A Short Story

Wooden Heart

He returned from the college at 3-45 P.M. As usual, he went to the bathroom for his bath. He immersed the bucket at the end of the coir rope, in the well, the wooden pulley making a noise like the Panchari Melam for the Pooram festival. He poured the cold water on his head. Closing his eyes he enjoyed the bliss of relaxation. He applied sandalwood soap to his naked body. Wrapping a towel he came out of the bathroom.

He stood in front of the mirror and enjoyed looking at his body. He sprinkled “Remy” talcum powder over his chest and armpits. He applied one coat of Lacto Calamine lotion on his face and forehead and followed it by a coat of talcum powder. He spread the powder on his face. He applied one more coat of Lacto Calamine over the coat of powder and leveled to his satisfaction. With a circular plastic hairbrush he did his hair.

He had some snacks and coffee. He dressed up and got out. The gate house door had a wooden latch. He lifted the latch on one side and pulled it to the right. The wooden door opened with a screeching noise. At the opposite gate, stood the watchman of the Aftercare Shelter. He smiled at him with his naked upper gum. Neelandan, Velayudhan, Fake and Harizatto Korizoni were all dressed up to go somewhere. They too smiled at him.

He walked further. At the left turning to the narrow lane Varasyar stood with a toothy smile. Her nose was wet and brown creamy tobacco snuff tried to drop out of her nose. He smiled at her. It was a day of smiles for him. He walked further. The bamboo cluster on the right danced in the wind that played flute in a rhythmic raga. He looked to the right with anticipation. He saw her waiting for him, smiling at him from afar, in her blue skirt and white blouse. Empranthiri of the lodge next to his house had nicknamed her “Jyotsna”. But he never liked him for that reason. Because, she was his and not anybody else’s.

The stench of the lavatory of the house of “Vandikkari” (Lady Owner of a cart) pierced his nostrils. The lady was nick-named Elizabeth Taylor as she had green eyes. At the culvert where the mud track ended and joined the asphalt road, Paul was sitting looking at the sky. The transformer made more noise that day. In front of the small laundry at the corner, Balan’s wife was fanning the iron box. White smoke escaped with every sideward movement of the fan. As she saw him, she bent more to exhibit her bosom to him with a mischievous smile. On the right of the road was the tea shop where every morning people assembled and had tea smoking beedies.

He walked up the gradient and looked to the left. Swami, owner of the tile factory was setting the accounts right. He waved at him. White smoke escaped into the atmosphere through the chimneys, spreading a smell all around. At the bus stop, TMT bus was standing and passengers were alighting. He walked further. Nair’s hotel was not crowded. It was there that he had his food regularly when his mother went to his native place. The meals were very delicious with rice and mutton curry, all available for thirty five paisa. On to the right of the hotel, at a raised level was her house. She was there. Her eyes met with his glances with a deep fire in them. She would never miss him on any day.

Balan Menon sat on a bench outside his grocery shop. When he smiled his protruded tooth became very conspicuous. The Military café was displaying in its glass shelf, all kinds of edibles. The village library was getting populated and the loudspeaker was blaring out some transmission of All India Radio. Lazar was busy in dispensing grocery materials at his shop. Mandi looked like a bear with grey hair on his chest and tummy. He had an appearance of a wicked man like Shylock, but he was very good-hearted.

At the bridge, he could hear the gurgling noise of the flowing water. It imparted coolness all over his body. As he walked further, he saw that notorious tree where a man had hanged himself to death. It was a macabre sight, the other day. He always walked faster when he reached that spot. He did not want to remember that incident.

School students were returning from the city, boys and girls in uniforms. Most of them were carrying the books without a bag. The girls held them close to their bodies, hiding their ever growing buds on one side, and at the same time displaying the other side’s buds to one’s delight. He walked inside to Girija Theatre. A Tamil film was being screened there. The aroma from the canteen was very appetizing. He ordered two banana bajjis (a banana preparation) and a hot glass of tea. He bit one of the the bajjis, but could not bite the whole banana, which was hanging as a small linear piece. Rejuvenated with the snacks and tea, he went to the ticketing area where the photo blocks of the current movie and the coming movies were displayed.

While the spectators were slowly gathering, he walked out of the compound and turned right on the road. Where the asphalt road ended and the concrete road started, there were many potholes. Dark brown clothed missionaries walked into the church on to the left. The violinist played the same tune which he was hearing for the last few days. He stopped at Vallath Gopi’s house. Gopi smiled at him with his teeth spaced with gaps. His eyes were red as usual, but it was due to an allergy as he explained and not due to alcoholic consumption.

