An Old Leaf

 

An Old Leaf

            Saran Rai

Patients are fighting for life in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of a hospital. I have been under treatment in the unit for the past couple of days. My condition is slightly better in comparison to other patients. I can recognize the relatives and other well-wishers who have (come )gone to the hospital to visit me and read the atmosphere and things around. Some patients in the unconscious state are only breathing in the last stage of their life. In other words, they are at death's door and waiting for their death. Their relatives are also awaiting their end.

I have seen my death near at hand. Does the world mean nothing? What must this life be dedicated to? After all, one day, everyone must leave this world. During our lifetime, we fall in disputes regarding possession of property, avarice, sin, love and illusion of the world and commit mistakes. What's their ultimate use?

Some people drop dead before they assess the value of the long (or short?) life they have lived. However, I have enjoyed a whale of time to summon up lots of happy moments of life, and some sad ones. I feel quite nostalgic. I am overjoyed and take pride in good deeds and repent of the sins I have committed.

My house is within spitting distance of the hospital. The house has got a room where I have spent a few decades of my life, and I have a strong attachment to the room. In the middle of the room is a bed where I spent day and night with my wife, dearest to me in the world. She had breathed her last on that bed. I wish I met my end on the same bed. Wow! How beautiful, peaceful and lovely the bed is! But my room where I spent several decades has been unachievable.

I wish to die in the room. I have urged my family members to shift me to my own room from the ICU, but in vain. Now, nothing happens at my will. I have turned into a no-good thing. What's the use of taking me back home? I feel downcast when this piffling wish does not get fulfilled.

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***      ***

The snow-capped mountains that could be seen from my village attracted me. I had to go to the village once.  I reached the base camp via the village. I took up the job of a porter for mountaineers. It was an enjoyable job.

When I went to bed, I fell asleep straight away due to cold climate and hard work. There was nothing to worry about; nor was there anything to regret. Hard work, I came to know, keeps worries at bay. A porter lives a mechanical life. Like animals, he does not know what is going on around him, how fast the world is changing and what will happen to him.

At that time, I saved the life of a tourist. He was near to death due to high altitude. I carried him piggyback to take him to the lower height, and he regained his consciousness. I was filled with joy when I saw his eyes reflecting the feelings of gratitude, acknowledgement, love and respect. I knew from that small event why people were ready to extend help and benevolence to others and why they chose sacrifice.

***     ***

 

Life of a porter was not my cup of tea. I came back to the city, thinking of doing a business or running an industry there. Thinking that a business could be started at any age and that an industrialist would get respect and honor, I made a rash decision to open a garment factory. Starting up a business or an industry before acquiring some required basic knowledge is like diving into a deep pool of water before learning to swim. The drowning man can be rescued if a good swimmer takes notice of you, but there's no one to rescue you in business and industry. There is no way but to go bankrupt in a large business. I went bankrupt. Who should I pass the buck? I came to the conclusion that the economic and social environment of the country was not good because the political situation was not conducive. With an aim to making a total transformation, I went over to rebels who were carrying out their activities from the jungle. Military training in the foreign army stood me in a good stead for the rebels. I spent half of a decade of my life as a rebel. I knew it only when the historical 19-Day II People's Movement became a success.

***     ***

 

During the rebellion, I got a chance to work in tandem with young blood who were infused with the feeling of supreme sacrifice. Our life was balanced on a knife-edge.

In the very rebel life, I met Phulmaya, a person with courage and determination not to retrace her steps once she moved ahead. I developed emotional intimacy with her in the course of fighting war in different war fronts. The intimacy turned into love that culminated in the birth of a child. Despite hardships in our rebel life, we fulfilled the duty of rearing the child and fought the war in different fronts.

We would have been killed at any time. We were always worried what would happen to the child in the wake of our possible death in the conflict. However, the 19-Day II People's Movement rescued us to the new peaceful family life.

***     ***

In the family life, we faced various ups and downs and innumerable bends. I stood as a candidate for the upcoming elections. I was eulogized as a devoted fighter and politically clean. There were opportunities galore. I became a minister. I could not believe my luck. I wondered how I achieved such a coveted post. I was bestowed with benefits of the position. I was made the owner of unlimited property by cronies, civil servants, industrialists, contractors and other corrupts who crowded around me.

***   ***

 

***   ***

 

Though my body is bedridden, my mind is working fast (so fast that the mind of other people, except those who are on their deathbed like me, cannot work at this rate). As we cannot think of the cloudless sky, so cannot we think of the thoughtless mind. The waves of memories hit me and ebb. My thoughts always flashed back to Phulmaya with a deep emotional attachment. Although sometimes I remember many others who I have almost forgotten, Phulmaya's image is still sticking with me clearly and it repeatedly comes back. It is natural that we often reminisce about a person with whom we spend most of our life, share feelings and romantic moments.

Phulmaya!

She was the only person who knew my relation and acquaintances with women. She made my life complete. I have many sweet and bitter experiences with her. I had heaved a sigh of relief when she came to my life because it occurred to me that there was someone waiting for me and that she would mix her smiles and tears with mine. I was everything for her though I was useless for others. The feeling gave me strength to move ahead. Did I do any justice or injustice to Phulmaya?  Her husband meant everything to her, and she devoted her life to me. Neither she evaluated it; nor did the society. On the deathbed, I am trying to look back on justice and injustice; sins and good deeds; vices and virtues; good and bad.

