UNHEALED WOUNDS

The bus stopped at the irrigation canal bridge. It was my first visit to my ancestral home after my retirement. I got down from the bus and walked along the canal service road. Water as clear as glass was flowing in the canal. A few small fish swam at the bottom along with the flow. I once again became the adolescent boy of yesteryears full of excitement in anticipation of my visit to my erstwhile home. The water converged into an arched aqueduct with gurgling noise. Both sides of the road were lined with new houses, a sign of prosperity and affluence of the village. The canal curved to the left and I walked down the gradient to my right. The narrow asphalted road was full of potholes. As I reached the village pond, the small ripples on the water surface caused by the breeze filled nostalgic waves in me. The sun’s image was having a cool dip in the pond, weary of its own heat.

I looked around for familiar faces, but was disappointed to see none. But I was thrilled to see the building with a tiled roof, my home years back, my sweet home, with all its antiquity. I opened the small gate, made of wooden planks with vertical iron bars, and stepped into the yard which was like a small garden with beautiful flowers. The carved wooden main door shutters had not lost their glow. I knocked on one of them. The door opened with a screeching noise and I was greeted by my cousin, Devu. She was the sole occupant of the house. She was greying and her face was adorned with the usual lovely smile. She led me to the room at the right. The cement floor was very cool and a feeling of tranquility pervaded my body. I sat on the armchair and looked at the photographs on the wall. My late father, uncle and aunt were watching me through the framed glasses of the photographs, I thought. I saw a kind of glow in their eyes, perhaps created by my presence that day.

I went upstairs climbing up the wooden stairs. I made rhythmic noise on the wooden steps like a percussion artist. On to the left was the room which was used by my grandfather. A large portrait of my grandfather hung on the wall. I stood in front of the portrait. My face was reflected on the glass and I could see my bearded face next to that of my grandfather. I was pleased to see the similarity of both of our faces, one of a living old man and the other of a vanished human being. The more I looked at the portrait, the more my eyes became wet.

We talked about many things. Devu served me tea and salty snacks. Charged with them, I got out of the house. I walked along the lane abandoned by me, years back, for my selfish ambitions in my life. Now that I had retired, I did not have anything to do. Now was the time for me to visit places, meet persons whose images seemed to have faded in my life, but were still intact in my heart in all their clarity. I walked straight. The lane looked deserted. I did not see children playing. But I heard from each home the loud noise of television sets blaring out dialogues and music of movies crowding in the satellite programmes. I trod on till the end of the lane where it meandered into narrow field paths.

On to my right was an old fashioned house. I climbed up the granite steps. The house had verandahs on the three sides and it had a clay tile roof. There was no change to that house in the last five decades. An old lady came out of the house to the verandah and looked at me with inquisitive eyes. She was in her early sixties and grey haired. It was Ammu, my schoolmate.

I introduced myself.

“I can recognize you” she said with a smile. Her voice was still musical and her smile captivating. Blood rushed to her thin face. She blushed. Her eyes sparkled with tears and she enquired. “How are you? How is your family?”

I replied we were good.

“And how are you and your family?” I asked her.

She took a deep breath and said “My parents have left me forever for their heavenly abode many years back. My only brother never comes to this place. I have no other family” she said.

“What about your husband and children?” I asked her.

“I am still unmarried. I had loved someone many years ago, but he married another woman. I stay alone in this house” she said.

“But are you not feeling lonely?” I asked her.

“No. I have good neighbours who give me great company” she smiled.

I bade good bye to her and walked on. I looked to my left. Dry grass lay on the slopes of the irrigation canal. Buffalos were grazing on the banks. I took the path to the right and walked further.

I walked along the narrow footpaths which served as the boundaries of every field. I reached the neighbourhood of our erstwhile farmhouse. Smoke was billowing out of huts. In every hut thatched with dry palm leaves, farmers boiled palm jaggery and made cakes out of it. I could recognize Kesavan, who was the cowboy of our village, more than half a century back. He smiled at me.

