The Cuckoo that Flew Away-1

The Cuckoo that Flew Away

A Tamil story by Vaiyavan

Translated by C. G. Rishikesh

Early morning. Heavy mist had lifted and there was little haze now. The forest woke up to its bustle. The soft rays of the sun slipped through tall trees and penetrated into a hut that stood near bushes atop a mound. Jeevanandham stirred. The heavy blanket did not cover his head. The sunlight fell on his face and he felt a gentle, blessed touch as if he had been kissed by a child. He opened his eyes, lifting his left hand glanced at the watch. But it had stopped. He shook off the blanket and sat up on the bed.

From somewhere an ineffable smell of freshly-blossomed flowers wafted in and he felt his senses stimulated. Steeped in that happy moment, he gently rubbed his jaw. The stubble on his face pricked his hand though it was rugged. He realised that he had not shaved for the past week and a half. Living as he was in a forest by forgetting the sadness and sacrificing his comforts, he did not bother about the growing beard.

He moved out of his bed, rolled it and pushed it away. As he rose he hit his head against the central pole of his low hut.

"Appa..." he said and gently rubbed where it hurt. He bent down and stretched his hand to a niche in the wall. There was a medley of things there - books, box of bullets, comb... He managed to ferret out the bundle of neem sticks cut neatly and tied up together. It triggered some thoughts of the past in him. It was Nisha who usually brought those sticks and kept them there.

What a lovely girl, this Nisha!

 He pulled out a stick, put it in his mouth and even as he started biting it, he bent carefully and stepped out of the hut. As the tall and robust man drew up to his full stature amidst the imposing trees around him, it was as if Man's powerful ambitions had all gathered up and stood. For such a man, existence in a hut might well be a sort of punishment. Just a little movement, you hit against the wall or roof. You can just sit or lie down, with the body flat on the ground. Even that comfort he got with Nisha's help. If he had had no recommendation from her, her father would not have provided him this facility in the face of suspicious looks and doubtful talks from the local people. As had forgotten his boots, he stretched his hand into the hut the door ajar and pulled them out.

He shut the door and started walking on the mountain like a soldier with firm footsteps and swaying his arms. Nisha dominated his thoughts now. The tribal woman did not bother about where he came from, who he was and how long he would stay there. But she was friends with him and moved with him in a very innocent way, chatting quite pleasantly, laughing now and then. By this the bitterness that was in his heart and the sense of loneliness that he had from the jungle life slowly receded. Her acquaintance appeared to him like the cool light from a star or like pellucid, pure and sweet water.

Sun had come up from the horizon. 

'Malladoi...’ shouted someone from afar.  It was as though the heart of the forest had received a shock. The sound rose in waves and then gradually faded away. Black smoke from the ovens in villagers' houses on the West curled up like black rangolis against the blue sky. The happy chirps from birds and the sweet fragrance from flowers added to the serenity of the atmosphere. These filled even the rugged heart of Jeevanandam with thoughts of how pleasant life is.

The momentary pleasure did not last long as there was a terrible noise of a rifle shot from among the trees and clumps of bushes in the east.  Frightened birds crying 'kaa', ‘kee’ or ‘koo" shrieked and flew away. 

Jeevanandam stood stock-still.  Who could have shot so early in the day? Fear gripped him. Hunters wouldn't be out so early. Usually hunting parties would occasionally come to the village to bag hyena, wild buffalo or black leopard. But if any had come, he would have seen them the previous day as they would recce before starting out. If he had not seen any himself, at least Nisha would have told him.

Or... or... was it the police?

Jeevanandam stood rigidly as if transfixed to the ground. His forehead creased and his eyebrows knitted. He bit his lower lip along with the neem stick. He waited to hear any further gunshot. But none came as a full minute passed. Nor was there any footfall. Was it a tribal who had shot a stork with a leaden pellet? Summoning some courage, he held the neem stick between fingers, cupped both hands in front of his mouth and bellowed, “Who's that?”

