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It Hurts To Love a Person |
| Written by Nishant | |
| Thursday, 17 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      Mr. Ben Stalls was a man of extraordinary principles and philosophies. According to him, he had acquired them while he struggled with his life, on the streets of Pondicherri where he used work as an assistant of a cobbler. His journey from a seven-year-old child-worker to a sixty-year old business tycoon was not an easy one. Looking out of the magnanimous window of his luxurious flat, situated twenty-two stories from the ground, he recalled his forgone days with pride. They say, “What you get from this world is what you give it back”. His life proves this the authenticity of this proverb. He has lived a life bereft of Love; consequently, he never gave love to a soul. A knock on the door diverted his attention. “Ramu! Open the door”, he shouted. The poor servant threw his broom and rushed towards the door. A stout man, of the same age as of Ben entered through the door. “Hello Ben! I hope I am not late” said our visitor, Mr. Andrew. Despites his coy and witless nature, he has acquired more respect than Ben in the hearts of people. Reason - the kind and caring heart which he posses towards one-and-all. “Ah! There you are my friend. Pray have a seat.” Ben said. The minute-hand of the clock had to complete two circles before all the nine guests had arrived. All of them were of the age of Mr. Ben; and also of the same social status. Ben could not have done the mistake of calling someone who was inferior to him in financial status. Hard-drinks were served by the servants along with French fries and samosas. Ben was not the only person dwelling the giant flat. Along with him lived his six-year-old grand-daughter, Tina. Ben had neither time nor love to spare; she got both these things from servants, especially from Martha, whom she treated not less than the way she would have treated her own mother. Ben had a habit of shouting at his servants. The only time when she found him in the house was the morning time. For a few days in his presence, she shouted at the servants in order to win some attention from Ben; it was her way of telling him: “Look at me! I am like you. I am not different. I can also shout. Now will you love me?” Ben would ignore her and leave for office. She would run to her room, throw herself on her bed and would wet her father’s picture with her tears. Then her care-taker, Martha, would enter the room and comfort her. After five minutes, Tina would come out wiping her tears with Martha’s handkerchief and would say “Sorry” to the servants. Tina was told not to come out of her room till the party lasted. She dutifully agreed, and went to sleep an hour prior to the party. Her dreams were usually of unicorns, Bugs Bunny or other characters on cartoon network channel. But, every rose has a thorn, right? There were a few instances when the Bugs Bunny in her dreams turned into a cannibal monster, and unicorns turned into ugly horses. One such dream she saw that day: Singing and dancing, Tina enters a dense forest. She stops when her eyes meet that of a young man, who lays wounded besides an oak tree. She fearfully looks at his bleeding leg. He stretches his hand in want of aid. Tina hesitates; then she lifts her hand from her body, and her finger touches that of the man. Ugly red spots arise on the man’s face. After some time, they burst open and fume out fountains of blood. The man’s face becomes clearer to her; it is her father. His eyes shrink, and he gazes at her. He lifts his hand and points towards her. He says, “You killed me”. Uttering his last words, his head hits the ground. Tina woke up shouting “Father! Father!” She tossed her blanket aside, rushed towards the door, flung it open and—breaking her grandfather’s command—she came out of her room. She crossed the wide corridor, pushed Martha aside, and ran to the party-room. She saw Ben standing with his friends, drinking. She ran to him, hugged him and cried with all her might. She placed her cheeks to his round belly and muttered all the happenings of her dream. “Dadu-dadu, a b-b-bad dream—weeps—b-black horse—weeps—k-killed man—weeps—k-killed father—weeps—I-I love fa-father . . .” Never in his life had Ben felt so embarrassed. Her hands were around his waist, but his were still his pocket, afraid to come out and give some love. No! It is an insult to him; an insult to his friends; an insult to the whole mankind. How dare she! She has to get punished for this severe crime! In a low voice he said, “Don’t worry – don’t worry. All’s fine. Go back to your room. I am coming there” She continued with her dream in her broken voice. At last, murdering his patience, he shouted at the top of his voice. “Go back to your room” Tina’s eyes trembled and her tears stopped for a second. She ran towards the door of the room, crossed the corridor, pushed Martha aside, ran to her room, and threw herself on her bed. She cried monsoon that day. In fact, Ben had shouted so loudly, that he wasn’t able to utter a word for five-minutes. Andrew came to him and said: “Ben. You were cruel to her. You shouldn’t have shouted like this. She came-“ “Listen, Andrew. I know