Bloodlines (On hold)

Deceptive Possibilities

Kripa cursed the damned mosquitoes bothering him. He had once again lost money while gambling and did not want to go home and see Kripi's face. As on many other nights, he decided to sleep under the Banyan tree. He knew his sister would be waiting for him even though his hours had become more and more erratic. It was a mistake to have married her to Drona, Kripa thought. It was not that he hated his brother-in-law, but he resented the unsolicited advice Drona was so fond of giving him, and his all-knowing attitude. It was a hot and humid night. A starless and damp sky spread over him like a wet umbrella. The crickets were creating an infernal racket, with the frogs joining in. He could smell rain and hear the river swelling. If it rained he would be forced to go home. Kripa did not relish the thought at all.

The first drops of rain fell on the expectant earth. What was that noise? Was it a splash? Some idiot had jumped into the river and was drowning. By Nandi*, why could the rascal not have chosen some other time to die, preferably when he was not around? Kripa ran towards the water and saw a dark head bobbing up and down in the swiftly flowing current. The last thing he wanted to do was jump into the river at this ungodly hour. The fool was sure to die anyway. Kripa was a strong swimmer but was unsure whether he would be able to drag the idiot back to shore. With a resigned shrug, he slapped his thighs and jumped into the river.

*Nandi - Celestial companion of mythical God of Destruction, Mahadev. (Maha-dev)

Kripa gasped as the water swallowed him, surprised at the strength of the current. It was colder than he had expected and the river seemed to pull him into her dark womb with a million hands. The rain had turned into a squall and now pelted down with brutal force. Where the hell was he or she? Then Kripa saw him, 300 bahuna* away, bobbing up and down in the water. The damn fellow was probably dead already. "Muhira!" muttering to himself, Kripa started swimming towards the drowning figure, using his great strength. After what seemed like a lifetime, he managed to grab the drowning man's hair and began swimming back. Exhausted, he dragged the comatose figure onto the bank, a mile from the temple ghat. He wanted to kick and scream at the fool but the fellow was unconscious. After catching his breath, Kripa began pressing his quarry's stomach to expel the water he had most certainly swallowed. After an agony of waiting, Kripa was about to give up when the sodden and drenched body stirred into consciousness.

*Bahuna - 30 to 40 cm of length. (Ba-huna)

"Who the hell are you, you fool?" Kripa slapped the sodden face and heard a sob.

"Forgive me."

Kripa was surprised. The voice had not yet broken; it was that of a boy, young boy but not of some drunken reveller as he had expected. Kripa felt sorry for the woebegone figure before him. How much unhappiness must the boy have endured in his short life to compel him to take such an extreme step?

"What happened to you, son? Why are you trying to end your life?" Kripa's hand dropped onto the boy's head while he tried to identify the face.

"Swami, I am a wretched low-caste, a Suta, a charioteer's son, and no one wishes to teach me anything."

Suta! It was the son of that chariot driver, Athiratha (Ati-Ratha). He remembered the day they had come to him and how he had treated them. 'Did I not try to make amends? Did I not call out to them as they passed today, to say I accepted their request? But they were in too much of a hurry to hear me out.' Kripa tried to justify his actions but knew he had behaved like a muruka*. There was no denying that. He looked down at the wretched boy and said, "I forget your name but I remember you and your father coming to me. I am Kripa."