I was ten years old. We had a black cow named Blackie. She had a white mark on her head which made her more beautiful. She was a darling to all of us. Kesavan came every morning and led her to the grazing grounds along with other herds. Before going to school every day, I used to go to the backyard and hug Blackie with all my love. She would lick my hands with her coarse tongue reciprocating her affection towards me. One morning, my grandmother went to the backyard and was shocked to see Blackie lying still. She cried aloud and we all went to her. Blackie was dead. Her udder had two blue marks. She had died of cobra bite. I cried the whole day and did not eat anything. My sorrow was boundless. My grandfather pacified me to remain calm.

“So you have returned to your native place” Kesavan said smiling.

I was brought to the present by his words.

“Yes” I said. He gave me a paper bag full of palm jiggery cakes. I thanked him and walked further. Five hundred yards away was the old farm house where my grandparents lived during the harvest time, half a century back. The familiar huge black rock stood guard to the farmhouse which was someone else’s property now. I climbed up the rock and stood there looking inside, in spite of the radiating heat. I travelled back in the time machine to the nostalgic past.

I was doing my final year degree course in Civil Engineering at a town about forty miles from my ancestral home. The year was 1962. My mother had received a telegram. The words of disbelief in the telegram described the expiry of my grandfather. When I returned from the college, mother was in tears. I read the telegram several times. The world seemed to stand still in front of me. I felt like standing inside a vacuum. I could not imagine a life without my grandfather. I burst out and the tears flowed like a stream. I wept till the tear glands became dry over the loss of the most important human being in my life. He was my friend, my teacher and my mentor. A world without him was unimaginable. I was two years old when he took over my guardianship. From that time it was me that mattered most to him. He pampered me with his uninhibited love. He hopped everywhere with me in his pouch, like a kangaroo. He moulded me and taught me everything and he was waiting for me to graduate as an engineer. He was everything to me. I had no one to go to. My grief flowed out like an open spillway.

We boarded a private bus. After two hours, we got down at the canal bridge of my village. I walked with my mother and brother as if in a dream. We passed the pond, our ancestral house and walked straight through the fields. At the farmhouse, smoke was rising high on the right side. The cremation of my grandfather was going on.

“But why did they not wait for us?” I asked my uncle. I took a piece of firewood, lighted it and kept it on the funeral pyre. I could see only the back of his head. All other parts were physically getting swallowed by the cruel flames. I had kissed that head umpteen times. I had played with that head on several occasions. I had mounted on his shoulders many times. And he would dance holding my hands and sing. He would catch my tiny hands and walk through the road proudly.

I asked where you are now my dearest grandpa. Why did you do this to me? What shall I do without you?

There was no answer. And there won’t be any answer. The smoke rose higher. The firewood made cracking noise. His head became invisible. My grandpa had changed his abode. He was with God.

But his soul is with us wherever we go. He is omnipresent.

He is the Protector of our lives.

A herd of cows passed through the muddy lane and I was brought back from the past. Smell of dust mingled with cow dung spread around. I walked back through the empty fields.

At the gate of Ammu’a house, I saw her standing hoping to have another glimpse of me. I stopped. She walked towards me and held my hands and said.

“Promise me you will marry me in your next birth”. She kissed my hands. Her tears dropped on my fingers.

“Good bye, my love” she said and went inside the house.

I was taken aback. It was a shock to me. The truth stared at me. I felt guilty that I could not understand her love towards me, years back. I had treated her as one of my friends. Tears blurred my vision as I walked past the houses to my ancestral home. Pre-monsoon black clouds were moving hastily on the sky. A few drops of rain fell on my head. The aroma of wet earth pierced my nose.

Devu was waiting for me with a cup of hot coffee. I sat on the armed chair at the front verandah. Devu sat on the raised floor.

“I met Ammu” I told her as I sipped the coffee.

“Which Ammu are you talking about?” Devu asked me.

“Ammu who lives in the last house on the lane just before the path to the fields” I said.

“What?” Devu got up and came near me.

“Ammu died five years ago. No one is staying in that house since her death”. She said with a bewildered look.

Lightning flashed. Thunder was deafening. Rain poured from the heavens.