what to do with my grand-daughter. You needn’t tell me” To avoid further conversation on the subject, Ben went ahead and joined Mr. Batliwalla and discussed about their business. The party lasted for only half-an-hour more. Andrew remained in the house, for he had to discuss a business project with Ben. Ben retired himself to his room to take a rest of five minutes. He slipped in his night dress, placed a cigar in his mouth and sat down on the chair. For a few minutes he kept still, his mind wandering over some thoughts. Then he stood up and moved towards his small book-shelf. Beginning from the top shelf, right hand-side, he read the name of every book. Unsatisfied, he moved on the next shelf. He picked up Dicken’s Bleak House, kept on the bottom shelf. He went back to his chair, sat down and opened the book. He read one page and closed the book. Agitated, he threw the book on his study-table. ‘Did I do a right thing?’ he thought, ‘Maybe--yes. She shouldn’t have entered the room like this. This was not the right thing to do. If she was scared, she should have called Martha. But sh-she was crying. She has had these dreams before also. Maybe it was quite bad this time.” He opened the drawer of his study-table, picked up a photo that had laid there for seven years, unperturbed. The man in the picture looked young; he wore small round spectacles, his hair flew in all the directions, and there was a gleaming smile on his cheerful face. It was his son, John. He was a man of extraordinary genius. Everyone expected him to become a great scientist and win a Nobel Prize. Every frame of that night is still vivid in Ben’s memory. The raindrops were hitting the roof with full vigour, often a zig-zag white light appeared on the sky. He and John were having a quarrel. Ben wanted to send him to Harvard to do MBA. He refused: he wanted to serve the country by joining the army. John did a fatal thing – he hurt Ben’s pride. Ben told him to leave the house. He believed that after half-an-hour, John would come back and would agree for Harvard. John went out of the house; he took neither clothes nor money with him. This time he misjudged John’s courage. John never came back. Next day, they found his dead body lying next to the canal. Post-modem confirmed his death due to lightning. The memories of his lost son pricked Ben’s heart; just the way his heart did. He thrust the photograph back in the drawer and shut it hard. Tina was a part of John that lived in front of him. She was the only person in this world whom Ben could love; yet he never loved her; he loved his own pride, his own valour. He stood up and moved towards the study. Andrew was not there. He wiped the sweat off his brow and went to Tina’s room. He peeped inside, but could find nothing. Martha was passing by, when she said: “Sir, May I help you?” “I wanted to ask you--I hope you had watered the plants during the evening? Where is Ramu? He is nowhere to be seen. Why is Tina’s room in such a mess? Where is she?” Ben mingled his main question in midst of other useless ones. Martha knew that she only had to answer the last one. “She’s sitting on the veranda, sir” “O-Ok you can go” Ben climbed the stairs in a state of frenzy. He changed his mind at every alternate step. Finally, he was upstairs. She was sitting on a bench and weeping, with her teddy bear in her hand. Andrew was sitting next to her, trying to comfort her. Ben rushed out; he wanted to talk to her in alone. Apologising in front of Andrew would hurt his reputation. Andrew came out after ten-minutes. He went to the study and found Ben looking at some papers. “Ah! Come, come Andrew. Sit.” They talked about the project for five minutes. After that, Ben said: “Excuse me; I will be back in a minute. I need to get a file from my room.” “Don’t worry. I’ll get it” Andrew stood up and moved towards the door. “Oh! No, no. Wait Andrew, wait. I also need to drink water. I will be back. You sit--you sit.” Ben went to the veranda. After having confirmed that no one is watching him, he went inside. She was still sitting there with her teddy; but she was not weeping. He went closer. He called in a soft voice, “Tina”. She stood up, kept the teddy on the chair and looked at Ben. She was afraid--rather shivering. Tears had formed read outlines on her face. Tears only hurt for a minute, but their stains hurt for a longer time. Ben recognized the gravity of his mistake. Now there was no going back. He had come to apologize, and he would do that. “Grandpa, I . . . I wanted to talk to you” she said. “Yes” “I am very, very sorry.” “No, I—” “I shouldn’t have disturbed you, it was my fault.” New streams of tears glided down her cheeks, dissolving the previous stain marks, and creating new ones. Ben was shocked. He knew what he had come for, but he didn’t do it. She waited for Ben to say something. “It’s ok”, he said She crossed him and went to her room. He stood there, infected by his fake pride, his hollow valour. He muttered to himself: “She is—just like her father” A tear trickled down his eye, hit the ground and dissolved with the dust; it took some of his pride with it. He felt he was losing the reminiscent of his lost son.
Copyright 2008 Nishant |
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