Melody of the Mahaveli : Short stories by S. Vaithialingam

Author:S. Vaithialingam [Vaithialingam, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Discovery Publications
Published: 2022-10-10T22:00:00+00:00

10. The Shadow of Death

மரணத்தின் நிழல்

It was evening. In the courtyard of the house, four children - one girl and three boys, (children of my paternal uncle) were playing, building sand castles. The girl was baking hoppers with sand on one side. The boys were building a house using small twigs gathered from around the house. I went towards them and asked, “Could you give me also a space to live in?”

The eldest answered - “No, no. We can’t. This is only for me, my elder sister, mother and the two younger brothers.”

“If so, where would your father live?” I asked.

“Why? He has recently built a new house. He has no place here. These days he does not speak with us. Let him be in his house.”

“In which house will he live?” I asked.

“Why? Don’t you know? Come here please.” Holding my hand, he dragged me to a room and left me there.

It was in that room that my uncle was lying bed-ridden; he was nothing but skin and bone. He was no longer the man that I had known. Lethargy, fatigue, debility, tiredness etc had gripped him tight and put him on the bed permanently. Some kind of deadly disease had been sapping and enfeebling him for the past forty days.

Upon seeing me come in with the boy he asked, “What did he say?”

“He says that he is going to build a house and that there is no place for you,” I replied.

He laughed; it was terrible to see him. Eventually due to debility, he became weary and sleepy. I pulled a chair towards him and sat down by his side. Many, many thoughts grew in my mind and their feathers fluttered around.

Evening gave way to night. It was a brand-new night. It came with its whole body daubed with pitch black ink, giving a terrifying appearance. In this inky darkness, the earth and the sky were lying in warm embrace. Seeing this novelty, the west wind became furious and started to perform an apocalyptic dance. The leaves of the tree rustled and tussled with them; dry and dusty sand arose like the harmattan dust……. The clock chimed twelve times. The neighbourhood had gone to sleep. I, however, was still awake. In another corner of the room was my auntie. She also did not sleep. She sat pining like a woman who had lost everything. Nearby, on the bed was my uncle. He was not asleep, nor was he awake. I was lying on an easy-chair. The words which the eldest boy said, “Only for me; for my elder sister; for my mother; and for the two younger brothers,” were ringing in my ears. “Could it be….?” I dismissed the thought saying to myself that they were words of a child. But my monkey-mind! It oscillated between many different notions.

My mind eventually became exhausted and fatigued. As the cold draught came in from without, I started shivering. I rose up, and in order to get rid of the fear, I started a conversation with my auntie.

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