The judgment of this kind is valueless. I might make a good judgment like a chief justice but what's the ultimate use? What's the use of the assessment done by the one who himself is on deathbed?  It may or may not have meanings but arguments and counterarguments go at it hammer and tongs in my mind.

 I pride myself on the fact that I gave her happiness. However, the happiness was wrapped in mental torture, stress and difficulties. I tortured her mentally and physically. I beat her black and blue. When I remember the torture I subjected to her, I find myself descending on to human cruelty and animal.

Yet, she made the best of things and loved me despite tortures and injustices. She might have whimpered in silence, but she supported me in every step.

She was great; she bore me offspring and gave me pleasure. When I recall her, I fail to fight back tears. I want to be in floods of tears. I wish the tears of remorse washed out all guilt from my mind.

What a strange! Tears have not appeared in eyes. They snub to stream down. I feel sour and bitter. The decrepit old body is not supportive. I cannot roll down tears. I feel a lump in the throat. Immovable, I am only waiting for an auspicious time for pleasant death.

"Phulmaya, I am thankful to you, for you endured torture, covered up my mistakes and loved me. In the eleventh hour of my life, I apologize for tortures and pain I caused you. Please, forgive me: I'll never…."

***   ***

 

They replied in a consoling tone, "Father, don't talk pessimistically with a sinking feeling. Don’t worry. Nothing befalls on you. We will take you back home only when you return to good health. You are sure to be recovered."

Will I really return to health? The chance is very thin. Doctors had discharged me from hospital, but I am still here as my son and daughter-in-law refused to take me back before recovery. Last time, my health recuperated. This time, I don't think I will get better. I know I am going to die. "It is the rule of nature that the old leaf falls off the tree and a new one sprouts. Don't wail. While there is life, there is hope. Your father will never be dead while he is alive. He is still not dead," I hear someone say.

There is a big crowd of people wailing for my possible death. My youngest son may have arrived. I hear someone crying like him. I was rushed into the ICU, and now they have come to visit me one by one. They are gazing fixedly at me; so am I staring at them. This look has an inexplicable pain of death.

***    ***

 

Man is born lily-white. In the course of time, he is tainted with various colors of his vested interests. Some remain incorruptible until death, while others blot their copybook for the whole life. No one can judge others; a person himself knows how his character is.

In the race to be a successful man, I deceived some and took a potshot at others. I am running out of time to reel off the list of people who deceived and excoriated me, too. Life has taught me to be selfish. A man commits unpardonable crimes. I also committed a crime which is still haunting me. I still feel painful regret.

After I became a rebel, I took insurgents to my village and alleged that Nirmaya's husband spied on rebels' activities, leading to his murder in a physical punishment. Poor innocent! He was killed in vain.

Nirmaya spat in my face when she heard her husband was polished off cold-blooded. In a response triggered by a mixed feeling of shyness, anger and regret, I pointed a gun at her, but I could not dare to shoot her dead. At that time, I knew how weak, frail and absurd I was.

Thousands of innocent people lost their lives in vain. I am also responsible for the genocide. Though I pride myself on fighting bravely for the nation and its people, I am more self-humiliated than proud for killing innocent lives. Even if law of the land sets me scot-free, my inner heart punishes me.

***    ***

 

Time (or greed) taught me to be a corrupt for money. I preferred a corruptible life for material prosperity to honesty resulting in hardships.

Despite the fact that I was for good beliefs and principles, I became ugly-minded, cheater and immoral in practice. So, I succeeded in amassing property. My mind has gone black. I am not easily breathing my last may be because of the crimes I had committed for money. I ask myself regretfully why I amassed property. Money could not save the life of Phulmaya, nor can it save mine. One of the properties I accumulated is my bed. I want to go there and die on it, but to no avail.

It does not matter where you die. The dead does not feel. Death is death where I die – on my bed or elsewhere. When I die, the world dies with me. Why should I worry about my sons, grandsons, all others and worldly activities?

The end crowns all. Those who make progress in life turn boastful but they are unaware that death has no medicine. Everyone must die one day. All are equal to death. It does not spare anyone – whether they have suffered others and amassed wealth or reached high positions through deception or they are powerful or powerless. However, no one has time to think about their own death. Only at the last moment of life, we admit death as I am doing it now.

Oh, I am deviated. Do I have enough time to deviate? No I don't have. I have thought about everything in my whole life. Now, I must think about death, that is my own death.

My death! A low death! No one sings dirge in my death. No one will offer a single piece of flower in my graveyard. Do my children and relatives offer a flower? They will shed crocodile tears and pay a hypocritical homage to me only to show others.

            What remarkable thing have I done to have my name written in the history of human race? Like millions of other common people, I lived, dined and died at last. This is the end of my life, end of my story.

What weird feelings! What am I to worry about on deathbed? It is good to die with a smiling face and curious mind. I try to be happy and curious, and I find death more fruitful, more beautiful and more welcoming than life. I spread out my arms to bid goodbye to life and welcome death. It looks as if I am going to embrace death. My last request to you all: Please offer a piece of flower in my last resting place.

Every leaf must fall……….. An old leaf has fallen.