If you haven’t shown some love already to the first parts of this story,
please consider part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6
Rajesh felt uneasy walking towards his home surrounded by strangers. His home was all about Achachan. All he wanted to see was his Achachan sitting in his long armchair, with a bare chest and his belly protruding out. Instead, he was watched by strangers in the early morning. As he moved closer to the house, he could listen to the prayers. A man in a white dhoti sat on the veranda and read the Ramayana aloud. King Rama in this Hindu epic also had to endure a lot of hardships in his life. In difficult times, people would often look to religious texts to give them strength and hope.
Devendran and Rima entered the house through the doorway. Rajesh stopped at the steps before the veranda. His legs failed to move any further. Something weighed inside his chest so much that he felt anchored right there. As Rima entered the hall, an intense burst of cries filled the surroundings. There was a mixture of cries: some shared the pains, and some others the love. Meanwhile, Rajesh could recognise one cry with a tad of disappointment. He knew that it was his mother’s. Rima could not forgive herself for not visiting her father last summer.
As the cries grew louder and took over the voice of the man reading the Ramayana, Rajesh tried to comprehend the whole reality. The strong smell of incense sticks being burnt filled his nose. The cries of people infused into his ears. The sight of strangers suffused into his eyes. He felt like an alien from a faraway land. He could no longer feel his roots in that place. He could no longer identify himself with this house. It was not the reality which fortified him. He felt like a stranger for the first time while he stood at the place which once had defined his identity.
Rajesh looked around. Yes, it was a garden without flowers. It was a forest without trees. It was a life without a heart. It was his home without Achachan. He could not muster up the courage to enter the hallway to look at his Achachan lying motionless. Rajesh did not want to see him like that. A deep impulse started to grow inside him. He wanted to run. He wanted to run away from this home which no longer felt like his.
But where?
He had no answer. A pain inside his chest started to rise. He could feel it weighing him down. Thankfully, someone came forward and collected the luggage from his hands.
Rajesh walked to the side of the house to catch some fresh air. A man stood under the mango tree that Achachan had planted. He was sharpening his axe. As Rajesh looked on, the man straightened his spine, took the axe high into the air, and made the first blow on the tree. The tree shuddered as if in pain. The crow, which was sitting on the tree, cawed and flew away, abandoning the tree. The tree was being cut down to make a pyre for Achachan. The tree that Achachan had planted was being taken down along with him. It was the last summer when it flowered for the first time. It fed the man who had planted it. Now, it was joining him in death too as if it was all part of the plan, not waiting for another summer.
Watching the sight, Rajesh felt his legs going fragile too.
