Memory Lake

The boy walked on the cement railing of the veranda. He liked the spot. It was cool and provided a beatiful view. He preferred to spend most of his time there. And his parents didn't bother him much. Today they were away by themselves. And he was left to himself, to be watched over by the help. And he liked her, as she liked him, because he was a good boy. He hardly troubled her, except when it was time to go to bed. He hated sleeping. He thought it was akin to dying. And he was too young to die. What if days were endless and nights were literally forty winks long? It would be a perfect world for him.

This villa was part of a small township, mostly consisting of vacation homes, and he and his family would spend here not more than a few weeks per year. And last time he was here, he hardly remembered it. The township had grown, definitely. A few more houses, but depressingly deserted, all of them. And the boy had scowled when he saw them. No life, no fun. And at night, as he looked out, he saw lights in one of the houses, maybe two, far in the distance. But that was it.

Come today, and the overcast sky was a downer. Sometimes the help would read hims stories, and she would put on the radio and he would dance to release his pent up energy. Tak dhina dhin! and koyal si teri boli koo koo koo koo! His favorites. "Koooooo kooooo!" he would shout, and sometimes he swore a koyal replied back.

But today there was a reply. Not an echo, but from a human. And he rushed outside and looked in all directions. At the villa nearest, and asa far as his eyes could see. And he saw the stangest sight. A pink cloth flew in the wind and came and fell on the veranda. There was a shriek. And then a girl rushed out of the nearest house, followed by presumably her mother. She came running, and stood near the boy's house. He had the pink cloth, an odhni, in his hand, and he froze. The mother smiled and held out her hand. Like a scared little boy he came forward, and gave the odhni to the girl's mother.

"Hey there, this is my daughter, and I don't know if it's pure luck but we just came here today, and Maithili was complaining about getting bored and not having anything to do around here. I'm glad she found you."

"Okay," said the boy in his absentmindedness.

The girl stared back at him. They were roughly the same age. She tossed her hair and gave a half smile.

"Why don't you get to know each other? But don't go too far, okay?"

"Okay," said the boy, just standing there, and saw the mother's retreating figure.

"I have to show you something," said the girl and pulled at the boy's hand.

"It's not too far, is it?"

"Oh, shut up." She took him by the nook, and behind her house, and down the slope through the bushes. And there she suddenly sat down on her haunches. "Can you see it?"

"Wait. What?"

"Sit down, through here."

Puzzled. The boy looked where she pointed. "That's - oh, wow!"

It was a tortoise. In fact it was a whole family of tortoises, living in a small puddle filled with moss and muck. To the boy's horror, Maithili slipped through the shrubs and went closer. "No!"

"Come here," she said mischeivously. "They don't bite!"

"Does your mother know how mad you are?"

"You're not going to tell her, are you?" asked Maithili.

The boy smiled and carefully tread nearer, never once taking his eyes off the tortoises. Maithili took a baby and put it on the boy's palm. It felt slimy and he lifted it high and glided his hands smooth in the air. The baby must have felt like it was flying. It's mother hardly seemed to notice. She languidly entered the puddle and disappeared, and bubbles rose and burst on the surface of the thick muddy liquid. By the end everyone was covered in moss and mud, humans and animals. They played at each other, as they walked back, jumped and fell (Maithili bled a little at her calf, bruised by twigs and rocks), and made it to the houses.

"And what do they call you?"

"Arinjay. But you can call me Aru."

"Will I see you tomorrow, Aru?"

And before he could reply, her mother opened the door. "What in the world have you been doing?"

Next day, they raced to the mango tree. And Aru invited her to come see his favorite spot, the veranda. It had a cane swing, and a settee, and pots with flowers which bashfully hid inside their buds. So Maithili jumped onto the swing and felt the breeze on her ears, and Aru 'koooo kooooed' around, and walked on the railing. It rained heavily all afternoon and then the ominous clouds floated about harmlessly come evening. A refreshingly misty evening indeed! The help made Aru and Maithili some mint chai. After gulping it down, they ventured out and walked over to the pond, which had grown twice it's normal size since the downpour. It rippled throughout, and the odd gust swooped up waves that touched Maithili's little feet. Aru was afraid she would ask him to join her in the water, but it turned out she had something else on her mind. Through the muck, they walked along the coast until they reached a brook. A continuous flow of water, falling from little crags and emerging through the trees to meet the pond.

"Let's follow it uphill."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'll tell you when I see it."

"See what?"

"Just come, don't ask."

She smiled. Her leg had a small bandage stuck to it. But she insisted on more adventure.

They went climbing up the gentle slope, and along the snake-like course of the stream. And a couple of times they had to circumvent little waterfalls, and take detours, and then get back to the stream further up. And soon they reached a bower, agreeing they couldn't go any further. Maithili stared into the water and saw tadpoles, while Aru counted birdcalls. "Chioo chioo," said Aru.

"Look at this."

"It's a toad."

"And it's babies. They are fishes."

"Weird."

"What are you doing? Oh no, you're not touching. They're not tortoises."

"Why not?"

"If you say they are fish, and you take them out, they'll die."

