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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 04/22/2012
Come Not September- Part I
September 11, 2001.
The night was young; nascent, but intriguing- just pitched in to rob the Universe of its light…spill streaks of gloominess and an eerie silence. Durga was restless, dark despair ran through her mind. She saw something ominous in the gathering darkness. All through the day she felt nightmarish, allowing her to be swept away by inexplicable scary thoughts. She didn’t know why she was feeling like being in the eye of a storm- run-down and somber.
She felt awfully empty and vacant. To drive away the scary thoughts mushrooming on her mind, she turned on the TV to watch her favorite reality show. But, it was not there. She grimaced when she saw all TV channels running special news bulletins. She became curious, got her eyes focused on the TV screen.
“Today is a black day for America,” a young, flamboyant news-caster, wearing a black top, read the news in a somber tone. “Terrorists”, she continued, “having hijacked four civilian planes, crashed them into the Twin Towers and made them collapse like a pack of cards. Pentagon too was hit by another plane. Over 5000 people are feared dead.”
Durga was perplexed and felt like falling into a fathomless abyss. She had beads of sweat covering her forehead and began to breathe hard. However, she was still looking through the TV - reining in her wayward mind.
August 5, 2001.
Half past five. The mist loaded twilight was waiting to usher in a new dawn. Durga saw glow worms flying both outside the window and inside her heart.
Krishna was sleeping with his arms flung, snoring intermittently. Sitting on the bed, Durga leaned her head against his broad, hairy chest, twisting and ruffling his hair. She heard the temple bell tingling to invite the usatkal when the angels are supposed to be taking bath in the Ganges. Durga was in up-beat mood, wished to fly onto the sky along with the morning birds. Perched on tree tops, Koels staged their concerts filling the air with their munificent songs. ‘Why the world looks so heavenly today? Let it freeze at this moment so that I will have Krishna with me forever’, she whispered, smiled at her childish thoughts and hugged Krishna.
September 11, 2001.
Durga was still glued to the TV, sitting motionless, mouth agape and eyes not blinking.
News clippings now showed the collapsing of the Twin Towers in slow motions. They were plummeting to the street below. Pedestrians were running along the Brooklyn River. Interminable billows of smoke hung over Manhattan’s sky line. Red tongues of flames melted the monumental structures of the Towers.
“Krishna”! Durga screamed as if she got her head struck by an iron hammer, leaving her in pulp.
August 6, 2001.
Sitting cross legged on the floor, Krishna was engrossed in packing up a potpourri of things and placing them in two larger than life suitcases. He felt no gaga about his trip to New Jersey though he was duty-bound to leave India. Something tugged at his heart- he felt guilty leaving his young wife lonely for another year. So, when he finished packing he thought that he would be carrying along with him not only the bags and packages, but the broken pieces of Durga’s heart.
“Why, Krishna? Can’t you stay with me for a few more days?” Durga yammered, drying the sweat on Krishna’s forehead with her palluv.
“No, dear. I can’t,” Krishna avoided looking at her. For, Durga’s broken voice loaded with the agony of parting him melted his heart and he had to fortify himself to keep his cool.
“Have you ever heard of the WTC”? He asked her matter-of-factly- a clever attempt to change the mood of Durga. “The world Trade Center is 1450 feet tall, one of the tallest buildings in the world, having 100-odd floors.” Krishna paused and then continued. “The WTC is a fitting tribute to American Engineering marvel. I had been to the top of the Towers more than once. Standing over there I always wished to touch the stars and the moon that seem always parking themselves in one of the Towers. What a fantasy?” Krishna laughed.
“Is your Enrow at the top slot?” she asked. Her mind too was in the top of the towers, as she fantasized Krishna’s dabbling with stars and the moon.
“My office is in the 60th floor. We are a la Buddha, liking mid-path only.” He laughed again.
September 11. 2001.
News channels were still flashing out heart-wrenching scenes in and around Manhattan. Hundreds of panic-stricken people were found running hither and thither in search of a husband, wife, son, daughter and friends. Some people were running from out of heaps of debris with blood oozing from their wounded bodies. Hospitals went haywire, not able to accommodate all the wounded.
August 7. 2001.
