Learnings

James Wise was never exhilarated by matters involving plethora of money. He had seen what greed and power could do to people – to good people. And this was a lesson learned rather recently. Having lost his mother at the age of three, he had learned the fundamental truths of the world, the hard way – sometimes through his house maid Rosetta, and sometimes through sheer experience. The only thing he had learned from his father, was the kind of person he didn’t want to be. His childhood memories of his father only included him sitting at the chintz sofa with a bottle of brandy and a translucent glass on the deodar wood table.

In the early days, Mr Edward was entirely occupied by his business that involved buying goods from the city and selling them at reasonable prices in the town. Rosetta looked after James throughout. Only when Mr Edward returned home at eight every night, would he chastise Rosetta for the skerrick, but never appraised her for the mammoth work she’d accomplish everyday. Rosetta never thought of leaving because she loved James as her son, and worried leaving about him alone with his father. Theirs was a gigantic turquoise and lime painted house viewed as concentric squares from the sky. James remembered the garden at the centre surrounded by six rooms, with a metalled entrance gate at the east side. However when he returned from the city after six months, the garden was gone and there stood brick walls that must have been constructed overnight. Six rooms were divided into groups of two.

At eighteen, James had realised he had much to learn about life. So he chose to study further away from home, in the city. The city taught him a lot and most of all that relations weren’t formed by blood, but by love. Mr Edward had two brothers, Ken and Adam. All three disgusted each other, for the shapeshifters they were. Once they had decided to construct a house at their 10 katha property near Aramgarh. Aramgarh was a well-connected town, only ten kilometres from the city. Material would be cheaper and so the cost of labour. The way the city expanded, cost of the property at Aramgarh would increase tenfold in a few years. It seemed like a legit plan and a great investment. Just when construction was to start, Adam withdrew for dubious reasons and the plan came to a permanent halt. This provided another concrete reason for them to hate each other.

Despite all the anguish, they stayed together for their mother. Each one tried to persuade her to leave the house and settle with him, but she didn’t. ‘You brothers are each other’s strength, you must stay together’, she used to say with that old accent of hers. She died six months ago, a day, to when James left for his third year. Adam had no child, while Ken’s son was in Kentucky for the past three years. Curses and word-fights were part of the mundane since then. Sometimes they growled, other times their wives did. James felt suffocated in his own house. There was nothing Rosetta could do about it. Mr Edward’s business was down due to the fanatical bloom in e-commerce. He stayed home most of the day.

James had bantam talks with his father at the dinner table, but no metanoia seemed to transform him. Meditating on how the family was tearing apart, James suddenly realised he had walked himself to the ambit of the town. Set against the bucolic landscape of the outskirts, was the town graveyard. Cremation was done at the west. Muslims buried their deceased on the north side, while the Christian ground was a bit farther to the east. ‘Grandmother must be at rest, away from this debauchery’ he thought to himself. Drowned in sickening thoughts, he reached the cemetery and sat on a milestone next to the road.

There was no one around, but the mist was ubiquitous. It was hard to see beyond ten feet. Droplets of water had condensed on the eyebrows and strands of hair, especially the cowlicks. Noises by crickets could be heard with distinction and occasionally a crow cawed from a nearby casuarina. It was bright, but it seemed dull. There was nothing to admire about the place. It would be perfect for a dead poet, not a living one. Tearing the monotonous treble of the insects came a soft weeping sound – crescendo by nature. It was like the cry of a woman – the very touch of it could dishearten a jolly man. James decided to inspect the source. He noticed that the gate of the cemetery was already open. Someone must be inside! He gradually slouched in – one step at a time.

His heart beat faster as the reservation in sight added to the eeriness. The weep wasn’t provoking, or frightening, but saddening. Any man with a heart would want to comfort the source of such pain. James followed his senses and reached the cause, but there was no one around. He moved his head around to double check, he even looked up in fright, but the sound seemed to be coming from under his feet. He lifted this feet covered in beige moccasins to move aside. He took a deep breath and looked ahead where the imbricate maroon tombstone read, “Mrs Mary Wise. 1944-2014. Beloved Mother and Wife.”