Pigeons in Monsoon (standard:romance, 1661 words)
Author: sayan	Added: Jul 25 2004	Views/Reads: 3058/2072	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Once more.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

curiosity not being dulled by indifference mixed anger for rudeness, or 
by the light temperature I developed next day, I felt strongly inclined 
to visit Omar's house and may be talk to him a little. That night I 
followed my heart. The house seemed to be poorly maintained even from a 
distance. I came closer, silently opened the bamboo pane gate. Then the 
moment a gust of cold wind blowed I was overwhelmed with fear “ what am 
I doing”? Summing up my courage I went close to the door, I could not 
get myself to knock. Inside I could see a dim oil lamp glowing, the 
light as seen from under the doors. As I listened to any noises, I 
heard a continuous brooding murmuring noise. Fear filled my heart, then 
suddenly I realized how silly I was, the noises were just brooding 
pigeons, must have built their nest inside in monsoon. May be there 
were baby pigeons. I turned away to go. Not a star could be seen that 
night, dark clouds ominously rolling in the sky, not red as from 
re-reflected street light in a city, just violet-black. Occasional 
lightning looked beautiful splitting apart the heart of the sky. I 
walked slowly thinking of my own pathetic life, but soon cheered by the 
smell of fore coming rain, I speeded up. I had better, the air 
moistened and I felt needle like rain on my face. I nearly ran home, 
not without getting drenched again by cold night rain. 

Of course the next day was spent in trying every cold remedy my mother
had taught me, ginger with lime, lemon and brandy and of course 
eventual recourse to an anti-histamine. It rained all day, heavily and 
every green leaf looked slightly greener. I got my assistant to fill in 
for my job that day. My feverish thoughts ran wild, dreaming and waking 
all mixed up, I thought more of Omar, his wife, built up my own movie 
in my mind, my own life getting mixed in the story. By next day 2 doses 
of Paracetamol 500 mg had subsided my fever, or maybe the mother's 
recipe, God take care of her soul. 

Man cannot brood on for ever, time heals all wounds, I thought on my
recovery. The next day was sunny; the sweet smell of rain-drenched air 
filled with me with a new zest for life, maybe everyday is the 
beginning of a new life. I did my job, a week passed by and I didn't 
see Omar again, he may have been sick in this weather I thought. When 
this new mystery filled my days of loneliness, I finally convinced 
Farooq cha-cha and few others to go to Omar's house, that evening after 
our smoke. Of course it had rained almost every night intermittently, 
and depressions in the roads filled with clear water, that nobody's 
foot had soiled. The accidental missteps and splashy wet were our feet. 


The dilapidated thatched roof threatening to crash on us, I tried my
best to think of happy thoughts. Cha-cha knocked and no one answered. 
After four knocks and a five minute wait we forced our way in. Omar's 
body was on the floor, a foul smell came. The pigeons feeling perturbed 
flew madly from one corner to another. The rope he had used to hang 
from the roof had finally crashed and lay on dirty floor and nearby was 
a lamp whose wick had burnt off as the oil supply dwindled and sadly a 
small pigeon chick dead, having fallen from its nest on the floor, by 
fierce winds. Everybody fixated by the shock silent, making the pigeon 
murmur ear piercing. Eventually I told others to go and start 
preparations for the needful. 

As I walked past the lidder river, water murmuring and the evanescent
twilight slipping into darkness, when newborn stars light up the sky. I 
tried to think happy-thoughts rather forcibly. I remembered my 
beautiful fairy tale Kashmir, as seen in the movies. I thanked God 
being able to see this paradise on earth, and thought of sayings like 
'life goes on', the pure virginity of nature, and not let my mind slip 
into a burial and thoughts that haunt me always, about death ending it 
all. I couldn't sleep much that night and the sunrise reminded me how 
stars at dawn were like lives drawing to a close. Few days later I 
requested for my transfer, and my wishes were fulfilled 2 months later. 
“The Lord is thy shepherd, thou shalt not want”. I wondered how many 
lives like Omar get lost in the pages of unwritten history. In the 2 
months before I left I persuaded myself to forget the past and try to 
get inspired by observing the diligence of nature. In the village, 
nothing more happened. 


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