Benyamin - Yellow Lights of Death

I knocked at the door of Senthil’s house. It was Appa who came out. He looked at me rather strangely. ‘What do you want?’ he asked derisively. ‘Appa, I don’t want anything. I just came here to see you people for one last time,’ I said. ‘To come here, is this your wife’s place?’ Appa asked; he seemed ready for a fight. Actually, I got scared. Why is Senthil’s Appa behaving like this? This was not the way he used to behave with me. Or is it because he has not recognized me?

‘Appa, don’t you recognize me? It’s me. Senthil’s friend. Your kannan.’ I broke down.

‘Whose kannan? I had one kannan. He left me. I don’t know you. Leave this place,’ Appa dismissed me. ‘Appa, I don’t know if I’ll see you again. This is my last visit. Before leaving, I want to tell you one thing. Our Senthil. He didn’t die of a heart attack. He was killed!’

‘Son of a bitch, you knew it, right? You knew it, right?’ Appa grabbed my neck. ‘Then. then. you. You cheated us all this time. Poda , just leave this house. I don’t want to see your face again. You and your Andrapper family will be plagued for twelve generations!’ Appa shouted and pushed me out. Anpu came to us. She, too, was hostile. She took Appa inside forcefully.

‘Anpu, why is Appa like this?’ I asked.

‘You go. Here everyone knows that your Dad killed my Annan. Now don’t come here again.’ Her tone was harsh.

‘My Papa? No. Anpu, that can’t be true.’

‘Please go. Nobody knows what Appa will do next.’ She turned back.

‘Anpu, one minute,’ I called out to her. She stopped. ‘This is your Annan’s USB. I had come here to return this. One day, someone from the mainland will come here looking for it. Please give it to him. Don’t show it to anyone other than him. It has such an important matter. It has Senthil’s and my life in it. Someday, he will tell you my true story. It’ll be the suspense thriller you once wanted to read.’

I gave it to her. Then, like a lunatic on the prowl, I returned from Cherar Peruntheruvu.

Life

FROM THERE, I went to Anita’s house. She, too, treated me with contempt. She shouted why I had come there drunk. I gave her the envelope that I had kept for her. Then, like I’d done with Anpu, told her that there was truth in it and to hand it over only to the person who would come from the mainland. After that, I left quickly. I reached Seleucia’s post office and sat at the visitor’s lobby, writing out all that had happened since I left home in the morning.

Sitting there, I introspected about my life. I think I’m someone who wanted to be somewhere, but reached somewhere else. The place I’d dreamt of and the place I’ve reached are vastly different. I sometimes felt proud of myself for having a great dream (if becoming a writer is a great dream). Often, I had sympathized with my friends and classmates for failing to realize their ordinary dreams and living ordinary lives. All that time, I’d never tried to look at things through their eyes. Or look at me through their eyes.

There are many friends who have ridiculed my great dream of being a writer. Bilal and Rahim were among them. A loser with paltry dreams, that’s what they think of me. To those who believe that money and a rich lifestyle are criteria for greatness, how will I convince them that my dreams are great?

I’d always thought that there was nothing greater than being a writer. But is being a writer the greatest dream? What is a great life? Which is a great life? For Babu, his underworld life is first-class social service, so, isn’t that a great life? What about a politician’s life? Or a company owner’s who gives jobs to ten people? Won’t they, too, be thinking that their lives and their aims are great? That way, isn’t the life of anyone who has no regrets great… If one has become what one wants to in life, if one is content with it, that’s the greatest life! Nobody then has the authority to sympathize with him or judge him on that.

The only relevant issue is how one remains true to one’s life. Jyoti has become a railway clerk and Anita a pharmacist to meet some or the other of their dreams. So, what right do I have to feel pity for them? I couldn’t achieve my friends’ dream of becoming Diego’s chancellor. My dream was something else. Isn’t that the case with everyone?

Is my life a success or a failure? At what point of time do we measure it up? The present me is a failed writer. That means I’ve failed my dreams too. Friends expected me to be a chancellor. On that note too, I’m a failure. If somehow, tomorrow, I succeed in some other way, then how will I be judged? What is the right time to judge the success and failure of life? When uncertainties hang like a pendulum till the last moment of death, who can judge at any particular time whose life is a success and whose isn’t?

If a failed attempt to pen a novel puts me in the losers’ list (like how my Papa saw it), then the sum total of my short life, experiences and travels should place me in the winners’ list. My dear writer, the one who is going to analyse my life in detail. what do you have to say after hearing all this.? Readers, what do you think? How will you judge me?

I wanted to ask myself more questions and write a lot more. But two people have been watching me for some time now. Maybe it’s just my fear. Since a crucial part of my biography is unsafe with me, I’m not taking any risk. Before they can come to me with questions, let me post this to Meljo.

FINALLY, WHEN THE story ends, the narrator and the listener share a sense of vacuum. A despair that there is nothing left to hear or say. We were all immersed in such a sorrow. Till now, our lives were made exciting by the investigation, the search for hidden messages, observations, assumptions, information and debates. All those meetings were thrilling. But nothing remained now. Nothing. Like a bottle deserted by a genie, Andrapper’s book lay in front of us. It had no more budding surprises for us.

‘After listening to the whole story, whom do you think was right? Andrapper or Meljo?’ I asked, breaking the silence.

‘There is no ultimate right,’ said Mashu. ‘Sometimes, there are many rights. And more than one truth. The right called Andrapper is not negated by the right called Meljo. Now it feels like everything came to a close suddenly.’

‘We should have got to know about everything after some more time.’

‘That’s true! I was hoping that at least Meljo would have put us in major confusion, and that we’d have a well-planned operation to enter Valyedathu Veedu and grab Andrapper’s book in a hard-fought adventure. It would have been thrilling. Now Meljo has spoilt everything. He also fell for Anil’s words,’ Biju shared his hope and despair.

‘The so-called brave people are all cowards. They cannot even withstand our words. I knew for sure that he would fall for it,’ Anil said.

‘The thrill and fear and anxiety that these two, Anil and Benyamin, faced at Valyedathu Veedu. ho, I also wanted to be a part of it,’ Nattapranthan said.

‘If you really want to experience it, then we should go to the field again. Who’s ready for that?’ Biju asked.

‘Another twist to this story? What’s that?’ Nibu asked.

‘I’ve never met him, but after all these days, it feels like Christy Andrapper is one among us. He ditched his novel to take up a responsibility. One which he could never fulfil. We should complete it now. We should find out the killers of Senthil,’ Biju said.

‘We are just the readers in this story. Beyond that, we don’t have any responsibilities to anyone. We haven’t given our word that we’ll complete what Andrapper left midway.’ Nibu became furious.