by Debleena Roy
The boat took them deeper and deeper into the forest of green shimmers and blue ripples. A lone crane glided forward, as if nodding a gentle hello. The trees that hugged the shore bent over, as if trying to protect an untold secret. They had almost reached Poovar, a lost island locked between the land, the backwaters and the sea, the sound of the silence broken only by the lashing of the waves and the flight of the birds.
The boat rocked none too gently, as Sobhit jumped up with his camera, a Nikon DSLR. Akash carefully packed his book back into his laptop bag.
“Watch it, I bet you still can’t swim!” Akash shouted as Shobit stood up suddenly to take another shot and the boat tilted, dangerously.
“You are more worried about your book than my camera, aren’t you? That’s a crime story, right, just like you used to read in college?”
Akash nodded, surprised that Sobhit remembered after all these years.
“Ah, that shot, man, just surreal. You are a genius, how did you even find this place?” Sobhit jumped up again.
“Work.” Akash would explain later.
Archaeology had never been Sobhit’s area of interest anyway. “How can you be excited by ruins?” he would keep asking Akash while strumming his guitar when they were roommates and close friends in college. Their regular trekking college trips were now a distant memory. Sobhit made plans every year, but Akash was too busy to join.
Sobhit had been insistent that they meet this year. “You never have time, Akash. Listen, I need to meet you. Two days, that’s all. Come on, even Obama takes holidays.”
”Ok, but I’ll choose the place.” Akash had finally relented.
Akash had come to meet the temple authorities of Padmanabha Swamy temple in Trivandrum, an hour away from Poovar. He and his team had spent the last few days in the narrow dark temple corridors, excavating for gold that belonged to Travancore kings. And they had found five such vaults full of gold. And Poovar was a place Akash wanted to see. King Marthanda Varma, the most famous king of the line, had taken refuge in Poovar, when he had been ousted from his kingdom.
“Can’t believe we made it finally, and look at you now, man, living your dream – successful archaeologist. You always did love unravelling secrets, didn’t you?” Sobhit was still speaking at his breakneck speed. Engine, they used to call him in college.
“I just had one dream, Sobhit, so it was easy. You were the one with a million dreams.”
“Tell me Akash; wouldn’t we be happier if we could just flow, where life took us, no dreams? Like this river?”
“You still talk in metaphors.” Akash laughed.
“Broken dreams give rise to metaphors indeed.” Sobhit held his camera and looked at Akash. “My music venture is over now. My idea of distributing Sufi folk music on the cloud was too much for the Bollywood-ruled industry. And I am in between jobs. But I am working on this brilliant play.”
“What? Nine job changes, don’t you get tired?” Akash stretched his legs. He didn’t see Sobhit looking away suddenly.
“Sir, your resort.” The boat stopped. An array of floating cottages greeted them, rocking gently, in rhythm with the green water. Akash spied a hammock in the balcony, outside their cottage, the ducks greeting him with their version of an evening raga, in silent symphony with the swaying trees.
Once in their room, Sobhit didn’t sit; he paced the room, eyes glittering, his fist clenching and unclenching.
“My play, Akash, it’s a masterpiece, I tell you.”
Akash started, shocked out of his reverie. What was Sobhit talking about?
“It’s about this lost soul, you know, a man in search of his own identity.”
“That’s such an old, done-to-death theme, Sobhit, the eternal “Man’s search for meaning” and all that crap.”
“Wait till you hear the full story. See, it’s almost sunset time, why don’t we go the beach and get drunk and wasted? And I’ll tell you about my play.”
“Drunk, why drunk? We don’t need to get drunk. Don’t be juvenile, Sobhit. This is not college. And I need to finish some work anyway, can’t afford to get drunk.”
Akash glanced at his phone as he said that; he was expecting an update from his team.
Sobhit was silent when he looked up. Uncharacteristically silent. “Ok, let’s go and see the sunset at least.” Akash said.
“The master agrees. Chalo bhaiya.” Sobhit gave a mock salute to the boatman who was sitting and smoking a bidi outside their cottage.
The backwaters opened out to the sea, and the unspoilt, golden sand beach that they stepped on was devoid of the usual littering of a sea of humans. The orange Sun looked like it would soon be busy taking a dip in the pristine sea beyond the beach; the black dots of the fishermen’s boats now distant specks on the horizon.