Our Visit to Coorg

In India, summer is the season when most people travel to places of better climate and of natural beauty to escape the tropical heat. While at Bangalore, my son had travelled to Coorg and stayed at several scenic places there. When he advised me to visit this beautiful place, I made immediate arrangements for a few days’ visit to Coorg, a famous tourist destination in the adjacent Karnataka State.

On 8^th May 2011, we started our journey from my hometown, Thrissur in Kerala, South India, via Calicut to Coorg. Once we reached the border of Kerala with Karnataka, our journey continued with awesome experiences and our excitement climbed to the azimuth. An unimaginable bliss pervaded us as the landscape opened its mesmerizing assets to us.

Coorg is nuzzled in the Western Ghats of the Sahyadri Mountain range. It is categorized by scattered villages and homesteads. The languorous neighbourhood has an old world charm and is very noteworthy with undulant hills and loquacious rivers. It has many amazing viewpoints. God has blessed this paradise on earth with many enchanting gifts of nature. It has lush green valleys, torpid hills, meandering roads, dazzling mountains and a numinous air all around. Its unrivalled beauty is also enhanced by vast areas of tea and coffee plantations that extend across the land. Haughty teakwood and sandalwood trees adorn the place and augment its opulence manifold. Coorg is nicknamed as the "Orange Country", for its countless orange groves. With the captivating aroma of coffee, sandalwood and oranges, Coorg imparts a delight to our olfactory senses and ocular pleasure. Coorg is also known as the ‘Scotland of India’.

At 5-30 A.M we reached Kushal Nagar, a picturesque town in Coorg, which is 80 KM from Mysore and 35 KM from Madikeri, the district headquarters of Coorg. Our place of stay was the Parumpara Holiday Resort Coorg, in Kushal Nagar (http://travel.ciao.co.uk/Parumpara_Holiday_Resort_Coorg__7866311). We checked in one of the cottages at this beautiful resort. After freshening ourselves and rejuvenating with refreshments, we moved around the resort. The cottages are located in the midst of coconut and arecanut groves with eye-catching greenery. There is an adventure play park with rope ladders, Rope Bridge, climbing walls, Tarzan swings, sky walk and tree houses and landscaped garden space with hammocks to rest on.

Soon it was dinner time and we walked to the dining hall open all four sides, in front of which is a stage for entertainment. The orchestra was on with folk singers and dancers performing. An adjacent bar was very noisy and the DJ was demonstrating his skills while ladies and gentlemen danced very ‘spiritedly’. The breeze was very pleasant as we walked back to the cottage after a delicious dinner.

In the morning of 9^th May, we were educated by the resort receptionist about the weather in Coorg. It is pleasant throughout the year with a maximum of 35C and a minimum of 25C in the summer and 20C and 9C in the winter. The Manager gave us a brochure showing the places of tourist attraction, and we drove out of the resort to our first destination, Dubare Elephant Camp.

Dubare Elephant Camp.

We reached the banks of river Cauvery and hired a motor boat to reach the other bank. The damp forests of Dubare are the abode for many birds and wild animals. It is a natural island having an area of 11 acres. This is a magnificent picnic location where one can mingle with the nature on the beautiful banks of River Cauvery. The holidaymakers regularly sight wild elephants, stag and spotted deers.

Dubare is mainly an elephant capturing and training camp of the Forest Department. We saw elephants bathing in the river with the mahouts scrubbing and washing their bodies. Some of the visitors were scrubbing the elephants themselves, while some were feeding them. Water rafting is also available and there was no much gushing of water in the river. The guide explained to us that the Indian Bison or Gaur and bears are also seen in these forests and visitors also can get a glimpse of many crocodiles in the waters of River Cauvery at Dubare, and peacocks, kingfishers and woodpeckers.

There is a jungle lodge here with 10 luxurious cottages with attached bath.

