Ice bottles are placed on his head. Dr N.O. Pillai is an able doctor, he never does anything wrong. People live who live. Those that are taken away go away. Look at it in the hospital. Can you prevent what has to go? Tangamma has a difficult time. When her husband is unhappy he is angry. When he weeps he is happy. That, sir, is the law of kitten, he says in philosophic explanation. He has an explanation, as I told you, for everything. Usha is the cause of Shridhar’s fever, is as simple for him as the buffalo is the mother of the grey-white calf, suckling at her udder. How mysterious life is. Does one know anything?
The doctor knows. The temperature is measured with a glass instrument that speaks. Modhu, the elder son of Govindan Nair, who is always on the football field or at some decisive mischief (for he wants to be a soldier like Major General Auchinleck), cleans the thermometer and the temperature has gone up to 105 degrees. Hope is a bubble that is born in the heart. It bursts when it will. That depends on the outer air, I think. Or it is like a bad scale? It always shows you a measure according to the ration card. The rice you eat at home belongs to another measure. Hence there is famine. Hence people die.
Famine is the cause of death. Wars are the cause of murder. Imperialism is the cause of slavery. Sri Krishna is the cause of Mahatma Gandhi. Lord, how can man be free from birth and death? Why should death come to our door?
But Shantha is all apprehensive. What if death came not to the next door but to mine—to Usha, I mean? She prayed therefore there should be no death.
But I ask of you, Will death come and say: May I come, sir, dear sir? What is death to a kitten that walks on the wall? Have you ever seen a kitten fall? You could fall. I could fall. But the kittens walk on the wall. They are so deft. They are so young. They are so white. The mother cat watches them. And when they are about to fall, there she is, her head in the air, and she picks you up by the scruff of your neck. You never know where she is. (Who has ever seen her? Nobody has.) To know where she is, you have to be the mother’s mother. And how could that ever be? Mother, I worship you.
The bamboos were already in the courtyard. Death had come. It spoiled the nice courtyard, with flowerbeds of roses.
I never went across the wall. How could I? I could hear Tangamma weep, then Govindan Nair said something. Dr N.O. Pillai is such an able man. He walked out of the house efficiently. It was a bad case, he said. His Gladstone bag was so knowledgeable. It contained mysterious instruments that spoke. Death is such speech? Tangamma did everything as if she were sleeping. She did not weep any more. Modhu wept and wept. He had lost his only brother.
Where is Shridhar gone? Where is my friend gone? Usha walked with me, erect and tearless, holding my hand, to the cremation ground. It was decided to burn him though he was only seven. Usha thought it a grand thing to be burned. It made you see your heart. ‘Father, where has Shridhar gone?’ ‘Daughter, he has gone to build a house.’ ‘Father, where shall we go?’ ‘Daughter, where there is a house.’ ‘Father, what is death?’ ‘Daughter, it’s like the clock tower of the Secretariat. It chimes time.’ ‘Father, what is life?’ ‘Daughter, it is where no flame can burn.’ ‘Father, where is that?’ ‘Daughter, I do not know. Ask Govindan Nair.’ ‘Father, what is marriage?’ ‘Daughter, it is when I give you to God.’ ‘Father, when will you give me to God?’ ‘Daughter, tomorrow.’
Somehow after Shridhar died Usha stayed on with me. There must always be a kitten on the wall.
Shantha, more and more, came to live with me. The child would soon come. It will be a son. It will be a brother. Usha was going to have a brother. She told her school—now she went to the convent school—that she was going to have a brother. They said: Where is your mother, then? She said: Here.
The doctor knows. The temperature is measured with a glass instrument that speaks. Modhu, the elder son of Govindan Nair, who is always on the football field or at some decisive mischief (for he wants to be a soldier like Major General Auchinleck), cleans the thermometer and the temperature has gone up to 105 degrees. Hope is a bubble that is born in the heart. It bursts when it will. That depends on the outer air, I think. Or it is like a bad scale? It always shows you a measure according to the ration card. The rice you eat at home belongs to another measure. Hence there is famine. Hence people die.
Famine is the cause of death. Wars are the cause of murder. Imperialism is the cause of slavery. Sri Krishna is the cause of Mahatma Gandhi. Lord, how can man be free from birth and death? Why should death come to our door?
But Shantha is all apprehensive. What if death came not to the next door but to mine—to Usha, I mean? She prayed therefore there should be no death.
But I ask of you, Will death come and say: May I come, sir, dear sir? What is death to a kitten that walks on the wall? Have you ever seen a kitten fall? You could fall. I could fall. But the kittens walk on the wall. They are so deft. They are so young. They are so white. The mother cat watches them. And when they are about to fall, there she is, her head in the air, and she picks you up by the scruff of your neck. You never know where she is. (Who has ever seen her? Nobody has.) To know where she is, you have to be the mother’s mother. And how could that ever be? Mother, I worship you.
The bamboos were already in the courtyard. Death had come. It spoiled the nice courtyard, with flowerbeds of roses.
I never went across the wall. How could I? I could hear Tangamma weep, then Govindan Nair said something. Dr N.O. Pillai is such an able man. He walked out of the house efficiently. It was a bad case, he said. His Gladstone bag was so knowledgeable. It contained mysterious instruments that spoke. Death is such speech? Tangamma did everything as if she were sleeping. She did not weep any more. Modhu wept and wept. He had lost his only brother.
Where is Shridhar gone? Where is my friend gone? Usha walked with me, erect and tearless, holding my hand, to the cremation ground. It was decided to burn him though he was only seven. Usha thought it a grand thing to be burned. It made you see your heart. ‘Father, where has Shridhar gone?’ ‘Daughter, he has gone to build a house.’ ‘Father, where shall we go?’ ‘Daughter, where there is a house.’ ‘Father, what is death?’ ‘Daughter, it’s like the clock tower of the Secretariat. It chimes time.’ ‘Father, what is life?’ ‘Daughter, it is where no flame can burn.’ ‘Father, where is that?’ ‘Daughter, I do not know. Ask Govindan Nair.’ ‘Father, what is marriage?’ ‘Daughter, it is when I give you to God.’ ‘Father, when will you give me to God?’ ‘Daughter, tomorrow.’
Somehow after Shridhar died Usha stayed on with me. There must always be a kitten on the wall.
Shantha, more and more, came to live with me. The child would soon come. It will be a son. It will be a brother. Usha was going to have a brother. She told her school—now she went to the convent school—that she was going to have a brother. They said: Where is your mother, then? She said: Here.
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