He received a mere echo and no answer. He heard some sounds coming rhythmically from a distance.   He sharpened his ear. It seemed to be the sound of a horse - ’clip-clop’.  Horse, gunshot. What’s happening in this generally peaceful forest? He couldn’t guess. But in his heart of hearts he felt a danger light flashing. He paused for a while and then he went down a path towards the south.

The short path led him to a large clearing. Below a waterfall was running, glittering in the golden rays of the sun falling upon it. Rocks here and there were in its way but it flowed merrily in a zig-zag manner. Amidst the waterfall there was a well-sculpted Vinayaka temple built lovingly by a devoted forest official years ago. Every Friday a priest would come from a nearby village in the plains and perform puja. There were steps behind the temple. Those who did not know how to swim and those who were overawed by the waterfall would come by that way.

Jeevanandam came out of his reverie as he heard the sound of someone gargling and spitting water at the stream. He saw Nisha bathing. She had tied up her jet-black hair on the top of her head. A part of her golden back was visible above the water level. She had not noticed Jeevanandam coming. So she was swimming with abandon.  As she beat the water with her strong arms, the swaying of the powerful shoulders was beautiful. Tribal women were generally dark-skinned but Nisha was rose-tinted and stood out like an angel among them. She was a dream girl among the youths in that hilly region and it is possible some tiffs might ensue among them to win her hand.

As Nisha was swimming with sinuous movements, she shone like a snake. The stream ran for a few metres and turned eastwards and descended into somewhere. She was unmindful of any sudden  onrush of water and swam sportfully. Jeevanandam stood there, and admired the scene as he might a lovely picture. He did not have any lustful emotions. 

Now Nisha saw him. “Jeeva, go away! Go...” she shouted and, waving her hand, swam towards the land.

Jeeva felt as if a big bright flower was coming floating in the water towards him. “Why should I go,” he asked mischievously.

“Ayyo, Don’t stand here. Aren’t you ashamed?” she said, still not coming out of water as she was still in sparse dress. “If my folks happen to see the two of us together like this,,, uff... uff... they won’t spare you,” she spoke, breathing heavily.

Jeevanandam, forgetting the shock and fright that he had experienced a while ago, laughed.

“Why should I feel ashamed in your presence? Go and tell your father that I saw you bathing at the river. He wouldn’t mistake me.”

Nisha’s face reddened deeper. “Oh, you’ve become so bold...Now, will you let me alone?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Is that so?” So saying, she swam towards a heap of stones near the temple. Still standing in the water, she tried to pick up a small stone. As she extended a hand, pearly drops of water on her strong, ivory-coloured shoulder and elbow glittered in the sunlight.

Jeevanandam caught the stone that whizzed towards him. “Now, shall I hurl it back?” he lifted his hand and made as if he would suit action to word.

“Try,” Nisha said and dived into the water

Jeevanandam threw down the stone and went and hid himself behind a rock.

Not finding him as she lifted her head from water and looked, Nisha called, “Jeeva... Jeeva...”

From behind the rock where he was cleaning his drawn-out tongue with the neem stick, he said, “I am lurking here. Quick, Nisha!... dry yourself and dress up! I need to bathe.”

“Ah, now you’re acting like a good man. No, I won’t come to the land. You had better keep waiting there.”

“What, are you trying to fool me? Now, I will take off my shirt, come out and jump into the water.”

“No, no...” Nisha protested. “ I will come up.”

Jeevanandam threw away the neem stick and sat leaning against a rock. He stretched out his legs and swayed the feet this side and that. He felt the warmth from sunlight that fell on him. The cool breeze that wafted from areas where sunlight had not yet penetrated touched his face as from the pallu of a young woman’s sari.  Jeevanandam shut his eyes. He now heard the jingle of the bangles and toe rings as Nisha came towards him. Yet he didn’t open his eyes. The sounds that he had caught had now fallen silent. Did Nisha stand before him?

 “What, is the baby sleeping? Now is the time to throw a stone on his head,” said Nisha in a sweet, lilting voice.  Jeevanandam opened his eyes and laughed. As she had just come from bathing, her face was as fresh as a just-blossomed rose and a bright smile danced on her red lips that appeared smooth as spotless alabaster. She stood there like an angel. Jeevanandam stared at her. 

