The Avian Scent (originally written in Malayalam by Kamala Suraiyya)
It’s been a week after she came to Calcutta, when one morning she came across an advertisement in the newspaper, ’Wanted a smart and intelligent lady to be in charge of our whole sales department. Should have some know-how about fabric colours and the latest designs. Walk in to our office with a self-written application”
The office building was in a crowded street. By the time she reached that building in her light yellow silk saree and white hand bag, it was eleven o’clock. It was huge building with seven floors, which had more than two hundred rooms and great many verandhas. There were elevators and a group of people in front of each of them-fat merchants, office goers clutching their leather bags and the like. She couldn’t find a single woman there and had lost a great part of her courage by that time. She felt that she shouldn’t have ignored her husband’s opinion and come for that job. Spotting a peon near by, she asked him: ”On which floor is the textile company?”
“Must be on the first floor”, came the reply. She felt as if all eyes were on her. No, she shouldn’t have come. Why was she here among these sweat-soaked men? Even if she was offered a thousand rupees she could not come to this place everyday. But at the same time she couldn’t make herself go back too.
When her turn came she got in to the elevator and stood to one corner trying not to touch anyone standing next to her.
On getting down at the first floor she eyed her surroundings. From the verandah, which extended to all the four sides, there were big doors to each room. And on each door hung a board: Export and Import, Wine Merchants…
But no matter how much she walked, no matter how many doors she crossed she couldn’t find that board which she had been seeking. Her palms had already turned wet by then. All of a sudden she saw a man coming out of a room and approached him,” Where is the textile company?”
He took her in from head to toe with his narrow reddish eyes and then said: “I don’t know, but if you’d come with me I could ask the peon and let you know”
He was a short middle aged man with dirt in his finger nails. She didn’t feel like going with him and hence merely said,”Thank you. I will ask around and find my way”
She walked away briskly, turned a corner and reached another verandah. Big doors yet again. A board which read ‘dying’ was hung there. She smiled at the spello. Instead of dyeing clothes do people die here? At any rate she decided to stop by and ask at that place, and pushed open the door. There was a big empty hall with a couple of chairs and a glass top table inside. Not a single person to be found anywhere around. “Is there anybody in?” The door curtains in the room swayed a little. Nothing else. Mustering up some guts she went in to the room and sat on a chair in the centre of the room. Taking another step without a minute’s rest seemed impossible to her. What kind of people run this office? Where have they all gone leaving the door open and the fan turned on?
Since these people were dyers they would know about the place that she has been searching for. Opening her hand bag she took out her mirror and made sure that she looked presentable. What if she asked for 800 INR per month? They would be lucky to get an employee like her- educated, well placed and widely traveled!
The sound of someone opening a bottle woke her up. Stupid of her to fall asleep in a totally unfamiliar place! Rubbing her eyes she looked around. Opposite to her sat a young man, pouring whiskey in to the soda in his glass. His bush shirt was out of cream coloured terelyne. He had thick hair on the upper part of his fingers. She saw those powerful fingers and felt scared all of a sudden. Why did she come to this devil’s house?
He lifted his head to look at her and she saw that his face was as long as that of a horse.
“Did you sleep well?”, he asked her
Without waiting for an answer he lifted his glass and drained it off its content.
“Thristy?” he asked again but she only shook her head.
“Do you know where the textile company is? I had this feeling that you might know. You are dyers after all” she said this and smiled courteously. He didn’t reciprocate her smile but only kept on pouring whiskey in to his glass and mixing it with soda. He looked as if there was plenty of time left to talk.
She repeated her question, “Do you know the place?” She grew impatient and just wanted to get out of that place. She even contemplated going back home.
Suddenly he smiled. He had very thin lips which turned ugly when he smiled. “Why are you in such a hurry? It’s only a quarter to twelve.” She walked to the door.
“I’d hoped that you would know of the place. I assumed that you would have some connection with the textile business,” she said.
“What connection? We are not dyers. Didn’t you read the board? It says ‘dying’
“You mean to say…”
“The very same…Haven’t you heard of dying? We make arrangements for people to die comfortably”
Leaning back on his chair he winked and then smiled at her. Suddenly she felt as if that blank smile spread to his eyes too. With trembling legs she ran to the door. But her sweaty hands could not open it. Her eyes were already brimming with tears by then.
“Please open this door. I want to go home; my children would be waiting for me, “she said. She wished that he would listen to her, give up his cruel thoughts and let her go.
“Do open this,” she begged again. But he went on drinking and kept on smiling at her.
