The courtyard that once regaled in our antics has fallen mute.
Thorny bush and fallen twigs now hold the space to ransom. No laughter, no
rejoicing, as the house in the middle draws a deep breath as I walk towards it.
The disappointment, I gather, is due to the fact that it is just I, not We,
that walk towards the house that have seen four footsteps run in and out in
unison, for long.
I stop. The terrace above beholds, beckons. The terrace I would
never want to climb on to! The elevated platform, just a flight of steps above
the ground where we once planted tapioca stumps and bowled against with tennis
balls. The cursed space where he lay lifeless!
A call away lay, as if breathing her last, the pond that let us
swim into her womb. The post-harvest paddy fields where we shed all teen
inhibitions to sprint, jump, dive, climb, swim and fight, shed tears as I look
yonder. For, they all had expected Us - both of Us together - to
have come calling.
But then, it is just I from now on. Us together, has turned
impossible. For, he decided not to go sportive anymore. The cricket stumps we
planted have sprouted leaves and borne fruit. The paddy plants have withered
into oblivion. Death has taken their place in the form of rubber trees.
The twin goddesses of the temple that stood at long-off, on
our cricket field, have left for good. The pond seems to have been wailing all
along. Tears have run dry, leaving green moss to look up to me with woe. The
sweating path under the afternoon sun, call me back as I look up to the terrace
where he lay. I long-whistle to him twice, as I used to, when we were kids. The
response always used to be a third return-whistle that announced our gaming schedule
for the day.
The cashew tree behind me has a better view of the terrace, and
she prompts me to turn around and go back home. He would never be back, she
whispers in my almost deaf ears. I decide to walk back. The grass clad path
brushes against my toes, in a bid to make me feel better. For, it knows, I have
lost a brother.
A brother who I left behind as I went pursuing my dreams. When I
was back on home terrain, he walked off, never to return. Up there, from atop
the terrace, he must have surveyed the pond, the paddy fields, the cashew
branch, the courtyard where he and I regaled as kids, once upon a
time. And then, the final journey must have come about.
The terrace is now empty, with just the courtyard's heaving
sighs echoing once in a while. The cashew branch we sat face to
face munching on those juicy cashew apples, shed a dozen leaves. And,
they drench my soul.
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