“Ayye, why do you look at me like that?” she asked.

“You look so beautiful, Nisha,” he said.

She laughed tinklingly. The still-moist kameez made out of thin tribal cloth that was draped over her youthful body brought a deep, rare sense of peace and well-being in Jeevanandam. He kept looking at the silver toe-rings that adorned her sandalwood-like legs. He did not want to break the silence. And she too kept quiet. After a few moments, he remembered the report of a gunshot that he had heard earlier.

“Nisha, did any of your tribesmen go out on hunting?” 

“Our people? No, none went. But why do you ask?”

“Then did any outsider come? Didn’t you hear the sound of a shotgun going off?”

Nisha’s face brightened up.

“Oh. you mean that?  Yes, I too heard the noise.  A new forest officer has come. He is tall and fair. He rides on a milk-white horse. I came across him earlier this morning. I believe his wife too has come and is staying in the forest bungalow.”

The forest officer is a powerful authority as far as a particular forest is concerned. But if he indulges in a peccadillo with any local woman, the tribal people in other forests would mercilessly kill him. In this forest, the folks know the consequences of breaking the law.  They have learnt it the bitter way. So they gave due respect to the office. The former officer was an old and likeable person.  He had clasped Jeevanandam as a friend of his. He did not bother to delve into Jeevanandam’s past or personal life. But the new officer...who is he? what kind of a man is he? Jeevanandam put both his hands in trouser pockets, looked up at the cloudless sky and heaved a big sigh.

Nisha pulled his right hand from the pocket and curled her cool fingers around it and queried, “What’s bugging you, Jeeva?”

 “Oh, nothing. OK, you get along. We will meet this evening,” he said and started taking off his shirt as a prelude to bathing. She opened her dark eyes widely and after briefly staring at him she turned towards the mountain path.

* * *

The old Englishman was not at his home. The handyman at home, when asked where his boss had gone, said he had gone to inspect his lands. He didn’t have much holdings but he used modern cultivation methods to get decent earnings from them so he could make a comfortable living. He spent his spare time by imparting education to children of the forest and teaching them how to lead a proper, civilised life.

Jeevanandam saw the old Englishman - William Johnson was his name - some ten feet away. It was a rare sight. The old man was tilling the ground with two bulls tied to the harness. He had a sturdy body like that of a wrestler. He rose to some six feet and had wide shoulders. His hair and beard were all white. His age could be put at some 65, but he had become worn-out and weary. Four or five tribals stood around him and watched him doing work.

“Hello! Good morning, sir,” Jeevanandam said, starting to speak in English. He returned the greeting, “Good morning, Jeevanandam” without stopping his work.

“What sir, why are you working hard under the sun? If you had asked, these men would have happily worked for you.” He still used English.

“Excuse me, Jeeva. Please speak to me in Tamil.  When I know Tamil that’s your mother tongue, I think your using English doesn’t seem right to me.” He spoke these words in calm and unhurried manner. He was a disciplinarian. He will feel sorry for wrongs wherever he sees them, whoever does them. He has been living in Tamil Nadu for 20 years now. He could speak very well in everyday, colloquial Tamil.

“Sorry sir, I feel ashamed,”

“No, no. Nothing to feel sorry about. As long as you understand what I mean... Ah, what did you ask me? Why I am toiling under the sun? Look here! I don’t expect such a question from a young man like you. Millions of years ago this world was just mud and stones. It was the hard work and sweat that brought about development - machines. houses and a whole lot of civilisation. If people had flinched from working because of heat from the sun and other inconveniences, would  you be able to see all these advancements, asked Mr. Johnson.

He stopped tilling, pulled out a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped the sweat that was running down his reddened face. He then took out his pipe from the shirt pocket, filled it with tobacco. He groped for the match box but did not find it. He looked up at Jeevanandam. “Do you have matches?’