Chennai air-port was still astir even at those odd hours. It was bursting at seams with people rushing either to check-in or check-out. Krishna was standing behind a trolley loaded with suitcases. Durga was in tears.
“Hey, what’s this? Don’t cry like a child?” Krishna whispered into her ears.” I will be home this time next year, dear. I will then take you to New Jersey… no more parting then. Right! Don’t cry Durga, as if I’m gone forever.” He hugged her.
“Don’t talk like that, Krishna,” she started crying again. “I need you Krishna. I want you to be with me all through my life.” She watched him until he eventually turned and, with a wave, jogged toward the checking point. When he was gone out of her sight and his flight took off, she left the air-port for home. While walking unsteadily to the exit, she felt instinctively that there was some kind of cloud, sadness hanging over her heart. She didn’t know why.
September 11, 2001.
News channels were still at it, unfolding horrendous scenes one by one. People entrapped in the melting towers looked like toys. They were seen jumping from the burning Towers. OMG, screeched a woman. The great monument, a standing ovation to an Engineering Marvel, was now in heaps of grime. They were nothing but heaps of pebble, iron rods, broken mortars and dust.
“Krishna, where are you?” Durga cried, but her voice died in her throat. She became nonplussed, felt a lump in her throat. It was a gory scenario- she watched the falling down of all the floors of the Towers to the ground below. She wailed…blubbered thinking she sounded like a four-year-old but was unable to control her from shedding copious tears. She buried her face in her hands and cried again and again. But, how long one could cry? She needed some water to wet her sour throat. Her in-laws have already retired to their bed room. Left alone, she felt like sitting in a cavern and the darkness around her was trying to prise open her soul.
September 11, 2001.
She thought of climbing up the stairs to her in-laws room and breaking the havoc that had wrought the Towers and of course, the fate of Krishna. But, she had abandoned the idea as soon as she realized that her uncle was convalescing after a massive heart attack and her aunty too was not keeping good health.
She didn’t like to watch the TV any further- the blood curdling scenes only added to her debilitating mind. She flickered off the TV after noting down the Enrow’s Helpline numbers. Now, she felt more lonely in the sprawling house and the silence surrounded her became more noisy and awesome.
It took her quite a time and efforts to carry herself to the pooja room. She only wobbled. She stood before the framed photograph of Lord Ram, put her palms together and prayed: ‘Hey, Ram! Please save my Krishna. Please restore him to me’.
She then limped back to the hall, holding her heart in hands, picked up the telephone and dialed the Enrow’s Helpline numbers. The phone was ringing on the other side. Durga couldn’t stand- she felt her knees weak- every second of her waiting seemed like hours. She heard a medley of voices before she was connected to a woman who spoke in grim, cheerless tone. She greeted Durga, asked her about the name of the person whom she wanted to know about. Durga couldn’t speak, her tongue slipped, mouth shut. “Krishna… Rama Krishna,” she muttered after a few seconds of waiting. The phone at the other end hung up after the woman with a grim voice had collected all details about Krishna including Durga’s contact number.
Durga then walked slowly over to the kitchen sink, opened the faucet and splashed water over her face. She then dried her face with her palluv and tidied up her hair.
‘Don’t cry as if I’m gone for good.’ Krishna’s words slapped her ears and snapped her heart. She heard him say those parting words at the time of his leaving her at the air-port. She now decided not to cry. She plopped down on the sofa and closed her eyes. It was raining outside and she heard ramblings of thunder. The unseasoned rain added to her woes and heightened her dark despair. She at last fell into sleep, forgetting the trauma she was undergoing.
She woke up with a bang when the phone rang. She must have drifted off to sleep for long. She groped blindly for the light switch, the phone ringing all the while. She tried to reach the phone, her knee hit something. A sharp flash of pain shot right through her head. ‘Must be the wretched teapoy’ she thought and snatched the receiver. It was the ‘grim voice’ again. “Mam, what did you say your husband’s name? Rama Krishna? Or Radha Krishna”?
“R-A-M-A K-R-I-S-H-N-A,” Durga repeated Krishna’s name pausing between every syllable.
“Thank you. Will get back to you ASAP” The phone went dead at the other end.
