Skip to main content

Peace treaty

Peace treaty.

Faint pink light traversed through the clear sky, forming thin rectangular strips across her brown eyes, transfixed at the corner pointing to a distant object, with a denser shadow imposed over her throat.
Her shoulders inclined across the steel railings, the flabby flesh of her arm seemed to be completely inundated by the uneven geography of the railings but least bothering her.

Renuka spent most of her day like this, she woke up late in the afternoon, ate once a day in the afternoon and immersed herself in solitude till sunrise, never having acknowledged my constant presence.
I sat across the open verandah, trying to understand and imbibe her emotions.
Silent and stationary.
I couldn’t trace what she was so captivated by with Miles of barren land ahead of us.
The infinite stretch of solitude protecting her from the bigoted worldly reality, the thin violet dispersion where the sky and land met offering a quick window to her thought before deceiving to the clear white sky.
The fading flower patterned dress, was a constant cover over her body throughout her stay in the farmhouse, light enough not to hinder her thoughts.

She was beyond help, none of materialistic possessions could retort her mind back to the social duties of human.
Her husband could not tolerate the detachment anymore after all these years, it was proving fatal for their daughter.
He summoned me for counselling, which I had gladly agreed unaware of the depth that the constraints that had taken over her. The confidence was as a result of clinically witnessing every case mentioned in medical literature.
As I dug deep into her case, I couldn’t find anything etiological in her story leading to this radical form of isolation. No known incident had caused this, no trauma had disturbed her. It was a gradual and cataclysmically change affecting since her childhood, the effects clearly showing since recent years.
She grew up in a secure, middle class family in a small town throughout her life, completed her basic schooling, after which stayed at home, to help out her ailing mother in housework. Her family quickly used their societal influence to get her married to a city man, an engineer in an upcoming city. Not finding trace, I brought her to my farmhouse.
Renuka transferred her weight to her right as well, balancing herself, steering herself to a comfortable space, one without the constraints of her body movements. The place too fervent and vast to search for her soul, drifting into the farthest spaces seeking for absolute serenity.

I had to find the answers she was seeking out. Something isolated from the physical realm yet connected by the infinite boundaries of space, where every particle seems to be the center, continuously separating from each other, stretching until a random disruption in the cycle reflects upon the surroundings to harness energy. 

I had led a solitary life throughout my life and didn’t blame her for taking this path. Solitude provided me with peace, thoughtfulness and understanding. Being alone, was when I understood myself, when I understood the environment better. In this time, I was able to contemplate the most basic, genetic flaw in us humans, our ignorance, to the fact that we are just another form of energy released by this cycle of events, soon to be transformed to another.
But I still quite didn’t understand Renuka to answer to questions. 

Witnessing the half crescent moon rise up to the sky, I dosed off at the chair.

The next morning, I expectedly looked out to the barren lands, through which she had followed the path of solitude.
I wasn’t ready to follow her. I wasn’t ready to take her path, I could not treat her back to the seasoned civilities of our world.
She had to find her own peace.

Popular posts from this blog

The abandoned

The Abandoned
Mr. Kuthappa leaned against the wall adjacent to his bed and sipped the brownish, gold liquid from a tetra pack. Abstaining from what my eyes were showing “Mr. Kuthappa, what is that” I paced myself towards him, to show my authority, to demand the respect I deserved, to remind him he was the patient and I was the doctor. But my angry catwalk didn’t seem to intimidate him. Nothing was going to bother him now and we both knew I couldn’t save him with my knowledge or medications. It was too late. His body was completely submerged in the sea of alcohol. He continued sucking through the small hole of the tetra pack waiting to hit the sea bed. This was also a record new low in my life. An alcoholic drinking right in front of his doctor. “Oh, this” he let the pack swing between his index and thumb fingers. “This is what has guided me for the past 25 years. Always there for me in my bad times and good times.” Kuthappa gulped the remaining, squeezed the packet like a toothpas…

The pharmacist

The pharmacist.

Traffic across the street had slowly dwindled as midnight approached, the moonlit sky casting occasional shadows over us. I could begin my process of the closing the shop. 5am-12pm was my work routine. It was a life sucking routine but the timings gave me extra customers, elderly in the morning, the younger later at night and also I could save the extra electricity costs by not keeping it open 24 hours. It was my shop and I didn’t mind working extra time to earn a few more bucks. I didn’t have a family to attend to, so this shop was pretty much everything I had. As I was summing up my day’s earnings, my favorite customer, Syed dropped by. “Hey, how’s it going my man. I can see you made good money today. Keep it safe. Especially from me” He joked, giving me a wide grin as he made his way to the neighboring shop, which was also mine. A popular smoking hotspot among the locals. I could sense Syed’s rush to take a drag of tobacco. Syed, the same age as me, worked as a wel…

The diary of a freedom fighter

The diary of a freedom fighter.
I set the air condition to 18 C, turbo mode on, directed the air flow to my bed. Refreshed after a steaming, hot water shower I crashed, face first on my crisply draped bed. As the cool air performed its duty of drying me, I repositioned myself from prone to supine. A wet patch Today I decided to start a new book. But this time, it wasn’t a bestseller by a famous author, or a critically acclaimed book by an unknown author, or a book suggested by my reader friends (who read one book a year, so it had to be good) or a book recommended by amazon for me. Today, it was my grandfather’s diary, which my father had given me when I was 15 years old. The book dated back to the 1940s and it was a memoir of my grandfather’s time in pre-independent India. After 10 years of procrastination, finally the faded black cover of the diary was staring at me. I took a deep sniff of the approximately middle pages of the book. I did it before every new book. The peculiar, ink …