A JACKFRUIT IN HEAVEN

A jackfruit in heaven [2] Love is winking.

A political leader from the ruling party was killed on our street to the result of a dispute about a merchant's beautiful daughter. The reason was the leader's son abducted and sexually abused her. I was walking through the market where the smell of the riot is remaining the air, with panic footsteps. I felt a little uneasy when the sweat was flowing through my fist that held my store key.

The forty-eight-hour lockdown is being totally succeeded that made invisible handcuffs on people's hands. They were imprisoned in their own houses.

There can clearly hear the clock's long bell sounds and the old cough from some houses in the street like the lament of the people who wait for exile. That given an ancient feature to the street. Now it is ten o'clock. The pigeons and street birds that were built the nest on the pinnacles of the houses they are eating scattered rice and wheat grains in front of the food godown.

This is our street named Moghalpuram. Here, we have been living forward with tiny happiness and anxiety through the cocktail of mixed culture.

When I stepped over to the next street, I saw, a blurred human form appearing to the end of the street and suddenly that was disappearing into the main street. I slowed my walk and a little fear sprouted in my mind. Is it my delusion? I looked at backward with fear for knowing was I am dreaming. No, no, this is real. Homeo, Ayurveda, Unani, Astrology, and palm reading, all fraud treatments, clinics, and showrooms have remained there. This is not Chennai streets, but these are like Chennai streets.

Though I thought to follow him, I gave up my mad decision. But I kept walking through among the houses where the windows closed, and among through the little courtyards where the purdahs and niqabs were hanging to drying. The wet Pardah's edges were lying with touched to the ground like head bowed culprits in front of the executioner. Maybe, in our street, having the women who avoided the purdah could be only in our home. For that, they owe to my grandfather Muhamed Khan Saahib who the first atheist in our street. When I reached the open place that the street has ended, I knew this area, which is Selvi Akka's house and premises. I walked with caution through the place carefully avoided the water-filled potholes in the rain for the last day.

Today is two years over from missing my cousin Mansoor. I'm afraid he will be trapped between the religious propagandists or criminals who wandering with a desire of making a communal riot in our country.

Whenever I discuss Mansoor in our dining table, but, Mathu, she chews and spits away my words about him like fish thorns. Sometimes, Mathu doing this as more practical than my sister. I don't know how it came to this behavior in Mathu who is an intelligent woman. Actually her intelligence and compassion to others were that made me close to her. But Mathu still doesn't know about the deep relationship between Kaiju, Mansoor and me.

We were together in the morning walk, and we found the time to getting together in the dining table as possible. We didn't insist on her the first week of every month to come walking with us, but instead of we were giving fiction books for her from our street library.

Akram, it is not fair, always your all family members are should keep their manners very well and they owe to keep the dignity of Khan Saahib Mansion, all this what you command that of them is very injustice. Akram, can you point out anyone who has any specialty from your Khan Sahib Mansion? Somehow, a Kaiju and Akram happened in your family in the turns of the time cycle. That's not a great thing. As it happened in any other family, that happened too in Khan Mansion, that's all.

She would always use this way to stop my arguments. After that, she would have winked and smiled. I didn't understand what her smile meant. But, once a night, I asked her, what was the meaning of her pleasure that created together by her eye and lips?