Sobhit’s camera was already out. “Doesn’t the Sun look angry, Akash? Like it could gobble up the sea? And the sand? And still not be happy or satisfied?”
“What nonsense.” Akash’s phone beeped. His team. Akash walked ahead; he found a quiet spot further down the beach, away from Sobhit and his camera where he could sit and talk in peace. This update was important.
“Boss, we discovered one more vault. There is more gold. This will be one of the biggest temple treasures ever found in India.”
Akash jumped up, triumphant. He spoke rapidly, giving terse commands and quick messages. “Yes, I will be back tomorrow. You guys keep this secret for now.” Call over, he turned back to walk towards Sobhit and the Sun. This was a huge success for him. A miracle that would boost his sagging research papers and dwindling accolades. He would tell Sobhit. Now, where did that guy go take his perfect sunset shot?
“Sobhit!” he called out. No answer.
And yes, he would listen to Sobhit’s play as well. Trust him to turn playwright at this age.
“Sobhit, you are missing the best shot of the Sun.” Silence. His skin tingled. Akash shivered, the silence unbroken around him. Where did Sobhit go? He was too old to be playing hide and seek.
“Sobhit, Sobhit?” Akash ran down the beach, his legs shaking now.
He stepped on shells, disturbed a pair of crabs, but everything around him was empty and quiet. Too quiet. Too empty.
Sobhit was nowhere to be seen.
Akash stepped over a black bag and stopped. Sobhit’s camera. He would not have left his camera anywhere. He was too fond of it. And anyway, he didn’t know swimming.
Unless, did he…How could that be? He was always full of life. Sobhit, couldn’t, not here, not like this.
Did he go back to the hotel? But he could not have. There was no other way to leave. Akash walked to the edge of the beach where their boat had dropped them. The boatman was sitting alone.
“Sir, we have to go back to the hotel, fast,” the boatman urged, pointing at the darkening sky.
“But my friend, did you see my friend?” Akash asked him, his voice shaking. But the boatman had been catching up on his sleep. He had not even looked up. Akash called the hotel manager. Sobhit had not reached the hotel. The boatman and Akash ran down the length of the small beach. Nothing. Akash had to return to the hotel.
By that time Akash reached the hotel, the police had arrived. Motorboats were patrolling on the backwaters, out in the sea. No sign of Sobhit.
Akash was still trembling, his own victory forgotten, not bothering to wipe his tears that seemed to have lost all control. “But how could you have not seen him, Sir?” The hotel manager kept asking the same question that was relentlessly going through his own mind. He shook his head, picked up Sobhit’s camera and started looking through the pictures. He flicked through idly. But what was this? These were the pictures Sobhit had been so busy taking!
The pictures seemed to tell a story. Each picture, a scene of desolation.
A lone crane flying away, a fishing boat moving away towards the horizon, a single crab half-buried in the sand, an empty bench, a broken swing, a fallen tree trunk – the images were endless, the visuals were too stark, the pain only too clear, now. There was no happy picture, no picture of his wife, no picture of his friends, no picture of happiness.
Akash sat for hours, going through the pictures, wishing he had spoken, wishing he had asked, and wishing again for that quiet moment on the beach before the quietness disappeared forever.
Hours passed. The long night was over. The hotel manager and the police looked exhausted. The search was far from over. Akash had to go back to his work, to the lost temple whose gold he had found. His team needed him. He wanted to stay, to find Sobhit. He wiped his sweat that had mingled with tears, tried in vain to straighten his crumpled shirt as he walked to the jetty.
His boat was ready, his luggage loaded. The hotel staff looked at him. Mute questions, continued silence. Did he imagine the suspicion in their glance?
Even the trees hugging the shore seemed to stare accusingly at him. Akash started, his sleepless mind playing tricks on him. Wasn’t that Sobhit behind the tree? Or was that him by the beach, picking up shells? Wasn’t Sobhit sitting by the river, catching fish? Or was that Sobhit running, his hair flying behind him, running to taking a shot of the rising Sun?
Akash hugged Sobhit’s camera and got on to the boat without looking back again.
Debleeena blogs at debleena-roy.blogspot.in and has had articles published in Chillibreeze and eZinearticles.
Brilliantly written. Very picturesque, and the end leaves you yearning for more.
I didn’t realize you read this:)