Collapsing into the sofa again, she stretched out her legs and placed them on the teapoy. The glossy, gold coated wedding album came to her sight. She flipped through its pages. ‘How many times had I browsed this album, but they look new every time I turn its pages. It is not a flat, decorated file, but a treasure trove that keeps alive all the golden moments of my life,’ she thought, smiled at Krishna who was in full-suit standing like a soldier. Beside him was she, the princess, draped in a gold-braided silk sari. She was sporting a potpourri of jewelries around her neck. Even today she could discern how dazzlingly she was looking on the wedding day. She seemed letting out an air of pride thinking that how lucky she was to have a man like Krishna as her life partner.
She put down the album, got up and started walking back and forth the hall way for awhile. Her having taken a short refuge in the album did lift up her sagging spirits. But then, the ghost of agony climbed onto her back again. She tried to read Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’ from where she had kept a book mark. Bur she couldn’t. She opened the refrigerator and had a swig from the Coke bottle. Her stomach started churning only to remind her that she hadn’t had her dinner.
The phone rang again. She reached for it in one bound. But, it did not occur to her to take the receiver from the cradle. She stood frozen. She was in turmoil- would she get a kinda bad message from the Enrow. She felt her adrenaline rushing to her head, had streams of sweat running through her body.
“Hello!’ she spoke at last, voice trailing, hands trembling.
“Mam, Enrow again,” now there was no Ms. Grim. The voice from the other end was clear and cheerful. “We have good news for you Mrs. Durga. Your husband Rama Krishna is safe. He is now in Santa Barbara on an official trip. Will speak to you soon. Thanks for calling, Mam.”
“My god, thank you… thank you so much.” Durga sighed and hung up. Though the storm had passed over her mind, it left her physically and mentally weak. Her heart, which was till now a ball of gloom, now returned back to its square, all clear. After hours of languishing, she let out a streak of smile on her lips that had become deathly pallor. ‘Thank god, you answered my prayer; restored to me my Krishna,’ she muttered while retreating to the pooja room.
September 12, 2001. [Mid-night]
Durga’s in-laws and some of her neighbors were sitting before the TV, watching the inferno of the Twin Towers that swallowed them the day before. She told them Krishna was safe, gone to Santa Barbara on a business trip. She had woken up early in the morning, had her bath and draped in a new sari- a pink orange embroidered sari with a matching contrast color blouse. She had her hair plaited, wore strings of jasmine flowers on the plait. A bit of mascara made her eyes more elegant and majestic. She came out of her room and sat on a chair placed in between her in-laws. She was now laughing, cracking jokes with her neighbors and talking to them rather animatedly.
September 12, 2001. [Morning]
Enrow’s camp-office was in bedlam. Telephones had been ringing constantly. Exhausted and tired to death, the beleaguered staff was answering all the calls. Though they seemed outwardly panicky, they showed a semblance of quietude and cool repose.
The CEO of Enrow was breathing fume and fire. He got broken out into a sweat and his forehead was covered with beads or perspiration when one of his assistants told him that she had committed an embarrassing faux-pas. “I got confused by the similarity of two names sir- Rama Krishna and Radha Krishna. It is Radha Krishna who has gone to Santa Barbara on official duty. Unfortunately, Rama Krishna is no more. He was working in the 60th floor of our office when the Twin Towers were razed to the ground.”
“Hell with your faux pas,” the CEO thundered, his voice shaky, eyes flashed out anger and rage. “But, how are you going to break the news of Rama Krishna’s death to Mrs. Durga and convince her of your having made a grave blunder.” He got up from his seat, looked out the window. The place where the Twin Towers once stood majestically was now empty and he could still see a cloud of smoke billowing up in the air from the debris. “Look”, he yelled at the assistant again, “I don’t want any more dilly-dallying on our side. Call a spade a spade. Call now, Mrs. Durga and tell her that Rama Krishna is no more. You should apologize to her having given wrong information.
‘Yes, sir.” The assistant got up from her seat and began dialing Durga’s number.
September 12, 2001. [Mid-night]
The telephone rang. Eyes that were glued to the TV now turned to Durga. “It seems a long distance call. It must be Krishna,” Durga smiled, her eyes gleamed, face bloomed.
She rose from the chair, frisking like a lamb and picked up the receiver.
