To be seen with Dhol was as good as being spotted with the devil. But the job Dhanilal was entrusting Dhol with wasn’t one for a saint either. Even for a scoundrel like Dhol, who’d do anything for a couple of bucks to buy his evening pint, this was a first.
Dhol licked his lips at the delicious assignment and made no effort to conceal a smirk, revealing his missing front teeth. Serves him right, thought Dhanilal. However, for the moment, he had no other option than to swallow his disgust.
It all began a week ago.
Dhanilal found himself scouting a dusty College Street to find a book of poems his granddaughter wanted as a birthday present.
He belonged to the vanishing league of the few who believed that a bowl of kheer was enough to acknowledge a birth in the family. And he had stood his ground firm. None of his three children had ever cut a cake on their birthday. But Jhinuk was different. The very first time he’d held his granddaughter in his arms, in the deepest confines of his heart, Dhanilal had known that she’d bring a revolution. ‘If birthdays weren’t meant to be
a special occasion then what are all the birthday cards and cakes for? And buying a small present once in a year won’t hurt anyone, would it?’ four-year-old Jhinuk had exclaimed. Her wisdom was far beyond her age and it made an impression that no one expected.
This was Jhinuk’s sixteenth birthday and she’d invited all her friends over for a birthday party. Dhanilal let out an exasperated sigh as he dabbed his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Not only had presents become the centre of a birthday, now books too had to be in English, he mused.
Luckily for Dhanilal, Jhinuk had asked for a very popular book of poems by the famous poet William Wordsworth. Dhanilal himself loved poems and for a fleeting moment his disappointment abated a bitas he read through the lines I wandered lonely as a cloud Dhanilal felt his chest muscles tighten as he read on.
A host of golden daffodils.
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Wordsworth’s words made even the heart of old Dhanilal cartwheel. What would it do to an innocent sixteen-year-old girl! He ought to make sure it was right for her, so he went on reading. He had sometimes read those poems in his youth. Now, as he went over them, he felt wings sprout and his weary soul acquire a sudden burst of youthful energy.
Once more he read the lines. To his delight and utter horror, a girl appeared among the golden daffodils. Her raven locks waving and swaying with the daffodils in the gentle breeze. She of course never noticed Dhanilal. He sat there in the muggy April heat enjoying the intoxicating cool breeze that bounced off her fragrant body. Oh, how lovely Paromita was! Perhaps she herself didn’t know how lovely. Had anyone ever told her? Dhanilal definitely hadn’t.
Of course, beauty was the last thing on his parents’ mind when they sought out prospective brides for young Dhanilal. What good were those voluptuous curves if they couldn’t balance a pitcher of water? And what use were those slender fingers if they couldn’t roll round chapattis? Beauty was a bonus if that came with the package, but alone it was only a distraction. To lure men. Fox them and make them their slaves.
So Dhanilal settled down with Supreeta, who assured him
a lifetime of round chapattis for breakfast and he soon got over Paromita. At least, that’s what he had thought all along. Not that Supreeta was repulsive to behold, but she couldn’t hold a candle to the girl of Dhanilal’s dreams. As responsibilities set in, the difference between a dream and reality began to blur and one fine day Dhanilal realised Supreeta was the right soulmate. As if on cue to phase out his remaining passion, Paromita was soon married off and she left their lane, forever.
Only to return now with full force through the words of Wordsworth. Dhanilal’s heart began to pound at an alarming pace. At sixty-three, this was a sign of requiring medical attention, not love. What would people think if he complained of a racing heartbeat in the sunset years of his life. They’d immediately pack him off to a hospital. And once the doctors attached those tubes and wires to him, he was certainly done with.
Why on earth had he picked up the book? If he hadn’t, he’d be just fine. Reading the newspapers and chanting shlokas, waiting for his number to be called. Now his mind was exploding with Wordsworth’s words. It wasn’t a great sign and Dhanilal immediately realised that he needed to rein in his emotions.
These things, even when kept secret and unspoken, were hard to hide. What would Jhinuk even think if she got a whiff of her grandfather’s pangs.
No no no! Dhanilal almost heard himself scream out aloud. He shut his eyes in an attempt to wipe out Paromita, but the jingling of her anklets as she danced along with the golden daffodils became all the more vivid.
Apparently, Paromita had gone nowhere. She was very much there in Dhanilal’s conscience, waiting to return. What an awful predicament he had got himself into. He looked at the book on his bedside table. It lay so peaceful, but the upheaval the devil had created in Dhanilal’s heart! Not as if sleep and he shared a very cordial relationship. Lately, sleep had been avoiding him but ever since his eyes had read those words and seen Paromita, sleep was the last thing he could imagine.
Next morning when Lakshmi, the cook, went up to Dhanilal’s bedroom to serve him bed tea, she screamed and dropped Dhanilal’s favourite teacup, shattering it in the process. Dhanilal, who was lying on his bed, hands and legs sprawled out, mouth wide open, leapt up, startled, sending Lakshmi shooting out as if she’d seen her own ghost.
‘Don’t do that again,’ Prashant told his father.
‘Do what?’ Dhanilal asked, puzzled at all the family members gathered around his bed.
‘Just look at you! You do look like death all warmed up. It’s only natural that Lakshmi thought so. Plus, you never sleep so late.’
Dhanilal hadn’t realized when he’d fallen asleep. This was the first day in years that Dhanilal had missed his morning walk and activity session with his laughing club members. He couldn’t share his feelings with anyone without evoking ridicule and being lambasted and labelled a lunatic. It could even lead to suggestions like going to stay at an ashram and returning only after his thoughts were purified. Worst possibility though, he’d be packed off to an asylum and altogether be forgotten about.
The more Dhanilal deliberated, the more confused he got. The moment Dhanilal remembered Jhinuk, his heart settled down a bit. All those reckless emotions didn’t suit him. So, he decided to push those emotions back from where they came and behave like a sensible old man, no more senile.
But for someone of his age who had suppressed his desires all his life, if not now it most likely would be never. And with that realisation, returned the unwanted feeling and that horrible unnatural heart rate. Then suddenly, an awful thought gripped him.
Was Paromita on her deathbed and remembering him! People, when counting their last few breaths, sort of desire to round their life up. Did Paromita have something to tell him? Was she calling him? And what about rounding his own life up. More than anything now he was sure he had to get it off his chest if at all he had to rest in peace.
After a restless week of waiting, that fateful day had finally dawned. In the wee hours of the morning, Dhol handed Dhanilal a crushed note. As he looked down at the paper, Dhanilal’s vision blurred and his head gave a violent swirl. He’d sensed it deep within.
That night, at the dinner table Dhanilal was a bag of nerves. After hours of deliberating about his decision, he had eventually made up his mind. In the presence of all his family members Dhanilal announced, ‘I’ve decided to go and live my remaining life in Aashirvaad Old Age Home.’
His family was aghast. One blamed the other for making life uncomfortable for old man Dhanilal. Until once again Dhanilal spoke, ‘It’s not out of compulsion but as my last wish that I want to live in this old age home.’
Even Dhanilal knew that the reason sounded ridiculous, but it was still more acceptable that if he had said he wished to spend the rest of his life with Paromita at Aashirvaad Old Age Home, where she lived lonely, abandoned by her family and completely unsuspecting of Dhanilal's emotions.
– By Lesley Biswas