The tranquil moments at the forests still linger in our thoughts. We later drove back to the outskirts of Kushal Nagar to visit Cauvery Nisargadhama

Cauvery Nisargadhama

Nisargadhama is a mind-blowing and awesome island off the Karnataka State Highway just 2 km from Kushal Nagar town and around 35 kms from Madikeri. It is an Ecological Park. It is a paradise for nature lovers, both old and young. It is about 64 acres in area with the beautiful Cauvery River flowing around. It is full of thick bamboo groves, sandalwood, rosewood trees and waterfalls. In addition to these tourist attractions, many cottages offer delicious food and staying facilities. Tree top homes and pergolas are also available.

We parked our car on the extensive parking lot and walked along various shops and snack houses. Visitors were thronging to the hanging bridge to reach the island. We stopped at the centre of the narrow hanging bridge and looked down and saw a large number of fish swimming in the clear flowing water. We could see many pedal boats driven by merry- making tourists. As we walked along, we could see a deer park. Many spotted deers were grazing in the park. Many visitors were enjoying elephant rides, especially children.

The tryst with the nature was enchanting as walked back with the hanging bridge giving us oscillating jerks. The shops offered home-made wine from gooseberry, grapes and ginger. I bought a few bottles of grapes and gooseberry wine while my wife bought a few packs of cardamom.

Lunchtime was approaching and we entered a town restaurant and had a nice and sumptuous lunch. We drove back to the cottage. After having a short siesta and a refreshing hot water shower, we were again ready for another outing, this time to the Golden Temple. It was 4-00 P.M.

We drove about 2km on the Mysore highway and turned right to reach the Golden Temple in Bylakuppe at the Buddhist Monastery.

Bylakuppe is a Tibetan settlement, one of many in India. In the late 1950’s, the Dalai Lama changed his residence to India after his strained relations with the Chinese authorities over the latter’s Tibetan policy. A number of Tibetans followed Dalai Lama to India. The then Prime Minister of India, Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru, offered assistance to establish refugee settlements in the cooler parts of India. Bylakuppe is one of those settlements, the first one of its kind, established in 1961. Many Buddhists live here very peacefully. There are many schools, nunneries, temples and monasteries here. Bylakuppe houses one of the largest Buddhist universities called Sera Monastic University. The monasteries practice various traditions of Buddhism.

The tourist attraction is the Golden Temple. Many Buddhists live here. As we entered the premises a grandiose rainbow arch with the inscription ‘NYINGMAPA MONASTERY’ welcomed us. An extensive paved and beautiful yard is surrounded by rectangular buildings. As we entered another gate, a straggling garden with grazing turkeys became visible, inspiring great awe in us, on both sides of the path to the temple. The monks reside in small quarters around the garden. The painting of the temple is very ornate with lively colours. The walls are depicted with tortuous decorations in a repetitive pattern; and frescos of Buddhist themes are also displayed on the walls. Impressive golden images adorn the altar of the Golden Temple. We were overwhelmed to hear Buddhist hymns sung by monks accompanied by Tibetan musical instruments. We forgot that we were in India as the ambience virtually carried us to Tibet. Photography is allowed and we were fortunate to have clicked on the breathtaking images and surroundings of this wonderful temple. The behavior of the tourists was very commendable, very courteous with befitting decorum of such a place of worship.

We did window shopping at the adjacent shopping arcade which had an array of shops selling Tibetan and Nepalese goods. A Tibetan restaurant was very inviting but we did not go in not knowing what to eat. The sun hid below the red horizon and dusk took over. The breeze became cooler as we drove back to the resort.

10^th May 2011

The day broke setting aside a cooler night. We had a heavy south Indian breakfast in preparation for a long drive and the impending visits. Our first visit was planned for TALACAUVERI.

TALACAUVERI

At 10-00 A.M, our car started to move on the Mysore-Madkeri State Highway, a well laid asphalt road. Both sides of the road complimented each other with breathtaking scenic greenery. Talacauveri, our next destination is about 85 kms from Kushal Nagar.

We reached Talacauveri at about 12-30 P.M. The scenery on the way was splendid. As we traversed the mountain road, white clouds were caressing the peaks and the breeze, cooler than before, refreshed and excited us.

Talacauveri is famous being the mountain region where the river Cauvery originates. It is located in the Brahmagiri hill at 4185ft. above the sea level.

