STAINED

Vikram straightened his coat, and looked about the majestic bungalows situated on either side of the road. Opulence; was the word which came to his mind. He quickly wiped the precipitation formed on his forehead with the handkerchief. Wealth and its associated comforts always made him nervous; as they were contrary to the constant hardships and pains he faced and fought against throughout his life.

Vikram took out an old worn out piece of paper from his breast pocket and read; 1002-C, Gulmohar Parks.  He observed the number plate of the bungalow in-front of him; 998, four more to go.

His mundane life was jolted when his mother came out with the admission, your father is alive. This was contrary to the information, your father died in an accident; he had been feed since his childhood. By the time Vikram could process the information; your father is one of the richest men of the city; his mother added. The weight of information left him gasping for air as if someone had punched him in the gut.

Vikram walked towards his destination and passed house number 1000. His resentment towards the rich prevented him from admiring the beautiful and soothing gardens, innovative and craft architecture of the buildings. Vikram’s anger tinted eyes only saw shameful display of wealth which showed their apathy towards less fortunate people like him.

He stooped short and wanted to retrieve to the world he came from; I don’t want any truths. In his self synthesis, what to do next? He wasn’t aware that his feet had brought him in-front of the cemented plaque bearing the house number 1002.

What he witnessed took his breath away. The old messy house with over grown hedges appeared out of place. What is this? Vikram compared the address written on the envelope with that of the address in front of him; the address is the same. From a distance the huge bungalow with rusty gate, eroding colours and wild vegetation appeared alien, and it diminished the beauty of the otherwise picture perfect locality. His brain was in turmoil as two thoughts competed for attention; whether to proceed further or retrieve.

Irrespective of the number of question he posed his mother, the address and an old worn out picture were the only information he could extract. So Vikram had taken upon himself to confront the man her mother claimed to be his father.

After some deliberation Vikram decided to venture forward and knocked on the gate. He waited and waited but nothing happened; so he took the initiative opened the gate and went in the premises.

One look at the over grown grass and bent over hedges indicated that the palace had last seen the gardener a long time back. He stopped under porch and tilted up his head to look at the old but majestic door. Vikram concentrated for any sound; but heard none. The vroom sound broke the silence and he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of a speeding car. His eyes traced the vehicle till it got out of sight. Vikram veered his neck back and concentred at the door. By now the vroom sound had died down leaving him in silence.

Vikram waited a few heart beats, standing here and doing nothing, I am making a fool of myself.  He quickly ascended the steps and rung the door bell. No sound came, he rung it again, still nothing. He checked the adjacent switch for electricity; the bulb didn’t illuminate. Do rich localities also have power cuts? The question brought a rise smile to his face.

When continuous banging on the door failed to bring the desired result he decided to check the rear of the house. Descending the steps he ventured to the side of the huge building.

Traversing the rear was all together a different preposition as flora had taken over the cemented path which must have been carved with the intention of giving the inhabitants of the bungalow an easy access across the backyard.  He visualized the once perfectly marked flowerbed which now appeared nothing more than irregular moulds of soil overtaken by the unchecked growth of plant life. Terming it a miniature forest wouldn’t be wrong. The further he prodded the cooler it became as the passage of sun rays was blocked by the overgrown vegetation.

The futility of the whole exercise stared at him; I must have got the addresses wrong. A counter argument originated, Mother couldn’t have got it wrong. As Vikram was busy contemplating his next plan of action, he heard soft snoring. With infused vigour Vikram concentrated hard to hear the sound; the very next moment he heard it again. He quickly moved in its direction; after crossing a few hedges and parting some dangling branches Vikram came face to face with the source of the sound; a dishevelled sleeping old man under a water tap.

The bizarre site piqued Vikram interest and he kept looking at the man; what the hell? A wired sound uttered by the old man broke his trance and he bent down to take a look. As soon as Vikram got little closer his nostrils were hit by the pungent smell of alcohol; and as a reflex he took a step back.

His mind questioned; why such an intense smell was not detected earlier by his nose? Prompt came the reply; the plant’s smell was stronger.

From his vantage point Vikram observed the sleeping man’s face, it felt familiar. This is the first time I am meeting him. He concentrated on the face by imaginary removing the shoulder length matted hair and the long un-kept beard. His eyes twinkled and he produced an envelope from his pants pocket. Vikram gazed at the old worn portrait size picture. He compared the youngish clean shaven younger face with the face of the sleeping old man.

He detected an uncanny resemblance and the word, “Dad,” popped out of his mouth. Just then Vikram was hit by the enormity of the situation and took a step to adjust his stance but instead of touching solid ground his feet hit a rolling object which resulted in him toppling over with, a thud. Laying on the ground level with the snoring man he saw the reason of his fall; an empty whisky bottle. The incident caused anger and astonishment in equal measure.

Getting a grip he got to his feet and was dusting mud from his clothes when he heard a hollow sound.  Vikram looked about the thickly vegetated place but found nothing but the sound kept coming. Oh! As soon as the sound left his mouth he saw fresh water gushing out of the tap drenching the old man who woke up with a start and looked at Vikram.

