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A visit to my village

by Mumtaz Ismail Kolliyil   

It was a Sunday morning. Husband had gone to the academy for teaching. Children are away. Loneliness and silence pervaded the house. The bleating of the goat, from the neighbouring grove, broke the silence at times. I thought for a while, 'Why not go to big brother's house at Eriyad'. The thought of going to Eriyad, filled me with enthusiasm. Eriyad, my native place, is a coastal village blessed with the greenery of coconut groves and padddy fields and also with the coolness of brooks. The great Arabian sea lies within a few kilometers from my house, so that we could hear the roar of the ocean in monsoon. Soon I got ready and walked to the bus stop. The sky was clear with white clouds. Outside in the sunshine, birds skittered about in the tall jackfruit tree. The autumn wind stirred the leaves of trees and the ripe leaves were falling. The day seemed pleasant with a chill in the air. I reached the bus stop and waited for a while. I boarded the bus bound to Munambam harbour, and occupied a comfortable position.

I was engrossed in daydreaming about my village, which took me to my early childhood days. Our ancestral home was near to my house. It was an ancient Kerala style of house, with an inner courtyard. There was no electricity and the oil filled lamps lit the house and there was a serenity and brightness in that light. We frequently visited grandma. We savored the crescent shaped orange candy , given by her. There was a big pond in the backyard. We used to bathe in it. We would gather the sweet scented Elanji flowers to make garland. I and my cousins would collect ruby like Manchadi seeds, to play an interesting game of counting them to odds and evens. Getting tired after playing, grandma would serve us delicious rice and fish curry, cooked in the earthen pots on the hearth. Television was a distant dream and computer was an unheard thing those days. Yet these heavenly memories seem to me like a fairy tale.I snapped out from my day dreaming, as the bus ended it's journey at Munambam. I alighted there, on the bank of the wide river. The ferry was parked at the jetty. I got into the boat and stood at the deck . The air was heavy with the stench of fish. Sun beat from the cloudless sky. The heat was cooled down deceptively by a stiff sea-breeze. Fishing boats were plying between the sea and the river and some were returning with plentiful catch. The sea was embracing the river at the estuary, mixing the salt water with the fresh water of the river. I was immersed in the enchanting beauty of the rippling river with the emerald expanses on the banks. Soon the boat landed at Azhikode jetty.

I took a cab to my brother's house. I was astonished at the drastic changes that took over my village. It was no more to be called a village. It was a forest of houses, built on modern architectural styles. The old market place looked like a shopping avenue with high-tech amenities. When I passed the mosque, I observed the grave yard, where my parents, brother and nephew resting peacefully. My mind overflowed with devotion and I chanted prayers silently. I was glad that my village has prospered and the people's lives have become easier with the advancement of modern technology. I searched for the green fields, they had vanished. In their places, there stood huge bungalows. Something was missing in my village. 'Has it lost it's tranquility? Where is it's soul? These queries teased me much. A woman with a friendly smile came to me and asked, 'Are you sister Rabia's daughter?', I heaved a sigh of relief that, the amiability of the village folks, hasn't changed. My mother had an ability to make friends with all walks of life, and the people still remembers her with love.

Brother was sitting in the veranda. No sooner he sighted me, than his face lit up. He is a person, who worked in various parts of the world. But now, his world is confined within his house, as a stroke left him paralysed on one side of his body. Moreover the family was grieving over their son's demise, a few months ago.' Ah! You've come, where's my brother-in-law?', He asked me. A chat with me was comforting to him. We lunched together. His struggle to get up from his seat, and the distress of the family cast a gloom over my mind. Accompanied my sister-in-law I walked to my house, which stood close to my brother's house. I got very nostalgic, when I entered the compound of my devastated house. The compound was overgrown with weeds and wore a deserted look.' My house! I was born and brought up here. I shared my days with my siblings here.' I recalled my life in that house. The huge cashew- mango tree reminded me, the days I played on it's branches with my friends. My mother's affectionate voice, seemed echoing, 'Mumtaz, get ready, your college bus will come soon', Always she had to remind me to be punctual. Tears spilled from my eyes and fell upon the ground, which seemed the burial ground of my good old days.

It was 6.15 p.m. I returned home. The sun began it's departure as well. The scent of Elanji flowers, was still lingering in my mind.

Author notes

Elanji - A tree which is commonly found in Kerala, with tiny sweet scented flowers. It's fruit is edible.




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