The huge arch greeted us and as we walked on the beautifully paved floor, a kind of tranquility spread through our bodies. The sights on both sides were enchanting. We could see a pond at the place where the river Cauvery is said to have originated. At the back of the pond, a temple is situated.

Beside the temple there is a series of 356 steps which lead to the peak from where the hills can be viewed. Visitors were climbing the steps to reach the top.

The feast to our eyes was delicious, and intoxicated with the splendour of nature, we drove down the mountain. On the way we saw many shops selling homemade wines, coffee, tea, spices and forest honey. We stepped into one of the shops. The aroma of fresh ground coffee and spices engulfed us. We bought coffee, honey and tea leaves. It was quite consoling that the products were not adulterated and were very light on our purse.

We reached Madikeri and had lunch at one of the restaurants. Madikeri reminded me of Ooty, with its narrow roads with steep gradients and houses situated on the slopes of the hills. The place had a kind of charm which endeared it to our hearts. The next place of our visit was Abbey Falls.

Abbey Falls

Abbey Falls is a spectacular waterfall where river Cauvery cascades down a rock surface from a height of 70 ft. We drove through narrow roads and reached the entrance to the falls. From the entrance we walked downhill for about 500 metres. Paved steps with wide treads made the gradient easy. Thick coffee plants and tall trees wound with pepper vines adorned both sides of the walkway, imparting soothing coolness to our bodies. All of a sudden we heard the gurgling melody of falling water and the falls became visible. The steps ended at the base of a hanging bridge built across the gorge. We could not take our eyes off the waterfall. We walked on the hanging bridge and stood there for some time as the whole atmosphere enthralled us. The wind brought water particles to our face giving a thrilling feeling.

Raja’s Seat

Raja’s Seat means Seat of the King. This is located at the western end of Madikeri. We reached the garden and bought tickets to enter the premises. It is a beautiful garden very well maintained. Different coloured flowers of various species ornament the garden. As we walked to the end of the garden, the view of the hills and the valley mesmerized us. The far stretching Blue Mountains made us breathless. The valley below was full of paddy fields and forests. Raja’s seat is a small pavilion with eye catching flowers. It is said that the kings came to this place to watch the beautiful sunset and the nature’s unending beauty from here.

We left before sunset and we could not witness that spectacle. As we were about to reach Kushal Nagar, the Rain God was kind enough to shower the blessings. It was awesome to hear the rain falling on the plantations on both sides of the road. The road got washed clean with the rain and so did our car.

The night at Parumpara Resort, Kushal Nagar was cooler with strong breeze blowing from the west while we had our dinner, with the folk music filling the air. The dancers and singers impressed us.

How to Reach Coorg by Air :
The nearest airport to Coorg (Madikeri) lies at Mangalore, about 135 km away. The second nearest airport is at Bangalore – about 250 km from Coorg( Madikeri).

How to Reach Coorg by Rail :
The nearest railway station from Coorg(Madikeri) is at Mysore, about 120 km away. Mysore is well connected to major cities in India by an extensive rail network. The rail stations in Mangalore and Hassan can also be conveniently used for reaching Coorg.

How to Reach Coorg by Road :
Coorg is well connected by road with all major cities in Karnataka. Cities like Mysore (120 km) from Madikeri, Mangalore (135 km), Bangalore (260 km), and Hassan (115 km) are linked by excellent roadways with Coorg.

11 May 2011

For everything, there is an end and so too for our adventurous tour. Checking out, we drove through the familiar roads of Coorg. Our hearts became heavy with the thought of parting with Coorg. But we traversed the beauty laden surroundings with an oath to come back again to be with Mother Nature, hopefully with our son who is expected to come from the USA to Kerala in a few months.

Good Bye Coorg!!!

And Welcome to Coorg!!! for my readers to visit this heavenly place!!!

Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 3

Friday Evening

Fridays were the only holidays in Dubai and the expatriates enjoyed them with great fervour and enthusiasm. Sukumaran got up at 11-00 AM. He had a cup of tea and got ready with a hot shower. He never took breakfast on any day. He dressed in his blue and white striped shirt and covered himself with a woolen coat. He was relaxed as it was a holiday. But his responsibilities were too many. He drove down to Ghusseli to check the excavation work. He parked his car and walked along the sand where the D8’s (D8 bulldozers) were working. The drivers had stopped work and had gone to the nearby mosque on the main road for the Friday prayers. There was good progress of work.

Jashwinder Singh, Foreman ran towards him.

“Sat Sri Akal sirji” he wished Sukumaran.

“Sat Sri Akal”, Sukumaran replied. Sukumaran was very happy to see that one row of labour accommodation was already completed and at the back, toilets and baths were being constructed with cement sand blocks.

“The shovel will be here by 1 O’ clock and I will dig pits for the septic tanks, sirji” Jashwinder said with much enthusiasm. Jashwinder was his favourite foreman as he was very efficient and active.

“Tomorrow, we will complete offices for the Consultants and you, sirji” Jashwinder unfolded his plan for the next day.

Sukumaran was much pleased with the proceedings. He walked back and passed the Bedouin huts. In one of the huts, an Arab, about sixty years old, was smoking Hookah (water pipe). When he saw Sukumaran, he waved at him saying “Thaal, thaal hini” (Come, come here).

Sukumaran walked towards him. The hut was made of khajur leaves, both the walls and the roof. He was sitting outside on a cot. A camel was licking the back of its calf as the calf sucked milk from the mother’s udders.

“Salaam Aalaikum”, the Arab said. The Arab introduced himself in half Arabic and half Urdu. “My name is Baqer Hussain. Please sit down Mohandis (Engineer)”. He offered a wooden chair to Sukumaran. He was surprised how Baqer could know that he was the Engineer.

He said “Aalaikum Salaam. I am engineer Sukumaran”

“I know you are the Engineer. Now I know your name” he laughed.

He brought a big circular receptacle in which there were dates, oranges, apples, grapes and various kinds of dry nuts.

“Please take” he told Sukumaran. His smile was very innocent. His lower teeth were stained and his beard was black and white. His Arab attire was brownish and his head wear was purple in colour with a striped woolen cloth.

Sukumaran knew very well about Arab hospitality which should be reciprocated with good participation in taking what they would offer. He started to eat some dates and dry nuts. Baqer went inside and brought a jug of steaming quawa (a special black coffee) with a few small coffee cups. He poured the coffee in one of the cups and offered it to Sukumaran. He drank the coffee and gave the cup back to Baqer. He filled it again and gave it to Sukumaran. Likewise at least eight times Sukumaran had to drink the coffee.

He told Baqer “it is enough”

Baqer laughed at him and said “if you don’t want more you should move your hand like this with the cup”. Baqer’s hand moved anticlockwise in a shivering action with the cup. “Like this” he said.

Sukumaran had never known about that formality.

There was laughter from inside near the window, the laughter of a young woman. He looked towards the window. The aroma of Arabic perfumes filled the air. He saw a pair of beautiful eyes; the face was covered in a black burqa. She disappeared as Sukumaran was looking at her.

“My daughter, Raffia” Baqer said.

Sukumaran thanked Baqer and said goodbye to him.

While driving back to Dubai, her pair of eyes was following him while her laughter was ringing in his ears.

The fish biriyani from Al Hamra Restaurant was very tasty for Sukumaran, especially after consuming two cans of Carlsberg beer. His experience at the Bedouin hut that morning was quite enchanting to him. He wrote a letter to his mother about the new project. He wanted to share his happiness with his mother and sister through the letter. At a stage, tears blocked his vision while writing, as he was missing all of them. The financial difficulties of his family were slowly vanishing as he was sending money drafts to them every month. It was the final year for her sister in the college for her degree in English. She would be twenty one years when she would graduate. He wanted her to go for a training course in teaching, so that he could try to bring her to Dubai for a possible employment in one of the schools. He thought that age of twenty three to twenty four would be ideal for her to get married. His mother had also agreed for that probability.

A nap of about one hour refreshed him. It was 5-00 P.M and he had a hot shower. Gopiyettan (an elderly person who was working in the British Bank of the Middle East) had invited him for dinner at his house.

