The Renunciates

It is six o clock in the morning.

The bustling city of Mumbai. Even this early, there are cars honking and pedestrians hurrying on the roads. An old couple in a suburban flat is waking up and starting their morning chores. The lady wakes up first. She washes up and then goes to the kitchen to make tea. The man wakes up a few minutes after the lady. He too washes up and sits down to do Puja. The bell rings. The lady goes to open the door. It is the milkman. She takes the milk and thanks him like she does every day. As she turns back around, she snags the newspaper cleverly stuck in the handle.

After some time has passed, we see the elderly couple sipping their tea in the living room, both of them reading a newspaper. The lady reads the Marathi one, while the man reads the English one. They are quiet. Only the rustling of the newspaper breaks the silence. It is not an oppressive silence, it is a comfortable silence, one that comes after years of marriage.

The bell rings. It is the maid. The lady of the house gives her the instructions for the preparation of breakfast and dinner. They were having lunch at their son's next door. After all, it was a Sunday tradition, ever since her son had been married. Even though he lived next door, the couple never intruded in their son's life. They were content to have a Sunday lunch with him and his family. When their grandchildren were younger, the couple would babysit them. But they have grown up now and don't need to be supervised, especially by their grandparents.

The day wore on. The couple talked about the affairs of the country and the world over breakfast. They talked about their children's and grandchildren's life over lunch. They talked about how their own lives had changed over dinner.

After dinner, the old couple prepared for bed. The lady fell asleep almost immediately when her head hit the bed, but the man couldn't sleep. He sat up and watched as his wife's breaths slowed and eventually stopped. He sighed. He, himself, felt death's calling. At last, he rested his head on his pillow, his left hand clasping the right one of his wife, and passed into the afterlife.

As his soul reached a destination he did not know, he called out," Kusum, where are you? A patient search through a big telescope would reveal you only as a speck - you seem to have receded so far away. O, do come closer to me, dear. See how beautiful the night is." For it was indeed a beautiful night, in that unknown destination. He saw his wife, in all her young glory, moving towards him. He moved forward to embrace her. They stayed in that unknown destination for a long time but were content, for their love was eternal.

The next day, back on earth, a family mourned the loss of Hemanta and Kusum Mukerji, who passed away in their sleep on the fifth night of the waning of the moon in the month of Phalgun.

Word Count: 522 words

Written On: 18th September 2017

Manu.K.