She started banging at the door. “What are you trying to do to me?” “What wrong did I do to you?” Her whimpering lasted for only a few minutes. Weak and tired she fell down on the floor by the door.
In a very gentle voice he kept on talking about something. She could only hear a few words.
“…Once, in winter, a bird happened to get in to my bedroom. Yellowish brown, like your saree. I tried to knock on the glass of the window with its beak and I struggled hard to break the glass with its wings too. But do you know what happened? It fell on to the floor, worn out. I squashed it dead with the shoes on my feet.
He was silent for a long time before he asked, “Do you know the smell of death?”
She raised her eyes and looked at him. She couldn’t speak a word but she definitely had an answer for him. No one knew about the smell or rather the various smells of death like she did: the foul smell of infected wounds, the aroma of the frit gardens, and the smell of incense sticks…
In a small dark room her mother lay on a bed on the floor and cried out in an undignified voice, “I do not feel well my child. There is no pain but I don’t feel well” Fat worms were wriggling out of her wounds and yet she didn’t speak of pain.
Then, there was her father. One day when her diabetic father felt weak it seemed as if the whole room was filled with a breeze from the fruit gardens. It was such a sweet smell and that was also death.
She wanted to tell him all this but she couldn’t lift her tongue.
The young man who was sitting in the centre of the room continued talking as if she never spoke:
“You don’t know, do you? I will explain it to you. Death has the smell of bird’s feathers. You will come to know that, soon enough. What about right now? Tell me what your favourite time is? Is it noon when the shameless world lies naked before the sun who looks from above? Or is it evening? And what sort of a woman are you, a bold one or a coward?”
He got up from his chair and went and stood next to her. He was quite tall. She pleaded with him:
“Please let me go. I never even wanted to come here”
“You are lying. How many times have you wanted to be here! You have longed for a comfortable end so many times. Aren’t you like the river which, with its gentle waves and deep sighs, yearns to disappear in to the sea? Don’t you long to experience that ever lasting caress?”
“Who are you?”
She sat up. She found that his fingers were horribly attractive.
“Haven’t you seen me before?”
“No”
“I have come to you often. Once you were just an 11 year old girl and you had jaundice. You were far too weak to get up from your bed. When your mother came in to open the windows you told her that you saw yellow flowers everywhere. Yellow Alari flowers. Do you remember that?”
She nodded
“I was among those yellow flowers which only you could see. I was waiting to lead you by the hand to the place where you were meant to be. But you didn’t come that day. You didn’t know about my love then. You didn’t know that I was the guiding light for you and for everyone.”
“Love? You call this love?”
“Yes, only I can show you the fullness of love. You will offer me everything, one by one…those pretty red lips, the dancing eyes, your perfect body…everything. Every single sweat pore in your body will cease to be yours. And in return for this sacrifice I will give you total freedom. You will cease to be anything but still be everything. You will be there in the roaring of the sea, you will be moving around in the old trees which sprout during the rainy season; when the seeds whimper in their birth throes from under the soil, your cries will rise up with those. You will be the wind, the raindrops and the grains in the soil. You will be the beauty of this world”
She stood up. Her weakness had left her completely. With renewed courage she encountered him and said,”All this may be true. But you have come to the wrong person. My time hasn’t come. I am a 27 year old married woman and a mother too and I have come here in search of a job. My time is yet to come. Let me go back home, the time must be around 12.30”
He didn’t say anything. Opening the door he let her out. She hurriedly walked over in search of an elevator. Her footsteps seemed to echo all around.
Once she reached the elevator she paused for a moment. The peon who generally operated it was not to be found anywhere. Still she got in to it and pressed the button. The elevator went up with the first sounds of destruction. She felt as if she was up in the sky and that it was thundering. It was then that she noticed the board that was hung inside the elevator: “Elevator under repair. Danger!”
Suddenly there was darkness all around, a noisy roaring sort of darkness. She never had to get out of that.
The office building was in a crowded street. By the time she reached that building in her light yellow silk saree and white hand bag, it was eleven o’clock. It was huge building with seven floors, which had more than two hundred rooms and great many verandhas. There were elevators and a group of people in front of each of them-fat merchants, office goers clutching their leather bags and the like. She couldn’t find a single woman there and had lost a great part of her courage by that time. She felt that she shouldn’t have ignored her husband’s opinion and come for that job. Spotting a peon near by, she asked him: ”On which floor is the textile company?”
“Must be on the first floor”, came the reply. She felt as if all eyes were on her. No, she shouldn’t have come. Why was she here among these sweat-soaked men? Even if she was offered a thousand rupees she could not come to this place everyday. But at the same time she couldn’t make herself go back too.
