The cuckoo that flew away-3

3

Jeevanandam’s early life as a poor orphan was spent in hs uncle’s life in Ambur kasbha. Their one-storeyed building was next to a similar one that belonged to Ganga’s family. Those were pleasant days. They ran in his mind like a film roll in his mind’s eye.

Jeevanandam’s uncle, Balakrishna Mudaliar, worked as an accountant in a large leather godown in Ambur. As he had married late, when Jeevanandam went to his house he had some six kids. He was very fond of his nephew to whom he spared the upstairs with its room.

Balakrishna Mudaliar’s house and the next-door house stood cheek-by-jowl.  Apart from the single room, the terrace was open with a grilled parapet wall.

It was the time when he had finished school and had begun attending college in Vaniyambadi, near Ambur. He had learnt that new tenants had moved next door.  But he had no introductions.

One early morning he was reading with lights on. He was absorbed in his task when he heard

the click of a light being switched on and the tinkling of glass bangles. He turned his head. The terrace of the adjacent building was level. In the bright light thrown by the electric lamp as sunlight was just appearing,  he saw a young girl drying her hair with a towel which she later hung on the clothesline. Jeeva, surprised and with his curiosity perked up, stood idly. Fair-complexioned and with a grand smugness settled in her face, she had let fall her thick hair and was running her fingers through the strands for it to lose moisture in the gentle breeze.  It seemed to him that Maha Mangai had come down to earth for Bhagiratha penance. He had seen such a panting of Ravi Varma. She stood with her long eyes closed as if enjoying the breeze. She.had a gentle smile on her lips. She had not noticed Jeeva. So the full beauty and grace of the girl stood out at that matutinal time.

Suddenly the voice of a Muslim fakir singing as he was walking on the street was heard.  She looked over the parapet wall and turned her head. She was startled to see a young man looking at her with surprise in his eyes. She switched off the light and went away.

Now Jeeva recollected himself. ‘How foolishly have I been staring at the girl!’ he thought. ‘What could she have gauged about me?’ he regretted. But on that day there was a spring in every movement of his. The beautiful image that he had seen at dawn kept appearing again and again amidst his activities that day.

He expected her to come up to the terrace the next day also. But he saw her only on the street on his way to college. She was holding the books in her arms close to her chest and goiug to school. As he saw her walking proudly but modestly with dainty steps, her head lowered slightly, there wasn’t any drop in his wonderment from looking at her the previous day. At the bus stand she went past him. Her face and her carriage were etched in his mind.

The stately figure of the next-door girl, her kindness and the brightness of her smile - all brought a certain liveliness and vivacity in his life.

Each understood the language of the heart of the other. In a few days a certain familiarity developed as they had eye contacts and smiled. Though Jeevanandam was on the threshold of youthfulness, he did not allow himself to succumb to temptations. He had lost both his parents and was grateful for his uncle’s support and was eager to climb up in life. The next-door girl’s stately appearance, kindness, her smile radiating brightly from  her heart - all these imparted a certain agility to his life.

Her coming to the terrace to dry her hair in the sun when he is in his room studying became an everyday practice. There was not a word of conversation between them. Each had scarcely heard the other’s voice in close range. If someone calls her from downstairs, she would say ‘Coming...’ and descend the steps.

Outside on the street she might have heard him speaking to somebody. The aspirations of their hearts grew at a distance of two yards. They exchanged mere glances and respectful smiles. A dignified and a true love was growing quietly without any fanfare.

Jeevanandam later gathered some information about her from his aunt. She belonged to a Maharashtrian family. Her father is a sub-registrar. He is of a good disposition. Her name is Ganga. Jeevanandam was taken aback when he came to know of the name. For it so uncannily resonated with the wave that rose in his heart when he first saw her and noted her beauty and quiet dignity. He learned that she had a sister by name Nithya and two brothers, all school-going.

Jeevanandam had the habit of going to the riverside on holidays and reading there sitting under the coconut grove.  But of late he stayed put in his room upstairs. Ganga too preferred to come up to the terrace of their house to sit and read undisturbed by the noise the younger siblings made. But neither could concentrate even on a single page. Each would look at the other. When she catches his eye she would look downwards coyly and smile politely. Jeeva, ashamed that he had been caught in the inappropriate act of ogling,  would turn his attention to the book. But not for long. He would tirelessly read Ganga’s innermost feelings reflected clearly in her pupils.

