One Autumn in a Faraway Land

I looked at the grassy plane that spread out like a verdant oasis in this far-off village of Rikiadham. The weather had changed overnight, when a bank of dark clouds and a bluster of racing wind showed up like unsought guests. It was only two o’ clock in the afternoon but the pallor of a winter evening had begun to set in, cloaking the nearby hills in mist.
Jyoti greeted me with a beam of smile and said that my mother was calling me inside the ashram to attend her Guruji’s sermon. It was the autumn of 2005 and my family was holidaying there to attend the spiritual-fest that is organized every year.
During my sojourn, I had developed a close rapport with a bevy of young girls who studied in the ashram’s gurukool. They were poor peasant girls, whom the ashram educated until they finished high school.
Jyoti was the most vivacious of all. Unlike her friends who remained uninspired by the idea of education, and who would never think of defying the trifle plans that destiny had contrived for them, this dark, bonny girl harboured a whole world of dreams.
“Baba has no qualms in my studying in the Gurukool, and Maa says she’ll convince him to putting me in Zila College afterwards. I’ll complete a BA anyhow and find a job in the village schools,” she would often recount her plans.
Jyoti, to me, mirrored the power of man’s will, the exemplary courage that transforms unassuming ‘little-things’ into men of noble ranks. She was poor, yet not prosaic; she was obviously aware of the trials of a meager existence, and yet full of dreams to transcend the mundane and become extraordinary.
Once, Jyoti introduced us to her mother Radhe Devi. I remember Radhe Devi for her plump cheeks, her rotund body, the happy countenance on her face, and mostly for the tumultuous laughter she had exploded into when one of the guests quizzed her about her daughter’s plans. Jyoti remained unruffled though, reminding me that hope could thrive even in the midst of penury – despite the poverty, the heat, the humidity, the mosquitoes, and the lack of electricity.
Six months back- on visiting the Ashram again- I realized I was mistaken.
Free from commotion or tumult, and reposing under the serene skies of an imminent spring, the place was still as peaceful. The grassy planes around it were just as verdant and lush. And, Radhe Devi, too, had remained as stout and shapeless.
The only change was that Jyoti, whom Radhe Devi summoned before us, was now married and had become the mother of a newborn. She looked like a strong, hard woman; the clever woman of the petty household.
She greeted me with a forced yet kindly courtesy. Despite all the broken dreams and shattered hopes, she had retained the art of conducting herself gracefully. But, the pangs in her eyes she could not hide.
In the next two or three days in the ashram, I hardly got a chance to speak to Jyoti, who anyway, avoided coming across me. Time rolled away like a fleeting glance, and we took leave of Guruji. While on our way back, the wheels of our car creaked and groaned as they sank into the ruts of the road, flinging and spattering mud all over. The mud soon mingled with the rain drops pattering against the window, obscuring the view of the countryside that I gazed at from the back seat.
Much like Jyoti’s illusory dreams which were dulled by the caprice of destiny - I thought to myself.
(Sep, 2009)