>>>
Come Not September(Easawar Arumugam)
Come Not September- Part I
September 11, 2001.
The night was young; nascent, but intriguing- just pitched in to rob the Universe of its light…spill streaks of gloominess and an eerie silence. Durga was restless, dark despair ran through her mind. She saw something ominous in the gathering darkness. All through the day she felt nightmarish, allowing her to be swept away by inexplicable scary thoughts. She didn’t know why she was feeling like being in the eye of a storm- run-down and somber.
She felt awfully empty and vacant. To drive away the scary thoughts mushrooming on her mind, she turned on the TV to watch her favorite reality show. But, it was not there. She grimaced when she saw all TV channels running special news bulletins. She became curious, got her eyes focused on the TV screen.
“Today is a black day for America,” a young, flamboyant news-caster, wearing a black top, read the news in a somber tone. “Terrorists”, she continued, “having hijacked four civilian planes, crashed them into the Twin Towers and made them collapse like a pack of cards. Pentagon too was hit by another plane. Over 5000 people are feared dead.”
Durga was perplexed and felt like falling into a fathomless abyss. She had beads of sweat covering her forehead and began to breathe hard. However, she was still looking through the TV - reining in her wayward mind.
August 5, 2001.
Half past five. The mist loaded twilight was waiting to usher in a new dawn. Durga saw glow worms flying both outside the window and inside her heart.
Krishna was sleeping with his arms flung, snoring intermittently. Sitting on the bed, Durga leaned her head against his broad, hairy chest, twisting and ruffling his hair. She heard the temple bell tingling to invite the usatkal when the angels are supposed to be taking bath in the Ganges. Durga was in up-beat mood, wished to fly onto the sky along with the morning birds. Perched on tree tops, Koels staged their concerts filling the air with their munificent songs. ‘Why the world looks so heavenly today? Let it freeze at this moment so that I will have Krishna with me forever’, she whispered, smiled at her childish thoughts and hugged Krishna.
September 11, 2001.
Durga was still glued to the TV, sitting motionless, mouth agape and eyes not blinking.
News clippings now showed the collapsing of the Twin Towers in slow motions. They were plummeting to the street below. Pedestrians were running along the Brooklyn River. Interminable billows of smoke hung over Manhattan’s sky line. Red tongues of flames melted the monumental structures of the Towers.
“Krishna”! Durga screamed as if she got her head struck by an iron hammer, leaving her in pulp.
August 6, 2001.
Sitting cross legged on the floor, Krishna was engrossed in packing up a potpourri of things and placing them in two larger than life suitcases. He felt no gaga about his trip to New Jersey though he was duty-bound to leave India. Something tugged at his heart- he felt guilty leaving his young wife lonely for another year. So, when he finished packing he thought that he would be carrying along with him not only the bags and packages, but the broken pieces of Durga’s heart.
“Why, Krishna? Can’t you stay with me for a few more days?” Durga yammered, drying the sweat on Krishna’s forehead with her palluv.
“No, dear. I can’t,” Krishna avoided looking at her. For, Durga’s broken voice loaded with the agony of parting him melted his heart and he had to fortify himself to keep his cool.
“Have you ever heard of the WTC”? He asked her matter-of-factly- a clever attempt to change the mood of Durga. “The world Trade Center is 1450 feet tall, one of the tallest buildings in the world, having 100-odd floors.” Krishna paused and then continued. “The WTC is a fitting tribute to American Engineering marvel. I had been to the top of the Towers more than once. Standing over there I always wished to touch the stars and the moon that seem always parking themselves in one of the Towers. What a fantasy?” Krishna laughed.
“Is your Enrow at the top slot?” she asked. Her mind too was in the top of the towers, as she fantasized Krishna’s dabbling with stars and the moon.
“My office is in the 60th floor. We are a la Buddha, liking mid-path only.” He laughed again.
September 11. 2001.
News channels were still flashing out heart-wrenching scenes in and around Manhattan. Hundreds of panic-stricken people were found running hither and thither in search of a husband, wife, son, daughter and friends. Some people were running from out of heaps of debris with blood oozing from their wounded bodies. Hospitals went haywire, not able to accommodate all the wounded.
August 7. 2001.
