots or some other fruits. She knew that he loved his aaté very much and both spent time chatting and wandering around the valley. Apart from his mother, Pravin had asked Nisha to take especially good care of his brother and Nisha had done her best, though there was nothing much to do.