He drove his car quite slowly enjoying the weather through his open windows. The weather was getting a little warmer as clouds were gathering in the sky. An impending shower of rain was in the cards, but it would drop down the temperature, he mused. He stopped at the Bur Dubai post office to post his letter to his mother. Indian and Pakistani workers were seen everywhere in their best dresses. At the Plaza cinema, they were screening a Hindi movie.

He drove straight through the Strand Cinema round about and turned towards Karama. Gopiyettan was staying in one of the small villas. When he knocked at his door, Gopiyettan opened the door wearing a dhoti and a thorthu (a piece of cloth) on his right shoulder.

He greeted Sukumaran with his loving trade mark smile. On the centre table at the sofa set were glasses and a bottle of Dimple Scotch whiskey. He had already started drinking. He took another sip and started to pour some in another glass for Sukumaran.

“Gopiyettan, not now please. I will have later” Sukumaran pleaded.

“Nothing doing, start” it was an order by Gopiyettan.

Gopiyettan was a very senior employee in his bank and it was his twelfth year of employment with the British Bank. He was diabetic, but he would not care to control his alcoholism. He had wasted a lot of money on liquor. He always wanted company to drink and he had a permit for buying liquor which enabled him to entertain his guests and himself with all kinds of alcohol. Bachelors would throng to him in most evenings for drinks and when they get married they would avoid him. That hurt Gopiyettan very much. Still he would not stop his habit of patronizing liquor parties.

Gopiyettan’s brother– in–law, who was also staying with him, joined us. He was a great cook and that evening’s delicacies were prepared by him.

“Is the cooking finished?” Gopiyettan asked Unnikkuttan, his brother–in- law.

He smiled and answered in the affirmative. His head was fully bald and small pox marks were seen scattered on his cheeks and forehead.

The drinking session continued. Sukumaran was in a controlled state. So was Unnikkuttan.

“Ammu, serve the dinner. Where are you?” Gopiyettan was searching for her. Ammu was his wife staying in Kerala.

That was his usual behaviour when he was drunk beyond limits.

He spread the thorthu on his chest and started to act like a woman.

“Have you seen Kalyana Sowganthikam kathakali?” he questioned them. “You know I was trained at the Kalamandalam in Cheruthuruthy”. He started to move in steps of Kathakali movements as Panchali.

Unnikkutan said “Suku we should stop now, let me arrange the dinner on the table.”

“Nothing doing. Unni do you think I am drunk? I am not. Pour one more for me. This is an order” Gopiyettan’s tongue was not in his control. His steps were staggering.

Sukumaran said “Gopiyetta, let us stop and eat the dinner”

“Look, you are also like Unni. You think I am drunk. I am never drunk”. With that he fell on the sofa backwards.

Unni said “let him lie down for a while. Let us eat. I will wake him up later and make him eat.”

Sukumaran felt so much pitiful for Gopiyettan. He could not enjoy the dinner. Unni made Gopiyettan lie properly on the sofa and covered him with a blanket.

Sukumaran left the house. He drove carefully.

Another Friday was about to end during the winter season of a year in the late 1970’s at the city of Dubai.

Novel - The Desert Rose - Chapter - 2

Thursday Night

At 4 o’ clock, he went to his office. Mr Ibrahim Fardan, one of the partners of the company, was waiting for him to know about the day’s developments. He showed the Demarcation Certificate to him.

“We need to arrange the D8’s from tomorrow. The site is full of sand in dunes and we need to establish the levels from the benchmark from the Municipality Points. Tomorrow, itself we need to start excavation for the first group of villas” the Engineer explained to Ibrahim.

“I have already asked Kuffiffi to arrange the same for you. They will work on Friday. We need to construct the labour quarters from tomorrow. Abdulla, the General Foreman will shift some workers. The purchase department is arranging 4mm plywood and the required white wood for you, by the end of today.” Ibrahim said.

“Alright. Today is the date of start of the project and we have six months to complete this eight million dirhams project. We will work twenty four hours and all days in the week” he told Ibrahim. “It is my goal to finish the project in five months”. His words were full of confidence.