Chennai air-port was still astir even at those odd hours. It was bursting at seams with people rushing either to check-in or check-out. Krishna was standing behind a trolley loaded with suitcases. Durga was in tears.
“Hey, what’s this? Don’t cry like a child?” Krishna whispered into her ears.” I will be home this time next year, dear. I will then take you to New Jersey… no more parting then. Right! Don’t cry Durga, as if I’m gone forever.” He hugged her.
“Don’t talk like that, Krishna,” she started crying again. “I need you Krishna. I want you to be with me all through my life.” She watched him until he eventually turned and, with a wave, jogged toward the checking point. When he was gone out of her sight and his flight took off, she left the air-port for home. While walking unsteadily to the exit, she felt instinctively that there was some kind of cloud, sadness hanging over her heart. She didn’t know why.
September 11, 2001.
News channels were still at it, unfolding horrendous scenes one by one. People entrapped in the melting towers looked like toys. They were seen jumping from the burning Towers. OMG, screeched a woman. The great monument, a standing ovation to an Engineering Marvel, was now in heaps of grime. They were nothing but heaps of pebble, iron rods, broken mortars and dust.
“Krishna, where are you?” Durga cried, but her voice died in her throat. She became nonplussed, felt a lump in her throat. It was a gory scenario- she watched the falling down of all the floors of the Towers to the ground below. She wailed…blubbered thinking she sounded like a four-year-old but was unable to control her from shedding copious tears. She buried her face in her hands and cried again and again. But, how long one could cry? She needed some water to wet her sour throat. Her in-laws have already retired to their bed room. Left alone, she felt like sitting in a cavern and the darkness around her was trying to prise open her soul.
September 11, 2001.
She thought of climbing up the stairs to her in-laws room and breaking the havoc that had wrought the Towers and of course, the fate of Krishna. But, she had abandoned the idea as soon as she realized that her uncle was convalescing after a massive heart attack and her aunty too was not keeping good health.
She didn’t like to watch the TV any further- the blood curdling scenes only added to her debilitating mind. She flickered off the TV after noting down the Enrow’s Helpline numbers. Now, she felt more lonely in the sprawling house and the silence surrounded her became more noisy and awesome.
It took her quite a time and efforts to carry herself to the pooja room. She only wobbled. She stood before the framed photograph of Lord Ram, put her palms together and prayed: ‘Hey, Ram! Please save my Krishna. Please restore him to me’.
She then limped back to the hall, holding her heart in hands, picked up the telephone and dialed the Enrow’s Helpline numbers. The phone was ringing on the other side. Durga couldn’t stand- she felt her knees weak- every second of her waiting seemed like hours. She heard a medley of voices before she was connected to a woman who spoke in grim, cheerless tone. She greeted Durga, asked her about the name of the person whom she wanted to know about. Durga couldn’t speak, her tongue slipped, mouth shut. “Krishna… Rama Krishna,” she muttered after a few seconds of waiting. The phone at the other end hung up after the woman with a grim voice had collected all details about Krishna including Durga’s contact number.
Durga then walked slowly over to the kitchen sink, opened the faucet and splashed water over her face. She then dried her face with her palluv and tidied up her hair.
‘Don’t cry as if I’m gone for good.’ Krishna’s words slapped her ears and snapped her heart. She heard him say those parting words at the time of his leaving her at the air-port. She now decided not to cry. She plopped down on the sofa and closed her eyes. It was raining outside and she heard ramblings of thunder. The unseasoned rain added to her woes and heightened her dark despair. She at last fell into sleep, forgetting the trauma she was undergoing.
She woke up with a bang when the phone rang. She must have drifted off to sleep for long. She groped blindly for the light switch, the phone ringing all the while. She tried to reach the phone, her knee hit something. A sharp flash of pain shot right through her head. ‘Must be the wretched teapoy’ she thought and snatched the receiver. It was the ‘grim voice’ again. “Mam, what did you say your husband’s name? Rama Krishna? Or Radha Krishna”?
“R-A-M-A K-R-I-S-H-N-A,” Durga repeated Krishna’s name pausing between every syllable.
“Thank you. Will get back to you ASAP” The phone went dead at the other end.
