“Oh!” he sighed.
There was still a month remaining before his retirement, but he was dismissed from his job. It had been two days now. He had become a restless soul ever since. He felt the world had changed; or rather he had changed the world for himself !
He threw the paper down on the table.
“I’m going for a bath, then a walk,” he announced.
“Don’t forget the tea, Raman,” Manju cried from inside the kitchen.[break]
But he was gone. The tea was still warm, untouched. The folds of the newspaper moved – the fan was on. No one was there.
“Why, Raman? Why are you doing this to yourself?” Manju whispered in the air.
A brand-new turquoise towel hung in the bathroom. He rubbed the soap vigorously on himself at first but later lathered himself gently. He stayed under the shower longer than need be to cool himself down. Then he dried himself with the new towel. He looked at himself in the mirror and jeered back at an oldie of 59 years, grey-haired, wrinkled, and unshaven. He shaved himself. After that, he dried his face with the same appealing, damp turquoise towel.
He was getting late. Without looking at the mirror, he left for a walk.
The ever light-hearted and undaunted Raman stooped a bit now, his head lowered. Somehow, he no longer exuded the same charisma. A dark shadow of doubt and fear crept into his heart. He felt useless and unproductive. It was a heavy blow – the premature firing from the office.
“I curse the imbecile creature in the chair,” Manju said scathingly. “What does he think of himself, that boss? Treating my husband like this for his work and the years he contributed to the company? What had he not done for the company? Now that it’s booming, they throw him out? That biased rascal!”
Her husband didn’t sleep and eat well any more. Now everything was over!
“Bhagwan sharana!”
“Taremam!”
The usual greetings met him as Raman walked, and he returned them on the way to Swoyambhu. It seemed the smell of incense and the chants filled him with vigor.
He felt at peace here, the inner storm in him always seemed to lower to some extent.
“Ramanji!” Anoor called him on the stairs to the stupa.
“Taremam,” Raman said and exchanged warm smile with the man.
“How are you today?”
The smile lessened. “Khoi! Anoor babu, I still can’t get over it. I still don’t understand. I feel the same every new day, more hollow and sad,” Raman remarked.
“Don’t say so, Dada. Get over it. There certainly is a whiff of ‘rajnitik chalkhel’ even in this. So, don’t be harsh upon yourself. We do acknowledge your sacrifice for the company.”
Anoor thus reassured him. He was a colleague and a really good man at heart.
“But Dada, you look sick,” Anoor added. “I mean, although you’ve shaven, you don’t look good. Are you alright?”
This was enough to get Raman started. His mind was set in a whirlwind. He lost balance because of fatigue. Anoor held him.
“I think you’re weak. Here, have a drink.” Anoor offered him his bottle of mineral water, but Raman felt no better. He got up. “I want to go home,” he declared.
“Come, I’ll help you back home.”
“No, Anoor. You continue your morning walk! I’ll be fine.”
Raman returned without completing his daily walk. A lot of pictures came to his mind- bitter ones. Images of his deceased father, his already tottering world was now shattering into pieces.
“Sick! Am I also showing symptoms of diabetes? Dad? Is this true?” Raman was talking to himself and walking. His grandfather had diabetes, so did his father; so there was a high chance he could have it, too. His father had a painful time during the terminal stage.
Raman fretted all the way home.
“Does it mean I’m dying? Was I so evil that I must face troubles, all this at once? The dismissal! Now the disease! And then? Death? Why, oh why?”
Thinking thus, he somehow managed to get home.
The flow of thoughts was uncontrollable. He was getting delirious, sweating and panting. He collapsed in the chair with a thud.
Manju came to know of his presence because of the noise. She came out of the kitchen.
“Raman, you look… Ha-ha-ha!! You look so….” Manju said and continued laughing. It seared his heart, her booming laughter. He was grieved to see even his beloved
laughing at him.
“This must be the end of my world! My dismissal, my descending age, the feel of disease and death, now even my wife is making fun of my condition. I’m a broken man. Yes, disease is feeding on me, and soon you’ll be happy to get rid of this useless bloke, too. But so long I’m alive, please don’t make fun of me!”
He then joined his hands and knelt down. Silence fell in the room.
Manju ran to him, held his head and buried it on her bosom.
“No, no, Raman, don’t say so. I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But the towel! It must’ve been dyed recently, I guess. So when you applied it wet on your face, it left some blotches on your cheeks, and you look funny. Don’t misunderstand me. No! How could I laugh at you, my man?”
Raman suddenly stopped crying.
“But the… then my face…” he murmured. “It means I’m not diseased. My dear, I.. I will live. Yes, I want to live.
She held his head, facing her.
“Raman, don’t. Don’t torment me or yourself like this. I can’t see you getting more and more anxious everyday. Get a hold of yourself! You haven’t lost anything. There’s still so much to life.”
She caught his moist hands and placed them on her heart and said “Have faith, dear. You want to live; you got to work out your own way! Losing heart won’t help. Okay?”
He nodded. He sought solace in her embrace. What had occurred had left a deep impact on him. Then he saw the futility of his surrender to such petty incidents in life.
He realized he must start his life anew, without being disheartened at the signs of the slightest disturbance in life.
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