This situation did not extend to any length of time.  After the ‘clock tower incident’ Jeeva got a chance to go to Ganga’s house regularly for reading.

One day he was waiting to catch a bus to his college.  For some reason Ganga came late on that day. Pretending that she was looking towards the clock tower at the bus stand, she turned and smiled at Jeeva and kept walking. She failed to see the bus coming on her left side. She saw only the cycle coming opposite her. When she tried to move to avoid that, she was startled by the blare of a horn from behind. She staggered. The cycle hit her as the rider was not abe to brake. Ganga fell down. Her books were scattered. Before she could brace herself and gather her books, the cyclist, forestalling bystanders blaming him, started talking wildly.

“What ma, can’t you see? I was ringing the bell but you came dancing along the middle of the road. Can’t you walk on the side?” He  kept protesting pointlessly.

Jeevanandam rushed to the scene. Ganga was bent down and trying to recover herself.  As she looked up, he noticed that tears had welled up in her eyes and her lips were trembling.

“Hey, what man? Why are you so crude?” he addressed the cyclist. “You dashed against her and now instead of looking at it as an accident you’re rattling a woman publicly with people gthering around. Go! Get lost!”

After shooing the cyclist off, Jeevanandam picked up the books that lay scattered and gave them to Ganga who received them gratefully.

“Are you hurt, Ganga?” he asked. He scarcely realised that he had pronounced her name - he had just let slip a name that had been so constantly echoing in his mind.

She was abashed. With her head lowered, she said, ‘No,” in a soft voice.

“If you don’t mind, I will escort you to the school.”

Before she could decide whether to accept the order or not, Jeeva began walking by her side.

“Hindu High School, no?”

“Yes,”  Ganga confirmed.

“In which class?”

“SSLC.”

“Oh!...You’ve come alone. Where are your sister and brothers?”

“They go to Concordia.”

On seeing a bunch of girls going towards the school, Ganga said in a kind, soft voice, “I will merge with them. Thanks very much. If both of us are seen together, people might misunderstand.”

“OK, bye,” Jeeva took leave of Ganga. “My bus too has come.”

That evening when he returned home from Vaniyambadi, a boy came saying the next-door neighbours wanted him to meet them, Jeevanandam went. A man, fiftyish, fair of complexion, with a streak of vibuthi on his forehead, smile starting from his eyes, was sitting, He was reading a newspaper.

“Namaskaram,” Jeevanandam said, raising and bringing his palms together.

“Oh, please do come,” he said. “Namaskaram. You are the boy next door, aren’t you? Ganga told us about what happened this morning at the clock tower. Please sit down. Why feel shy? College students of these days paint the town red but you’re so quiet and we hardly see you going or coming. Please sit down,” he pointed to a chair.

They chatted long and it was 9 p.m. when Jeeva returned home that evenin

 

“You are so close by. Please come often. At this young age, you’re so well-informed. Even if we can’t achieve anything big in life, we will at least talk big! Will you come? When I get back from work, after struggling with files, I am done in. A chat with a person like you can be refreshing! I can hardly let you go.” Venkoji Rao was frank with Jeevanandam.

Yet guessing that he could be too shy to come frequently, he told Jeevanandam’s uncle who happened to come there on some business, “I would like your son to give tuition to my children. So please send him home.” Thus the door of Ganga’s home was thrown open to Jeevanandam.

He went every day and took lessons for an hour, to all children including  Ganga. He would drink excellent coffee full of aroma that Rayaramma offered him and then chat with Venkoji Rao. Their conversation would span a variety of topics from astronomy to onion export. Gossip is not for Venkoji. Nor will he indulge in verbal jousting. He was a man of erudition. He was a man of the world having seen ups and downs in life. His wife understood him and went along with him. They won’t misunderstand or suspect even a wee bit if Jeeva and Ganga were left alone on occasions.  Jeeva behaved very correctly and lived up to the trust they had reposed in him. They were too good to him.

Even during the tuition he would talk with Ganga engagingly. In that generous household his mind became broadened and brightened. Venkoji’s residence quietly taught him good manners that a college might not have done. And Ganga was there. Her smile glowed like the soft light from a lamp.