On the left was the Mascot House, the house of the affluent Iyer who owned a tutorial institution in the city. The left narrow lane ended at the Thandasseri house where he had stayed with his family a few years back. On the verandah of that house he had played caroms with bottle caps on a wooden plank, while an inquisitive Dharmu was looking at him. While the scavengers removed the human waste from the toilet and deposited it in the wheeled carrier, he had closed his nose, and so had the people on the road when the carrier was trawled along the city that boasted of the cultural heritage.

The next house was very interesting to him. Every day there stood a plump girl wearing a half sari which tried to conceal her shapely curves and glanced at him with eyes filled with utmost romance. Not a single day he would miss her. That day she ushered him inside the compound. He was surprised at the unusual behaviour of the girl. She handed over an envelope to him. She did not speak a word. She looked at him intently for a few seconds with damp eyes and ran inside the house. He folded the envelope and deposited it in his shirt pocket. He did not want to read the letter standing on the road.

He marched forward and reached the junction. On to the right was the Poonkunnam road. The gate at the level crossing was closed and the motorists were getting restless, as the Cochin – Madras Express sped along the tracks blowing its whistle melodiously. On the left Kuttappan wearing a vest was packing sugar for a customer, coughing regularly and spitting the sputum on to the road. Further up the gradient, Sivarama Iyer, the dentist seemed to have had more dozes of alcohol as he was swaying both sides like a plant in the wind. His smile was involuntary with his lips directed to one side. A little more ahead was the T-junction of the Thiruvambady temple. He stood at the entrance and prayed for all good things to come. The road on to the right would lead to the Office of the Superintendent of Post Offices with a red name board. There his father had worked. The red bicycle used by Narayanan Nair had helped him a lot for his cycle riding training.

When he reached Naikanal, he met his classmate and the erstwhile lodge roommate. They walked together to Mani’s café and sat on the chairs at the inner part of the café. On the left side, at The Rama Varma Theatre, the rush was not that much as a Hindi movie was being exhibited.

They stopped eating when the number of dosas (a rice preparation) eaten by them totalled sixteen. The ambi brought coffee in brass coloured containers. The taste was good as certified by his friend. They walked a full round and his friend said goodbye to him and went inside Vengu lodge. On to the left, pot bellied marvaris, the Lal brothers, were minting money by selling ornaments and diamonds.

At the bus stop near the Devaki dairy, he waited for a bus to go back to his house. Vazhani bus stopped and he rushed inside and milled through the standing crowd. He paid twenty paisa for the ticket and when the conductor who was standing near him blew the whistle, there was a spray of red coloured saliva escaping his betel chewing mouth.

He got down from the bus at the Company gate stop and walked hurriedly to his house. The radio was playing the last Tamil song transmitted by Radio Ceylon. He removed his sweaty shirt and took the letter to the front verandah. He sat on the wooden chair and kept his feet on the dwarf wall. Leaning back to the wall, he opened the envelope.

There was a photo card of the Taj Mahal and a white paper on which hand written texts were visible. The letter displayed:

Dearest….

I do not even know your name. But months back, on a rainy day, you came to the verandah of my house to escape from the rain as you did not have an umbrella with you. I looked at you and I fell in love with you at first sight. I did not care to know whether you reciprocated my feelings or not. But I was worshipping you in my heart and every day I was standing at the gate of my house to get a glimpse of you. We never talked. You did not come on a few occasions and I would not sleep those nights. I had idolized you. Every day you had smiled at me and I had attained an unknown bliss when you smiled at me.

My name is Radha and I have kept a name for you, Krishna. Radha and Krishna never attained their love. And I would never, too. My family is leaving tomorrow permanently to another place. This is the last day of my meeting with you. I may be owned by someone else in the future, but my soul will always carry a tear for you. Tonight I will build my Taj Mahal in this house. I will bury my love in a coffin and leave it here. When you pass this house tomorrow like every day, you will find the house locked, but my painful and deep sighs will be inside.

I love you Krishna……

Your (?) Radha

There was a sudden thump on his wooden heart. He felt a blow on his heart which shed away all hard coverings, exposing his real heart. It ached for a while, for her…..an ache of a Krishna for a Radha.

Elvis Presley was singing in the English Service of Radio Ceylon his famous song.

Can't you see

I love you

Please don't break my heart in two

That's not hard to do

'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

And if you say goodbye

Then I know that I would cry

Maybe I would die

'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

There's no strings upon this love of mine

It was always you from the start

Treat me nice

Treat me good

Treat me like you really should

'Cause I'm not made of wood

And I don't have a wooden heart