When it Rained

A fair estate and a handsome fortune was all Badrinath was left to. Summing up of the former and the latter in that ‘all’ would be nothing better than a mockery of the poor and the destitute, it is however not the case herein , and of that, one should be certain once I narrate this fable about Badrinath’s constant longing for the rains. The one thing he cherished the most in his life and the only thing that was the most uncertain in his town. One heck of a dry terrain it was, just to add to the trivia.

  Withered, old and confined to a wheelchair, Badrinath was definitely not in the best state of affairs in his life. He was a humble and considerate man, but he hadn’t been likewise all his life. Certainly not when his father used to lament over his blind pursuit for wealth and possessions, devoid of compassion and of those finer joys of life. He, like most fathers would tell him that all of us in the end reach the same conclusions in life, some might arrive early and the rest shan’t be there on time, but we all know that no better a good can be yielded from life than peace of mind. Adherence to materialism is sadly a renowned virtue of our times, it was back there in Badrinath’s youth too, for he was an exceedingly pragmatic and hard man, a good man of his material business. He on a summer afternoon, occupying his wheel chair was staring dispassionately at the barren milieu that was thrown open before his verandah where his caretaker would often leave him on his own. It had been five years that it did not rain in the town, that made him remorseful. “ is it too much to ask even for a drizzle if not rain?!”
he would often ask himself in his self inflicted agitation. He had realized, for the times he did not care to remember, that he had beyond any reasonable doubt succeeded in his most material pursuit, but to what end? Even his fortunes and estate put together could not have brought his most awaited showers in that drought ridden town. But then there were whole lot of things that couldn’t be brought or brought back in his life. Damn! He lost all of it to his silly quest. How right was his father all those years when he was alive and how foolish was he that it took him almost his entire life and all those who were once a part of it to understand one most simple truth. Maybe he was one of those who draw their conclusions as the end draws near. He was a lonely man, with no idea as to what to make of his estate and how to spend his fortune.

  Yet it cannot be said with much conformity that he remembered his father’s words of wisdom, of all the things he could recall it were the rains that had brought respite to him and then there were fragments of memories revolving around them, the only joy if any for him. He had always known that it was the only thing he would and he could ever remember. How could that not have been? Recollecting his childhood, when the life was way too simplified, he recalled the memory of his mother. When Badrinath was a small child, his mother would wrap him up in that tiny little rain coat of his and would walk with him, out in the rain, with an umbrella in her hand, while her other hand affectionately holding his tiny wrist, to the bus stop, so that her son could reach the school on time. Little Badri would insist on staying back with his mother, saying that he did not want to go to school. His mother would laugh at his innocence and gently pull a cheek. The bus would be a bit late owing to heavy rain but it came nevertheless. Badri dreaded by the sight of bus would turn around and hold on to his mother, but then he knew that he had to go. She would pacify him saying that, as the afternoon draws in he would be back to her. Years later it was the time for Badri to leave the house, coincidentally on a rainy day,  for he had started a new concern at the town where today it does not rain. His old mother tormented by the sight of his departure resisted his decision, she had loved him for too long and too much, her little boy Badri had grown up only to leave her someday. He pacified her that he would be back to her, every now and then. Badri, as I have earlier remarked was a good man of business. So, he left but did not come back for long, his concern and its concerns had kept him aloof from the family. When Badri finally decided to return it was only at his mother’s funeral.

  When he was a boy, he and his old friends paddled in the windy rain their bicycles, all the way to the tube well outside the town, where they would plunge in the cold water, made colder by the rain. Badri had always found a lot of joy and happiness in the company of friends. All these years his preoccupations gave him no opportunity to pay a visit to them, now there is no reason why he should. A lot of time had passed and so have all his friends. He had survived to mourn their loss. Making him realize that death is infamous by its very name, but life is no better when it comes to imparting pain and dejection. As a young man, his favourite sport was the football, which he played most willingly in the rain, again with his friends that were. Those days he loved torrential showers, they were as vigorous and as youthful as he was, and if I am to mention youth, there is no reason as to why I should not mention love. Yes, Badri had been fortunate enough to love and be loved by someone in his life. Those rainy rides with her on his motorbike, on those endless and solitary routes have been unforgettable. He as a young lover made many promises to the lady he loved, as if they were to last forever, none of them did, and then he made no promises to anyone. He had never seen her ever since.

   Badrinath as he sat in his verandah, lighted a cigar, a puff or two had always helped him to calm down. “ Gone, all of them, even the rains.” He said to himself with a nostalgic sigh. He knew that he had lost much in life, but he had made his peace with the truth, that stood before him, staunch and inevitable. His eyes beheld the sky, bright, azure and sunny, as if laughing at his misfortune. “ there will be no rain today, it seems.” He told himself and quietly took to his occupation of smoking the cigar, called his servant and asked him to hand over the hard bound novel that rested on the shesham table near the hearth and relieved him for the day. After having read through a few pages and taking a few more puffs, he fell asleep. All it took was a gush of wind, firm and cool to wake him up. He woke up with hope in his eyes and a feeble smile on his wrinkled face, for it was no ordinary gush, but one laden with the scent of soil. He had smelled it, inhaled it so many times, but today it seemed all anew. Yes, it was the same customary scent that preceded the rain and after so many years it had returned. His sight quickly reached for the sky and it was not the blue expanse that awaited him, it were the clouds, dark and gray, thundering with the promise of a shower. If it all anything was certain that day, it was the rain. Badri knew it and he was swept away by a sudden urge to be in the midst of the garden during the first shower. It was not possible without the assistance of his servant, who would have helped him down the pair of steps that led to the garden and who to the extent of the old man’s misfortune was relieved that very afternoon. He had waited for much time and he was desperate to be out there when it rained, to the extent that he unmindfully rolled the chair forward, only to tumble down miserably and thrown out of the chair. He sustained a bloody wound on his head, but he knew that it would clot, he couldn’t walk he knew that but he also knew that he could crawl. He gathered all his will that was left in him and pulled himself somehow to the centre of the garden and after having reached there he laid flat on his back, staring at the dark sky with hopes and high spirits. He was panting heavily, “ C..Come on, you. Make me wait no longer, end my penance and bring me peace.” And then it rained, in a way that it never did, bringing an end to a drought half a decade old and a longing that seemed as old as Badri himself. Blissfully drenched in it was Badri, feeling every drop and its stark coldness, just the way he did ages ago. He had never been a believer of miracles but that moment he did, he did not know what came over him, but he found that he could now stand, could now tread, roam and walk. So, like a triumphant knight, he stood up and beheld the rainy sky in whose waters he was soaked and spread out his arms in joy, so as to feel every bit of it. He turned towards his villa, boasting of a put off cigar on its railing, a hard bound book dropped on the floor and a tumbled wheelchair before which lied a man, fallen, still and lifeless. Badri was perplexed and walked a few steps towards him, the fallen man bore substantial resemblance to him. The thunder and lightning in the sky attracted his attention and forgetting all about his lifeless body that stood motionless before the wheel chair,  he with a smile, turned away from it and went on to feel the rain, as he closed his eyes. In it he heard the gentle laughter of his mother, the thud of a football, the voice of his lover, the noise of his old friends and the roaring engine of his motorbike.