“I hope for the best.” Ibrahim said.

“Yes, Ibrahim, it is a challenge. I love challenges”, he said.

“Good Luck, Sukumaran” Ibrahim wished him.

That Thursday evening was special to Sukumaran. It was the start of a dream project, the largest project by his company. He was instrumental in getting the project awarded to his company, as he had tendered for the project with the most competitive rates. In fact M/s Tariq & Associates, the Consultants of the project had commented that the rates were very low and the Contractor might not complete the work on time. But Ibrahim’s influence in the Ruler’s Office fetched him the project after he had promised that he would complete the project on time.

Sukumaran thought, I am two years old in this company and I need to prove myself and I will finish the project before time with good profit to the company.

Fernando brought “Red Label Johnywalker” bottles for the evening. Fernando was the chief accountant of the company. Being a Goan, he was a very good cook. He took care of the kitchen and started to prepare his usual fried rice with sausages and tasty sauces.

Sukumaran had a hot water bath and deposited himself on the black sofa set in front of the black and white TV. He switched on the Sony three-in-one player and inserted the LP record of Demis Russos. It started to play the song, “Good Bye My Love”

Meanwhile, Fernando opened one Johnywalker bottle and poured a large for Sukumaran. He took two sips at a time, as Demis Russos continued his songs.

Sukumaran thought about his family at home, back in India. His sister had told him when he was about to leave for Dubai “Brother, I wish you all the best and I promise you I will graduate with flying colours”, her voice was choking.

He hugged her and said “And I promise you I will arrange a good groom for you”.

His mother was sobbing and told him “Take care of your health. Don’t worry about us, we will all pray for you, for your prosperity. She wiped her tears with her sari.

Sukumaran’s heart ached to leave all his loving ones.

He said “I will fulfill my mother’s wishes, and will keep up my promise to get Sridevi the best husband a girl can have.”

Sridevi, his sister, laughed through her tears and hugged him again.

“You are very slow this evening” Fernando said and poured another small peg of whisky for Sukumaran.

“Fernando, please change the record, Demis Russos is very sentimental and he is putting me off. Play El Bimbo by Paul Mauriat. Let me uplift my mood”. Sukumaran emptied his glass in one sip. The pungent liquid spread fire to his throat and then travelled like lava down his gullet to his innocent starving stomach.

Abdul Halim Hafiz, the Egyptian singer, was on TV singing his famous song “Ahwak"

Sukumaran’s heart sank as the song spread pathos in the air. The intoxication level was rising and his eyes filled up.

He closed his eyes and there she was with her captivating smile.

“Suku, I Love you more than anything in the world’. She clung to him as their lips met for a long time in inseparable love. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“But, it is impossible. I can never make you mine” he said.” You belong to someone”

She did not answer, but instead she hugged him closely with her lips glued on to his.

Fernando’s voice brought him to the present. Sukumaran poured another small peg of the liquor. He splashed a few ice cubes into his glass and gulped the fiery liquid. His eyes were red and his actions were becoming involuntary.

“This is for your success in starting the new project” Fernando raised his glass in a toast.

It was 11-00 PM, when Sukumaran started to drive his car to Deira. Fernanado was very confident as Sukumaran was the best driver while drunk. A few Arab youths were blaring their car horns as they sped past. At the Deira Cinema the night show was on. Chilly wind blew from the nearby desert and Fernando kept down the shutters of the car.

Being Thursday night, the Deira Restaurant was full with Arabs, local and expatriates. Sukumaran and Fernando sat at a vacant table. A pot tummied waiter, a Lebanese, approached them to take the order.

Sukumaran ordered the usual kababs with Lebanese bread, homuz and salads (Lebanese delicacies).

While the food was eaten, the intoxication reached its azimuth for them and their eating went on uncontrollably. By the time they stopped, two dozens of kababs had passed through their mouths full of saliva to their eating bags below.

Sukumaran drove the car very immaculately with much more care than of a sobre person. When they passed the Clock Tower round about, the needles showed the time as 2-00 A M, on Friday.