“Oh yes,” Jeevanandam began to go near him.

“No, no. Throw it from there.”

As he flung the box, Johnson caught it happily with an alacrity that a young man might have envied. He lit the pipe, put it in his mouth and still biting it grasped the tiller. The work had been mostly done and just a couple of more rounds remained to cover the whole plot.

“Yes, Mr. Jeeva.  What’s the news?” Johnson asked even as he drew a few puffs from his pipe and resumed his work.

“Nothing important... I believe a new forest officer has come...”

“True,” he said. “I met him a while ago. What about him?” He then seemed to have remembered something suddenly. “Oh, you seem to be worried over what you had confided in me. Don’t lose heart. I don’t think there will be any big trouble from this officer. He feels a little self-important and is proud of the authority that he possesses. That’s a weakness in some men. Don’t worry, Jeeva. In my country and in this, I have come across many fugitives from law.”

Mr. Johnson finished his work and came out of the field. He drew the iron plough and the ropes effortlessly by his left hand and walked to Jeevanandam and lovingly patted him with his right hand. The streaks of deep red on his face from hard work and the sun made one feel respectful towards him..

The buzz of beetles and the clip-clop of his boots created a sad, eerie rhythm in the forest. They neared Johnson’s home. Away from the roaming beasts, the British-style house stood in all its splendour.

Jeevanandam turned to the Englishman to take leave of him when Johnson said, “Come, let’s have some tea.” Though it might be a little discourteous to turn down his invitation, Jeevanandam was not in a mood to accept it. 

”No, thanks, sir. I had tea just some time ago. May I take your leave?” Jeevanandam folded his hands and left.

* * *

Mr. William Johnson was born into a respectable family in southern England. His parents, though not wealthy and propertied, brought him up as a true Christian. When he was 25 years of age, he came to India at the invitation of his uncle who was a lieutenant in the army. After having spent years in Bombay and Uttar Pradesh, he came to this forest region with his wife and only son. Within five years, his son died of malaria. Within two years of this, his wife was mauled and killed by a tiger in the forest.  Mr. Johnson’s parents in England too had passed away and other relatives were scattered. Having become lonely, he did not wish to return to his motherland.      

When Jeevanandam was freed of thoughts about the gentleman, he heard horse’s hooves close by. Before he could turn back and see, he was hit on the shoulder by the butt of a rifle. He fell down near a wayside bush.

He looked up angrily. A fair-coloured man in brown hunting gear and a hat, who was on a horse, pulled up the reins. He had a scowl on his face and his lips were curled in a disparaging smile. The rifle he held in his left hand shone brilliantly.  The white horse, healthy and with a shiny coat, flipped its tail.

“What, man? Didn’t you hear horse’s hooves? Why didn’t you move to the side?” the man asked haughtily.

Jeevanandam’s teeth gnashed. From what he had heard the villagers say, he guessed the man he was facing must be the new forest officer. He decided not to antagonise him at the very first encounter.

“This is a trail for walkers,” he said politely. “If you wished, you could have gone the other way.”

“Is it so?” he said and looked at Jeevanandam from top to bottom. He then let out a low whistle.

“Who are you? How long have you been staying in this forest?”

“I have been here in this forest for two-three months, but I haven’t met you so far. Who are you, may I know?”

The man on the horse, with a scowl on his face, said,  “I came to work only this morning. I am forest officer I. C. Thyagarajan.” He switched the reins to his left hand and extended his right hand  towards Jeevanandam.

“I am Jeevanandam.” He grasped the outstretched hand. “I take care of Mr. William Johnson’s lands. I also manage the school that he runs.”

“Have you been in the Forces?,” asked Thyagarajan. “I see that you have a soldierly walk with shoulders going up and down.” Jeevanandam was taken aback.

“Bye for now. We will meet later,” Thyagarajan said and waving his hands left. Jeevanandam watched his back as he was descending a slope. He couldn’t gauge whether Thyagarajan’s question was just casual or whether it had any all-knowing, deeper meaning. He looked at the receding figure on the white horse with some disgust.