Those two red attentive eyes; souvenir of excessive drinking arrested him in their gaze. And before Vikram could come up with an explanation the old man did the most peculiar thing, turned his head and put his mount under the tap, uncorked it and drank obvious to Vikram’s presence. This brought laughter to Vikram’s face despite the predicament.

 “Who are you?” the old man said after quenching his thrust.

Before Vikram could answer,

“Sales man” the old man added.

Vikram was finding it difficult to choose the correct words to put forth his case.

“You don’t look like a salesman?

The old man lowered his head and let the water wash away the mud from the beard.

“Where is your briefcase?” the old man’s eye twinkled and pointing a finger, “thief” the old man added.  

“Show me; where are you hiding the knife...gun,” the old said, and inspected Vikram from head to toe.

Despite the serious accusation he found the interrogation funny, and stood his ground.

“Who are you?” the old man asked again.

“Your son” the words blurred out of his mouth.

The old man looked intently at Vikram.

His nerves tightened; how will he react? Vikram dared to breathe with the fear of making any noise. He lamented himself for the lack of tact, it was not supposed to come out like this.

The old man blurred out laughing and rolled in the mud. This was not the reaction he had prepared himself for; antipathy or rejection was the emotions he had hoped for.

“That’s a new one” the old man said after calming.

The old man’s unusual behaviour stated to have an effect on Vikram; as it was getting difficult for him to dislike the man who had abandoned him to face the hard and painful life which was opposite to the ideal upbringing and the bright future he should have got.

“Will you not help your dad to his feet” the old man said extending his arm.  

Vikram did what was told, and dutifully followed the senior man inside the bungalow.

The drawn curtains blocked the afternoon sunshine which made the interior dark like the dusk. In his bid to illuminate the room Vikram spotted the switch board and randomly turned on some of the switches; nothing happened. He was about to question the reason when he saw the glow of a lighting match that illuminated a candle-set set on the table.

The old man gestured for him to make himself comfortable and ushered him towards a sofa. Vikram saw the old man approach a wooden cabinet at the corner of the room. The man took out a whisky bottle, an ice bucket and two empty glasses. Placing them on the table, “What will you have?” the old man said.

Vikram looked at the label on the bottle; it had a bizarre name one which he had never heard or seen before. Is he expecting me to drink with him? And looked at the old man with a questioning look,

“I was taught, always ask the guest first.” the old man said.

An awkward smile originated on his face.

“Don’t just smile, water or soda?”

“Both”

The old man went to the adjoining room.

The isolation gave Vikram time to ponder, is he truly my father? He looked about large but shabby candle lit room. He is not taking me seriously? Vikram rubbed his chin; tell for his deep thinking. Is he really rich like mother told me? As he was formulating his next question; Vikram saw the old man placing the water bottle on the table and took his seat beside Vikram. When did he return, Vikram thought but decided to give the thought a miss and concentrated on the main topic, “I have questions that need answers?” he said.

Vikram got no response, instead watched the old man meticulously un-cocking the bottle, pouring and then adding some ice cubes.

 “Are you even listening to me?” he said.

Obvious to his questions, the old man dipped a finger in the liquid and gave a mild stir, “It’s been long time since I had company” the old man said.

“I have not come to give you company?”

“You need answers and I crave company, why not make a deal?”

“What deal?”

“You drink with me, and I answer to your question to the best of my abilities.”

Vikram thought about his dilemma; was the man truly his father or a drunkard who wanted company. Only one way to find out; and he nodded.

The old man fixed Vikram’s drink, and gestured for him to pick up the glass.

 “Cheers” the old man said.  

Vikram fumbled as he went ahead to pick up his glass which caused whisky to spill over the table, “I am sorry” he said.

The old man gave a quizzical look, “Is it your first time?”

Although this was not Vikram’s first attempt at drinking; he had tasted alcohol before. But drinking with a stranger in a bizarre looking house made him edgy. And adding to that his curiosity to find the truth about his mother’s admission, he is your father. Vikram observed the spilled liquid on the table; it might help. He took a deep breath, and steadied his nerves, “Cheers” he said. 

The old man nodded in response, “Whisky should never be wasted” the old man said.

 Vikram pressed the glass with his lips, and took a small sip; no wonder it tastes as weird as its name. Keeping the repulsive feeling to himself he focused on the calming effect the same alcohol was having on the old man; as if tasting elixir.

After a moment which felt like eternity to Vikram, “Ask your questions” the old man said placing his glass on the table opening his eyes.

He had prepared over and over for this moment but at first only air passed through his mouth. The peculiar way in which the old man looked signified a meaning of, what? Vikram felt humiliated by the old man’s reaction; he acts as I am wasting his time, what does he think he is? And as retort took a big gulp. The alcohol gave Vikram an instant kick; he felt his senses slowing down which lowered his resistance to the old man’s taunting behaviour, “Savita Rani” he said.

