WHEN THE LEAVES WITHERED

The half rusted iron handle of the door gleamed in the sunlight as Rashmi placed her hands on it. Despite all the years, the house had stood undisturbed, well almost, except for few portions of the wall that had worn out and some parts of the metal that had turned brown. She looked around. It was quite dusty and the garden looked ill maintained. “Wonder how often does Ramappa clean the place”, she thought, as he was paid to come in twice a week and clean the surroundings and water the plants. She used to clean it every day and used to ensure that the plants were well nurtured, whilst she lived here. It was a part of her daily life and she thoroughly enjoyed doing it along with the man of the house, her father. She used to have a big grin when someone who came to the house noticed and appreciated how well they had kept the garden. All that enthusiasm had died down, 10 years ago, when she was forced to leave the place which had filled almost every page of her memoirs. Relenting for its current state and blaming herself for it, she shook her head and slowly, as if recovering from a trance, began to turn towards the door again. For a moment, her gaze caught the old bicycle, embracing the dust, resting against the window sill. It was one of her father’s favourite; he always preferred to go about on a cycle rather than in a car or on a motorbike. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but he never yearned for a life of luxury, being the simple man that he was. It was probably the last time she would set her foot in this place and that very thought made her feel dizzy. With a heavy heart, she opened the door and went in, for one last time, to the house that was so beloved to her.   

Rashmi had lost her mother at a very young age and so her father was her world. Despite being a single parent, he never felt it difficult to bring her up. This was because even as a young girl, Rashmi was very quick in understanding the subtlety of matters and never really made fuss of things. Being a humble, self-confident, quiet, caring and intelligent girl, she considered her father as a best friend and a guru. Be it cooking or cleaning or gardening or doing yoga, they bonded over little things and led a life of content and happiness. She had got married 10 years ago, to the guy she loved. Such was the support of her father that he had readily agreed for the marriage and wanted to do his best for the beginning of a new life for his ‘little princess’. It was an extravagant event and he had ensured that he had left no stone unturned. It was a moment of pride and happiness for him. But for Rashmi, it was a mixed bag. On one hand her joy found no bounds as she was marrying a man she chose to spend the rest of her life with. But on the other, it meant it was time to leave her father. The marriage had taken place in their house and it bore an eternal witness to all the glorious time that had gone by, but ironically and soon, it too was about to disappear into the past.

She entered her father’s room and sprawled on the wooden cot. A feeling of void filled her. It had been little over two years since her father had passed away. Although she used to come to this place once every month, it felt different this time. May be because, there was no ‘next month’ for her to come again. She blankly stared at the ceiling which was devoid of a fan. A train of thoughts began to run through her mind. After the demise of her father, the property had belonged to her. Despite her husband’s continued efforts in convincing her to sell it, she had turned a deaf ear towards him. She couldn’t even imagine selling the house. What else can you expect, when attached to it was so many memories. Sometimes, certain ‘things’ become an integral part of our lives that we can’t even think of parting ways with it. Such can be the emotional nature of us humans. But this time there was a strong reason for her to believe that she had no other way but to sell the house.

A month ago, her husband was diagnosed with cancer. She had cried bitterly when she had got to know of it. What if she lost him in the battle against it? Already having lost both her parents, it was a horrible feeling. There was no way she would let go of the man she loved. No matter what it took, she decided to fight it through. Her immediate requirement was obviously the money for treatment. Since financially they weren’t in a great position, Rashmi thought of various options she had for arranging the money. The first thing to flash to her was her father’s house. She felt it was perhaps the right time to sell it and use the money from it for her husband’s treatment. But did she really have the courage to do away with it? She wasn’t sure of it herself. She pondered over it. True that it brought her memories of her father, who was her first love. But does that mean the present has no value? Her father was no more with her and her husband had ensured she never missed him; such was his affection towards her. This was one ‘opportunity’ life had provided her to do something for her husband. The very next moment she decided to sell the house. But only this time, he protested against her decision. With time, he had very well understood the attachment she had towards the house and the fact that going there often would make her ‘feel’ the presence of her father in every object that occupied the house and would bring solace to her, was something he did not want to snatch from her. He cared for his wife and understood her thoroughly, just like her father used to. He suggested that he will talk with some of his friends and see if he can arrange for the money. Rashmi at once said no to that; she felt she was capable enough to handle this and was reluctant to ask for help from anyone. They argued over it and eventually she won; it was impossible for her husband to convince her to do otherwise. He was happy for having her in his life; she was the best thing that had happened for him. At the same time he felt sad for her, as she would now have to let go of something which is very dear to her. Isn’t that the way life functions sometimes? You need to let go of something to get something else that you desire, sometimes it being better, sometimes not. She took the initiative for selling the house. She did not for a second reflect on what she was doing because she was totally positive that she was doing the right thing. Of what use is a house whose inanimate objects always reminded of only the time that had gone by, was her thought. She was bemused with this thought of hers, because a month ago, it was the exact same thing that used to bring her a feeling of happiness; reminiscence of the past. But now time had changed and so had her thoughts. Isn’t this the same power of time that numerous philosophers talk about?

Rashmi had arranged for a broker to see to it that the house gets the price it deserves. The wait wasn’t too long as the charm of the house was such that a person had readily agreed to pay the sum asked for. The deal was successful and she had to hand over the keys to the new owner the next day. For old times’ sake, she had decided to spend the rest of the day in that house, for one last time and so here she was. No matter how strong her decision was, at the moment all she could think of was about the place where she had grown up, about the dolls that sat wrapped up on a shelf in the room, the cycle that she had seen while entering the house, the stick and the glasses her father had used and every object, big or small that remained untouched, which told a story about itself. Unable to control, she broke down and started to weep. She wished her husband was here with her now. All she wanted was to hold his hand and lay her head on his shoulders. The thought of her husband brought her back to the present, for a moment, only to remind her of the mountain that lies ahead of them. She was confident that together they can come over any obstacle and like the rest of the time in her life, this too shall pass. Her head began to crib about the excess thinking that she had been doing. She felt weak and mental exhaustion creped in. Unable to bear, she closed her eyes and started breathing as slowly as she could.

She was running amidst a paddy field and her father was running right behind her to catch her. She had worn a blue skirt which he had recently bought her for her birthday and the tiny pink shoes had almost turned brown with mud all over it. He almost slipped into the field but was able to get back the balance. She laughed heartily seeing her father almost fall and he smiled back, seeing his daughter happy. She began running further and the chase continued. It was her turn now to slip, but this time, she actually fell down. Her father ran towards her frantically, without keeping a foot wrong. He took her in his arms and started searching where she had got wounded, only to realize ten minutes later that she was perfectly fine. He heaved a sigh of relief and kissed her on her forehead. She smiled. And suddenly, she woke up from the reverie and called out to her father. Dead silence. She then realized how immature she had been. It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever. She realized that no matter where she is, her father will always stay in her heart, in her memories and that the house which was a symbol of everything that he was was a mere object. There was no coming back to this place and she embraced the fact that it was paving way for a happier and better tomorrow. She had to save her husband and this was the way she had chosen. She came out of the house, determined. She looked around the garden yet again. It wasn’t the dirt or filth that caught her eyes now. It was the lush green leaves of that mango tree at whose feet lay the brown leaves withered from it. It was the transformation from autumn to spring. For her, it was a change from despair to hope. Smiling at the role that the house had played in her life even at its last moments, she locked the house and all the memories with it.