The Heir
"If you say I am deriving vicious
pleasure, I am not. I am laughing because my argument which I have been
building for over forty years proved correct. At this age, I have nothing
personal to score," Mr Vittal, a septuagenarian told the young ward boy.
Vardhan, the ward boy sweeping the floor
stopped for a while and looked with a question mark on his face that indicated
`then what?
"You tell me how others are different
from me in this Home?" Mr Vittal asked.
Vardhan continuing to sweep the floor lost in
thought. He was indeed trying to find an answer. He could not. Working for over
a decade in Shanti Nivas, the Home for the Aged, he enjoyed being there. Besides relaxed working
environment, he received generous sums from the elderly and often foreign goods
when the children of inmates visited the Home.
His gloomy moments came whenever an elderly
passed away. It pains him beyond expression if none came to claim the body or
attended the funeral. A dishonourable death.
Vardhan had a chance to meet businessmen and
bureaucrats who made it big in their lives. Serving and interacting with them,
he learnt many things both worldly and spiritual. He keeps asking the same
questions to every new inmate. `Why you are so dispassionate? What happened to
that zeal? – may be to boost their spirit or to know their story for real. He
knew for sure that people at certain age become philosophical. But some people
like Mr Vittal are philosophical throughout their life, which Vardhan did not
have a chance to meet.
The young boy was lost in thoughts wondering
what made the old man laugh in himself this morning. Knowing that Mr Vittal
would be sitting in the lawns under that huge Almond tree for a while after
lunch, he speeded his work. Vardhan swept the individual quarters first which
are hired by the parents of NRIs and then went to common halls which are shared
by people like Mr Vittal. He hurried to the dining hall and spotting his target
said "Vittal sir, I will have my lunch and come there to that tree. Please
wait for me. Let us talk." He vanished in a jiffy.
Wobbling his way Mr Vittal saw Vardhan sitting
near the Almond tree. Raising his pitch "Oh, man did you finish your
lunch. So early?" he inquired.
"Yes sir, I eat very fast," Vardhan
replied.
Reaching him, Mr Vittal rested his hand on the
shoulders of Vardhan and tried to remind some forgotten thing. "Vardhan,
what happened to Mr Chandra Sekhar who suffered a stroke yesterday? He sought
to know.
"He is out of danger sir. He is
recovering slowly," Vardhan explained.
Even before the old man opened his mouth,
Vardhan shot a question. "Sir, you said forty years of your arguement
proved correct. What is that argument?" he reassured as if a student
seeking knowledge from the teacher.
Smiling Vittal said `Oh boy! You still
remember that'.
A majority of the inmates at Home eagerly look
for somebody to talk to. Though the physical discomfort demands a nap, they
sacrifice it and desire to relate their heroics and want to share their success
stories. They endure the inner conflict and appear to be fighting against the
silence that was forced on them by the circumstances. Not just a broken dream
or an unfulfilled aspiration, but everybody has a tale to narrate. Most of them
made a little beginning and made it big in their lives. Though they studied in
ill equipped government schools, they ensured their wards got good education in
convent schools and other prestigious institutions.
Many of the elders who generously gave huge
sums to their present abode are foreign returned. They are eager to tell others
what they made and how they made in life. How they struggled hard to make his
or her son an accomplished person.
This time, Vardhan decided to listen to Mr
Vittal.
"It cannot be said in one line. It will
take a few minutes," Mr Vittal warned the ward boy hinting that the latter
should sit till he finished his answer.
Nodding his head in assent "Okay
sir," said Vardhan wishing that it should be over by 4 O Clock the time for his evening duties.
"I will not take much time. I have very
little to say," Mr Vittal said.
"No problem Sir," the ward boy said
expressing his willingness.
"My father, an orthodox man wished that I
study well, get a government job and marry a girl from my community, as all
parents do. Like many other youth, I too had a dream to marry a beautiful girl,
if possible one different from my mother tongue. You may call it fascination,
sense of adventure or may be the impact of movies. Owing to my traditional
brought up, I did not succeed in making friendship with a girl.
As my father wished, I completed my
polytechnic and joined the Rural Water Supply department. When it was the time
for marriage, I cursed myself for not realising the dream. However, I came to
know that my parents too had a good taste when they found me a beautiful bride
from our village.
The ground under the feet shook soon. We
remained issueless. Every friend and relative tried to console us and offered
every possible advice. I am against going for adoption. It is the God's wish
that we remain like that. I decided not to go against it. My wife was depressed
terribly. It took a long time for her to recover. I tried my best to help her
come to terms with reality. I encouraged her to resume her studies.
She completed her teacher training and as
expected got a job. For a long time, the job made her worry more for children.
Every night, she sobbed. "Try to understand the reality. There is no
solution in worry," I used repeat.
Vardhan, who was listening intently, put up a
sad face as if sympathising with Mr Vittal.
The old man did not notice it but continued.
After living with me for thirty eight long
years, she passed away last year. She is fortunate in a way. I accorded her a
decent funeral. It was difficult for me to live in that house which we both
built during early years of our marriage. Her memories kept haunting me every
second. So, I sold out the house and came here.
Vardhan who feared the old man might conclude
without giving an answer raised his chest and lifted his head hinting out that
he is yet to get what he asked for.
"See Vardhan, what happened when Mr
Jogeshwar Rao passed away?" he said and paused.
Vardhan wondered thinking to remember the
funeral. Nothing great happened to his knowledge.
Mr Jogeshwar Rao started as a clerk and
retired as the director of a Public Sector Company. He toiled hard and raised
three sons. His two sons are in USA
and one in Australia.
When his wife died, he was admitted into this Home. He expected his sons would
be there at the needed hour.
You know what happened? The old man asked
demanding complete attention.
When the secretary of Shanti Nivas informed
Jogeshwar Rao's demise, the elder one said his kid was in hospital with fever.
He said his second brother would be there. The second son informed that he did
not get a flight hence sending his younger brother. The younger one sent a
message "I exhausted my leave. Will come next month and settle your
accounts. Sorry."
The old man raised his pitch and as if he was
grilling Vardhan, shouted `Who lit the pyre? You did it. Right?
Vardhan was scared a little bit and allowed
the elderly man to continue.
Mr Vittal resumed. "I do not have any
expectations. I know for sure who will light my pyre. It may be you or somebody
else. As God wished."
Trying to control his emotions, the old man
nodded his head gesturing Vardhan to leave.
The ward boy Vardhan treasured this story too.
Ends/
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