Few weeks later I left for her village. With few books and clothes
in my shoulder bag I took the state highway connecting my hometown Vadodara and
Dabhoi. The highway was flanked by rows of Neem and Gulmohor trees, the trees
were fairly tall arching at the top providing shade to the travelers and
traffic. It was crimson all over because of the flower on the trees and flower
that fell on the road. It had been half an hour of journey by bus; it was time
for me to get down at a spot named Kundhela.
No sooner did I alight the bus, within moments it disappeared
around the turn of the road. From here on I had to walk on foot. I crossed on
to the other side of the road and entered a field. It was the onset of monsoon;
the sun not in sight, the sky heavily overcastted, the earth dressed in green
and its soil drenched. While walking through the fields the soil would give way
and my foot would sink in by a centimeter or so. With every moment fleeting,
visibility lessened and I had to pass-by one village (Kundhela) before I could
reach Bahranpura, the village where she lived. Far away I could see hazy images
of two palm trees which stood inside the periphery of her village. It was
almost 45 minutes of walk, from leaving the state highway to reaching her
doorstep. It was almost dark; she had just completed her evening prayer. A
sense of happiness flashed through her and emerged on her face in the form of a
smile. Manubhai appeared on the scene from inside the house and it was once
again a joyous reunion.
The next day Manubhai as usual went out for work on the fields,
this was the right time to see that plantation happens in the right way so that
he could thereafter nurture his crop with manure and water and see that his
expectation come true. While at home I would spend my time reading books those
I carried along with me. In between when she used to finish her household work
she would come and sit with me. Talk about family members in the city, though
not much educated, she would ask me, about my career plans. Hers was not a posh
house but whatever she had; she would offer it with open heart. The dishes that
she made were not five-star but were presented with a sense of belongingness; I
could sense the connectivity being present and live. At times when it drizzled,
the coolness dropping low, me stationed in my chair, lost in reading, she would
surprise me with an aroma filled cup of tea. Fine phase of life speeds up and
bring us to the moments of parting. I too had to leave for the city.
Once in the city I got busy with my career; my job, my family, my
studies kept me too busy. At times I had to move my residence from place to
place. Distances have their own role to play in maintaining relations. We got
isolated for years.
The
next time I met her after almost two decades, she was week, age had demanded
its toll, she had food pipe problem. The doctor had suggested a surgery. I was
abroad and could not support Manubahi but I asked my family to be there with
them. My wife supported to the best of her ability but she (Indubhabhi) was
destined to leave us all.
Now, during the night, when I gaze at the sky and look at the stars, I am not sure whether she is there as a star trying to connect with me but when I gaze at my inner self, I find her there on the annals of my memories.
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