(A4) Chapter 4 Deathbed
Sheetal sat in the restaurant tasting soup, as Kuntal narrated the circumstances under which he had to suddenly disappear and change his identity sixteen years ago. He wanted to make it clear that he was not at fault. As he spoke, he looked straight into her face to read what was going on in her mind. But she knew that as a married woman she was now committed to someone else. She took care not to show her reactions.
Rajesh rang her up on her mobile but it was switched off. He rang up the house phone but no one lifted it. There was no one in the house and it was locked. It was an independent house in a posh area of the town with pink paint on the walls and dark brown on the doors. Opposite to it, across the street, was the white palatial bungalow of Sundar Ganesh Pillia where Pillai now lay dying in the master bed room. Pillai’s fifty five year old wife sat near his head and ran her fingers in the few hair that still remained on his head.
A few years ago, Balakrishna Iyer whom the townsmen called Bala had read Sundar Ganesh Pillai’s horoscope and told him that he would live till the end of 2010. Pillai believed him not only because of the Iyer’s reputation but also because dying after having enjoyed a decade of the twenty first century seemed reasonable. Two weeks ago when Pillai’s health began to deteriorate, he first thought that it was one of those minor dips in the graph that old men’s healths are prone to. But when he did not recover for more than a fortnight, he began to get worried.
Then one mid-night he overheard his youngest son, Doctor Mukund, talk over phone in muffled sounds to his eldest son, Vinayak, who lived in Canada and was a top executive in an Indian multi-national company. Mukund thought he was being secretive, but his whispers sounded like shouting in the quiet of the mid-night. Pillai heard Mukund say, “No, no. That will be too late. Better start immediately.” Pillai’s heart sank.
Doctor Mukund did not trust his father’s health to someone else. He had been attending on Pillai for the past ten years and knew the condition of every artery and every nerve. Mukund’s message to Vinayak was enough to tell Pillai that his days were over. For the remaining part of the night he saw himself inching towards his grave and this was not something he had ever looked forward to.
Pillai waited for the day-break. Somehow dying during the dark hours of the night seemed more frightening. The darkness and the quiet of the night brought visions of a soul that had already left his body and was floating around in the room. He felt scared. Terribly scared. He wished that his sons Vinayak and Moorthy were sitting around him with their families.
Moments of the night slithered one by one with the loud tick of the medieval clock he had bought from Germany and that had stood in the hall for more than fifteen years. Germany was not the only foreign country he had visited. Even during those days when a visit abroad was rare, he had frequently visited foreign lands and had earned huge amounts of money by fair means and foul. With that money he had built the huge house in one room of which he now lay dying surrounded by the numerous possessions he had brought from his visits. Because of his frequent visits abroad, people called him “Phoren Pillai” and many felt jealous of his wealth.
His wife Dayawati who now sat near him was his third wife whom he had married when he was sixty seven. All his three sons were from his first wife Sulakshana whose life-size painting hung in the hall. While Pillai roamed around the world tasting its joys and earning money, Sulakshana brought up his three sons in the true traditions of Ramayana and Mahabharata. The three sons were obedient, studious and disciplined. When they grew up, the eldest, Vinayak, went to Canada and became a top executive in an Indian multi-national. He was married to a girl from Thiruchirapalli and had two sons. The middle son, Moorthy, was a software engineer in Los Angeles and was married to a girl from Bangalore. He had one daughter. The youngest son, Mukund was a doctor and stayed wih his parents. He was unmarried. Pillai was proud of his sons and often described them as his greatest wealth. Now he lay dying and wished that his sons were with him.
In the morning when Doctor Mukund had gone out, Pillai said to his wife, “Why don’t you call Badri?”
Within a few minutes, Badri was sitting on a stool near Pillai, sipping tea and saying words of comfort, “Don’t worry, Uncle. Nothing will happen to you.”
Badri was Bala’s son and, after his father’s death, had taken up the profession of seeing horoscopes. By the time Dayawati brought the horoscope, Badri had finished half of the tea. He kept the cup on one side and looked at the horoscope. Then he asked for a pen and paper and drew a few lines. Pillai, who was looking keenly at Badri’s face, saw his countenance change. He waited for Badri to say something. But Badri kept looking at the horoscope and his face showed clear signs of an impending tragedy. Pillai could wait no longer and said, “Is the end near?” Badri handed back the horoscope to Dayawati without saying a word and left. Dayawati said, “Why don’t you finish the tea?” But Badri did not turn back or reply.
Pillai stared at the white ceiling above him. A small tear-drop formed in his eye and slid down the cheek. Dayawati said, “This boy knows nothing. The science has gone with the Elder. Had there been a problem, Bala would not have told you that you will live till 2010.” Pillai kept staring blankly at the ceiling.