Collapsing into the sofa again, she stretched out her legs and placed them on the teapoy. The glossy, gold coated wedding album came to her sight. She flipped through its pages. ‘How many times had I browsed this album, but they look new every time I turn its pages. It is not a flat, decorated file, but a treasure trove that keeps alive all the golden moments of my life,’ she thought, smiled at Krishna who was in full-suit standing like a soldier. Beside him was she, the princess, draped in a gold-braided silk sari. She was sporting a potpourri of jewelries around her neck. Even today she could discern how dazzlingly she was looking on the wedding day. She seemed letting out an air of pride thinking that how lucky she was to have a man like Krishna as her life partner.
She put down the album, got up and started walking back and forth the hall way for awhile. Her having taken a short refuge in the album did lift up her sagging spirits. But then, the ghost of agony climbed onto her back again. She tried to read Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’ from where she had kept a book mark. Bur she couldn’t. She opened the refrigerator and had a swig from the Coke bottle. Her stomach started churning only to remind her that she hadn’t had her dinner.
The phone rang again. She reached for it in one bound. But, it did not occur to her to take the receiver from the cradle. She stood frozen. She was in turmoil- would she get a kinda bad message from the Enrow. She felt her adrenaline rushing to her head, had streams of sweat running through her body.
“Hello!’ she spoke at last, voice trailing, hands trembling.
“Mam, Enrow again,” now there was no Ms. Grim. The voice from the other end was clear and cheerful. “We have good news for you Mrs. Durga. Your husband Rama Krishna is safe. He is now in Santa Barbara on an official trip. Will speak to you soon. Thanks for calling, Mam.”
“My god, thank you… thank you so much.” Durga sighed and hung up. Though the storm had passed over her mind, it left her physically and mentally weak. Her heart, which was till now a ball of gloom, now returned back to its square, all clear. After hours of languishing, she let out a streak of smile on her lips that had become deathly pallor. ‘Thank god, you answered my prayer; restored to me my Krishna,’ she muttered while retreating to the pooja room.
September 12, 2001. [Mid-night]
Durga’s in-laws and some of her neighbors were sitting before the TV, watching the inferno of the Twin Towers that swallowed them the day before. She told them Krishna was safe, gone to Santa Barbara on a business trip. She had woken up early in the morning, had her bath and draped in a new sari- a pink orange embroidered sari with a matching contrast color blouse. She had her hair plaited, wore strings of jasmine flowers on the plait. A bit of mascara made her eyes more elegant and majestic. She came out of her room and sat on a chair placed in between her in-laws. She was now laughing, cracking jokes with her neighbors and talking to them rather animatedly.
September 12, 2001. [Morning]
Enrow’s camp-office was in bedlam. Telephones had been ringing constantly. Exhausted and tired to death, the beleaguered staff was answering all the calls. Though they seemed outwardly panicky, they showed a semblance of quietude and cool repose.
The CEO of Enrow was breathing fume and fire. He got broken out into a sweat and his forehead was covered with beads or perspiration when one of his assistants told him that she had committed an embarrassing faux-pas. “I got confused by the similarity of two names sir- Rama Krishna and Radha Krishna. It is Radha Krishna who has gone to Santa Barbara on official duty. Unfortunately, Rama Krishna is no more. He was working in the 60th floor of our office when the Twin Towers were razed to the ground.”
“Hell with your faux pas,” the CEO thundered, his voice shaky, eyes flashed out anger and rage. “But, how are you going to break the news of Rama Krishna’s death to Mrs. Durga and convince her of your having made a grave blunder.” He got up from his seat, looked out the window. The place where the Twin Towers once stood majestically was now empty and he could still see a cloud of smoke billowing up in the air from the debris. “Look”, he yelled at the assistant again, “I don’t want any more dilly-dallying on our side. Call a spade a spade. Call now, Mrs. Durga and tell her that Rama Krishna is no more. You should apologize to her having given wrong information.
‘Yes, sir.” The assistant got up from her seat and began dialing Durga’s number.
September 12, 2001. [Mid-night]
The telephone rang. Eyes that were glued to the TV now turned to Durga. “It seems a long distance call. It must be Krishna,” Durga smiled, her eyes gleamed, face bloomed.
She rose from the chair, frisking like a lamb and picked up the receiver.
>>>
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