সৌরভ ভট্টাচার্য
26 May 2019
His village faced the vast sea. The man owned a small factory, and a house he could call his own.... which had three bedrooms, two kitchens and four drawing rooms. A poultry of chicken chattered in his courtyard. Cattle, too, moved fearlessly here and there. But he was a vegetarian.
He had only one wish.... to make rockets. He went to the city to learn rocket- making. Not a real rocket, of course... high flying fireworks. He never wanted to visit the space in a real rocket. He loved to lay on his back, in his solitary courtyard, and gaze at the stars. He never wanted to know how his house looked like, from up above the world... from the stars.
But the rockets he made, didn't fly high--- no higher than the palm trees that circled the village. They charged ostentatiously with heavy sounds, but went off as soon as they reached the height of those trees. People thronged in hundreds to see the launch of his rockets. He even made a dent on the roof of his factory to launch his rockets during monsoon. People waited on the eleventh day of the lunar fortnight, in their courtyards, hundreds of umbrellas under the rain... they waited patiently for a successful rocket launch by Ayappa--- yes, that was his name. The rocket used to take off at quarter past seven for sure, but with the same fate.
Ayappa is 55 years old now. 55 years, 4 months and 3 days, to be precise. And still his rockets couldn't fly past the coconut glade of the small village, by the sea.
He wished his rocket could fly past the two twinkling blue stars, that crowned above their village---- fly, disappear in oblivion, never to return. He shared his secret wish with the village chief, Punduri Amma, an old friend of his dead mother. Punduri Amma, hiding her tears under her dark eye shadows, agreed to Ayappa---"Ok, your wish will surely come true one day".
She requested her husband then, and bought a medal from Kochi, one made of mere brass... and pledged to herself, that when Ayappa succeeds, he will be honoured with that medal. Schools will remain closed on that day. Girls will be decked up and boys will go for a rowing game. The elderly will chant the tunes of forgotten days--- songs unknown to the present generation. Each house will be decorated with 'rangoli's of various new designs. Punduri Amma took all the pains to bring those design books from Chennai--- she coaxed her sister his law, who brought those for her.
Despite all endeavour, Ayappa's rocket couldn't cross the palm trees. The night, Punduri Amma breathed her last was also the eleventh day of the lunar fortnight.
Lying on her bed beside the window, she stared at the twin blue stars and waited for the fiery rocket to fly between the stars, to infinity, never to return. She was thinking hard of the Mother Goddess, her deity, and she was staring hard too. On the northern sky, the youthful moon sailed on the cloudy sea--- she could see every bit of it. An aeroplane passed by the moon, and a piece of cloud suddenly covered the twin stars.
Punduri Amma's eyes closed too--- never to open anymore. She clung to the brass medallion in her right hand--- a medal mistaken by her drunkard son, to be made of gold, who was beaten up by Amma, because he went to sell it at the goldsmith's! Those design books lay strewn on her bed, eaten by moths and worms. The designer of the album itself could scarcely recognise his own creation.
The village gradually began to forget about Ayappa. They became unaware of his existance.
The sea became more and more polluted. The coconut water didn't taste as sweet as old days. The colour of sand was fading too..... sea breeze was getting warmer day by day. The raindrops had ceased singing in the ear of the crop grains, as if they had fallen sick.
All village babies were born short-sighted--- they could scarcely see the road in front. Glasses had to be fetched for all from Tiruvananthapuram. Condoms and contraceptives were found at all nooks and corners of the village. Wine bottles and drug syringes were seen amidst the coconut glade, rice fields and around the village temple, too.
The residents of the village remained unmindful, most of the time. None could concentrate and nobody bothered about the fiery rocket of Ayappa. No one cared to have a look at the twin stars. No child took interest in various shapes the clouds took during monsoon--- like a crouching tiger or a roaring lion.
The sky scraping antennas brought faraway stories within reach, but none cared to listen to the unsung local tales, that whispered on the palm leaves on lonely full moon nights. No one listened. Their whisper was drowned by the cacophony of the television.
No one noticed that Ayappa's rocket missed two scheduled eleventh days of lunar fortnight. No one noticed the absence of cattle and poultry on his courtyard. The whole house was strewn with dry palm leaves. No one noticed anything till a bad odour spread from the house.
Villagers thought, the smell might be of those dead fish, which died due to oil ingestion in the polluted sea. They gathered at the shore to collect the fish but found nothing.
They found the carcasses of their fishing boats--- salt water drew designs on the layers of soot on their body, and fierce looking crabs were seen crawling among the dirty holes in the lap of the unused boats.
Finally, they reached Ayappa's house searching for the source of the rotten smell. The dry branches and leaves broke under their marching feet. The bedrooms, drawing rooms, kitchens were filled with dirt and soot. Wild looking spiders and bats welcomed them carelessly. They couldn't find Ayappa anywhere.
Finally, they found him in his factory. There he was, lying straight on his back, not a scratch on his dark, huge figure----his cattle seen gently licking his body clean--- the chicken were busy picking lice out of his tangled hair---
The materials for his rocket were seen lying all over the place. Ayappa was lying still in the middle, his arms extended, a rocket in each of his palm.
His chest which remained out of breath in deep tension, before each attempt of rocket launch, now lies still--- not a movement seen. His wide eyes were seen staring at the big dent on the factory roof. Water droplets from the salty sea, caught in the mesh of cobwebs, covering the dent, made a beautiful design. The rays of morning sun fell on it and created a scintillating rainbow, none had seen before.
When the villagers came back to his house after making arrangements of his cremation, they remembered that it was the eleventh day of the lunar fortnight again.
Ayappa's gaze was fixed between the twin blue stars, they saw. The light sea breeze came dancing near his open mouth and returned, disappointed. His tired lungs didn't care for the wind anymore.
Translated By: Sukanya Bandyopadhyay