Maithili got back up, horrified. She looked at Aru. "I'm so stupid. You're right."

And she went and sat down on a rock, nearby, Aru noticed the silence. She hadn't been this silent ever since he met her. It was like they were in a vacuum, even though either of them would not understand what the word meant. Aru looked at the toad, and they had a thought conversation. She isn't angry, is she? No, maybe I should've just let her play with your babies. The toad looked back with an expression no different from her usual scowl. Okay, okay. No, then.

"Lets go, Maithili."

She got up and they went back. To the lake, where Aru came up with an idea. "Lets make paper boats."

That seemed to boost her spirits a little, and she looked up at the nebulous sky. "What if it rains?"

"It won't."

Aru and Maithili traced their way back home. There was a big mango tree mid-way and Aru suggested Maithili to wait there and rest, while he went the rest of the way on his own. Aru went to the villa and got an old notebook. The help offered to accompany him, as she was done with her chores for the day. When they reached the mango tree, Maithili was nowhere to be seen. The help panicked and scolded Aru.

"Why did you do it? Leave her alone like that? The forest is not just beautiful, it is also dangerous. I cannot believe you came all the way here on your own. Your boldness! Wait till mama-papa are back! You wait and see!"

"Don't worry na! I know where she will be. Just ahead through here." He had guessed it right. Maithili was at the lake. More precisely, at the brook. There she had managed to remove pebbles and debris out of its course after the last little waterfall. She had been thorough, and covered in mud all over again. But she was delighted. "Look at this!" she said.

"I can see, I can see what you have done. Good job!" said even the help, an embarrassed smile slapped across her face.

There were no obstacles now, only some twists and turns, and water dashed over smooth silt. Aru looked at the expanse of the brook. "Even the flow of the water is much more now. Let's get down to making the boats!"

"Oh, but my hands are dirty!"

"Oh, you have done enough, haven't you!" said the help. It seemed she had developed a direct liking to the little girl. How she wished she had to watch over Maithili rather than Aru. But she did not know Maithili often got herself into dirty messes and then some.

"Help me with the boats now, will you?" shouted Aru, and the help had to stop cleaning Maithili's hair. She sighed.

The boats got made. A fleet of 10. Some of them had leaves attached at the bottom, which would act as protection and prevent the boats from soaking up water.

Aru then ran up to Maithili, who was washing her hands in the lake.

"You first."

"No. My hands are wet again."

And Aru whooshed back, running to the help, and asked her for her odhni. She gave it up after a lot of protest.

"One towel coming up!"

Maithili laughed, carefully wiped her hands dry and took some boats from Aru's hands. She wrapped the odhni around like a shawl and they went up till the crags. Aru stood erect, and with an imaginary whistle in his hands. "Kooooo!"

And the boats were released! They went fast, and veered ferociously down the turns, and they held their own, as Aru had predicted. Maithili jumped, up and down, while Aru gave them chase, until they covered the last few metres towards the pond. And then the ones made solely of paper sank instantly into the deep waters.. And the leaf-modelled ones set sail against the wind, until they had went deep into the lake. Aru, Maithili and the help watched intently until there was only one remaining, which made the furthest and lasted the longest, in the pinkish-orange reflective waters of the lake. Aru was in a reflective mood as well. He had learnt something today. He was at peace.

As they made their way back, all three, hand-in-hand, Maithili was talking again, and the help told them how a delicious meal waited for them at the end of this long and tiring day.

"What a day!" clamoured Maithili, after downing her papad and achaar.

Aru nodded in agreement. "What about tomorrow?"

"We shall leave it for tomorrow," said Maithili with a wink. "Oh, can you please burn some kachua chaap? The mosquitoes!" She slapped herself on the neck.

"I must have left one of the windows open again," cursed the help.

Soon that night, Maithili left. Next day, she was gone with her mother before Aru was even up. He went and knocked at the door of her house. It was all empty. No life, no fun. Aru knocked for a whole 15 minutes. He didn't cry. He was not a little boy anymore. He went by himself and threw stones at the mango tree, and a single kairi fell down. The silence was hurtful to him. He wanted to shout, and he did: "Kooooo Koooo!" But no koyal replied.

15 years later it is he who is writing this story. Yes, it's me, Arinjay. Sitting on the other side of this intangible barrier between the writer and his reader. I was mad the day she left without leaving me a message. And for years I hoped she was as miserable as I was. But now it doesn't make me sad anymore thinking why she left the way she did. And now I don't know her or how she is or where she is or if she even remembers me. I'm grateful however for the little time we spent together. She taught me to be brave, to trust people, to be an explorer and be ever-curious, and to cherish the beauty that life offers. Beauty is transient, more than life itself. And she taught me how it feels to care about someone and to feel being cared for in return. And I guess it would be fair to say she was the first person I fell in love with, as I recollect the innocence and selflessness of it all. And that is enough for me.

She will have grown up now, a young woman of heart and fire. And I know she will be chasing many dreams. Just as I am, swallowed up by the whirlpool of young-adulthood. But her memory is an anchor. It reminds me of the boy I was, and the man that I want to be.