The old man’s eyes twinkled, and he gestured for him to proceed.

“I am Vikram, her son” he said and paused for the words to take effect.

A long silence ensued.

For the first time Vikram observed those attentive eyes which had up-till then enquired, questioned and finally accepted him as a guest losing its spark. Sadness shrouded those eyes which mirrored in colour with his own brown eyes.

Vikram was not expecting what transpired next. The admission of his mother’s name had such a profound effect that it made the old man nostalgic. “Savita, oh,” the old man said those words hypnotically, and went into trance, “I felt the pull the first time I set my eyes on her.” The old man exhaled deeply, “Can still feel those warm evenings which we spent together.” The last sentence made his blood to boil, but Vikram indulged with the old man; let’s hear his part of the story.

“I had gone to oversee a new project in Ooty and she was there with her friends. Her college was off for the summer” the man said. Vikram kept looking at him. “No, no, she had come to spend her summer vacation at her friend’s house.” the old man corrected. “The attraction was mutual which became evident from that first evening at the market.” the old man added refilling the empty glass. 

What is going on, I am no pervert who will listen to his mother’s sexual adventures, Vikram thought.

The old man smiled, “The most difficult part was to bribe her friend to keep our secret.” From there the old man preceded with a detailed description of their lovemaking much to Vikram’s chagrin. Every twist and turn of the story was accentuated with the rise and fall in the old man’s voice. Another thing that he noticed was the noticeable increase in consumption of alcohol; obviously most of it was consumed by the old man. The story continued for two more hours which was interrupted twice; firstly to procure a new bottle and the secondly for the old man to attend nature call. The excessive intake of alcohol started to show its effect; the voice which was clear began to break, and it became difficult for the old man maintain balance.

What have I got myself into? Vikram thought, and extended his arm and felt the outline of the knife he had concealed under his coat.

Its time, let’s get over with what I have come here for, Vikram thought.

Every part of Vikram’s body wanted to plunge the knife in the old man’s gut, by god he deserve it. But he refrained from taking action as he wanted the old man to, atone for his sins. Sensing that the old man might pass out, “Why didn’t you come for me?” he said.    

The old man’s eyes got wobbly.

 “Am I your son?”

For a brief moment Vikram thought he had detected a spark in the old man eyes, the same flash he had noticed when he first spoke the word, son.

“Deepu, Deepu” the old man said, as if talking to some other person presence in the room.

Was he imagining thing, Vikram chided himself for losing control on his senses.

 “That what she used to call me” the old man added.

Sensing that time was of the essence he got up from his seat and walked over to the old man, “Please tell me?” he said

Vikram felt that life was going to fail him a second time, “Talk to me.” he added.

“Feeling sleepy; let me sleep”

Vikram’s body stated to shake uncontrollably in reaction to the words as years of pent up anger surfaced. He lunged forward to get hold of old man’s collar, “How dare you?” he said and bared his knife, “You can’t sleep now” he added thrusting the knife at the old man’s neck. A smiled came on Vikram’s face as he remembered all hardship, pain and injustice he had been subjected to throughout his life, “you will pay” he said.

Vikram was filled with disbelief when he saw serenity in the place of fear in the old man’s eyes, “aren’t you scared?” he said.

A mild all knowing smile blossomed on the old man’s face, “I knew this day would come” old man said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was going to pay for my follies”

“Do you know me?”

“No”

“Then why did you let me enter your house?”

“So that you relieve me of my suffering, murder me”

“Murder you?”

“I didn’t have the stomach to commit suicide”

“But are you really my father?”

“A DNA test or your mother can say whether I really am your father or not” old man said those words as a matter of fact.

The old man became quite for sometime after uttering those words, “all I can say with certainty is that, I had relations with many women” old man added.

Vikram looked at the pitiful state a man can plunge to, but felt nothing. He wanted to feel anger, repulsion and hatred towards the man but all he felt was a void.

“Please relieve me of this life,” old man said.

With the wave of his hand Vikram walked away from the drunken man, and let his knife drop to the floor.

“Don’t walk away”

Vikram reached the door.

“Your mother was a whore”

Vikram stepped out of the door and looked at the miniature jungle.

“A slut bore a eunuch” old man said and laughed hysterically.

Although Vikram heard everything but didn’t react as the emptiness of his heart was much greater than the ache caused by the old man’s inciting words.

“Take whatever you want” the old man said in a feeble voice.

Vikram’s eyes feel on the half empty whisky glass; my life is similar to this, always half empty. And he heard a loud crash inside the house.

He traversed the small jungle and stopped at the gate of the house. What was the need of coming here? He exited the gate, and walked past the beautiful bungalows. Vikram knew the reason, money either by blackmailing or threatening. That was his plan all along. But what happened here left him more confused than hurt.

To his mother and father, whoever the man was, he was just a mistake. Whatever other names people wanted to associate him with he was sure of one thing, he was not a fallen man. As he didn’t let passion, greed and anger cloud his judgement, and Vikram smiled to the thought.