When her turn came she got in to the elevator and stood to one corner trying not to touch anyone standing next to her.
On getting down at the first floor she eyed her surroundings. From the verandah, which extended to all the four sides, there were big doors to each room. And on each door hung a board: Export and Import, Wine Merchants…
But no matter how much she walked, no matter how many doors she crossed she couldn’t find that board which she had been seeking. Her palms had already turned wet by then. All of a sudden she saw a man coming out of a room and approached him,” Where is the textile company?”
He took her in from head to toe with his narrow reddish eyes and then said: “I don’t know, but if you’d come with me I could ask the peon and let you know”
He was a short middle aged man with dirt in his finger nails. She didn’t feel like going with him and hence merely said,”Thank you. I will ask around and find my way”
She walked away briskly, turned a corner and reached another verandah. Big doors yet again. A board which read ‘dying’ was hung there. She smiled at the spello. Instead of dyeing clothes do people die here? At any rate she decided to stop by and ask at that place, and pushed open the door. There was a big empty hall with a couple of chairs and a glass top table inside. Not a single person to be found anywhere around. “Is there anybody in?” The door curtains in the room swayed a little. Nothing else. Mustering up some guts she went in to the room and sat on a chair in the centre of the room. Taking another step without a minute’s rest seemed impossible to her. What kind of people run this office? Where have they all gone leaving the door open and the fan turned on?
Since these people were dyers they would know about the place that she has been searching for. Opening her hand bag she took out her mirror and made sure that she looked presentable. What if she asked for 800 INR per month? They would be lucky to get an employee like her- educated, well placed and widely traveled!
The sound of someone opening a bottle woke her up. Stupid of her to fall asleep in a totally unfamiliar place! Rubbing her eyes she looked around. Opposite to her sat a young man, pouring whiskey in to the soda in his glass. His bush shirt was out of cream coloured terelyne. He had thick hair on the upper part of his fingers. She saw those powerful fingers and felt scared all of a sudden. Why did she come to this devil’s house?
He lifted his head to look at her and she saw that his face was as long as that of a horse.
“Did you sleep well?”, he asked her
Without waiting for an answer he lifted his glass and drained it off its content.
“Thristy?” he asked again but she only shook her head.
“Do you know where the textile company is? I had this feeling that you might know. You are dyers after all” she said this and smiled courteously. He didn’t reciprocate her smile but only kept on pouring whiskey in to his glass and mixing it with soda. He looked as if there was plenty of time left to talk.
She repeated her question, “Do you know the place?” She grew impatient and just wanted to get out of that place. She even contemplated going back home.
Suddenly he smiled. He had very thin lips which turned ugly when he smiled. “Why are you in such a hurry? It’s only a quarter to twelve.” She walked to the door.
“I’d hoped that you would know of the place. I assumed that you would have some connection with the textile business,” she said.
“What connection? We are not dyers. Didn’t you read the board? It says ‘dying’
“You mean to say…”
“The very same…Haven’t you heard of dying? We make arrangements for people to die comfortably”
Leaning back on his chair he winked and then smiled at her. Suddenly she felt as if that blank smile spread to his eyes too. With trembling legs she ran to the door. But her sweaty hands could not open it. Her eyes were already brimming with tears by then.
“Please open this door. I want to go home; my children would be waiting for me, “she said. She wished that he would listen to her, give up his cruel thoughts and let her go.
“Do open this,” she begged again. But he went on drinking and kept on smiling at her.
She started banging at the door. “What are you trying to do to me?” “What wrong did I do to you?” Her whimpering lasted for only a few minutes. Weak and tired she fell down on the floor by the door.
In a very gentle voice he kept on talking about something. She could only hear a few words.
“…Once, in winter, a bird happened to get in to my bedroom. Yellowish brown, like your saree. I tried to knock on the glass of the window with its beak and I struggled hard to break the glass with its wings too. But do you know what happened? It fell on to the floor, worn out. I squashed it dead with the shoes on my feet.
He was silent for a long time before he asked, “Do you know the smell of death?”
She raised her eyes and looked at him. She couldn’t speak a word but she definitely had an answer for him. No one knew about the smell or rather the various smells of death like she did: the foul smell of infected wounds, the aroma of the frit gardens, and the smell of incense sticks…
In a small dark room her mother lay on a bed on the floor and cried out in an undignified voice, “I do not feel well my child. There is no pain but I don’t feel well” Fat worms were wriggling out of her wounds and yet she didn’t speak of pain.
Then, there was her father. One day when her diabetic father felt weak it seemed as if the whole room was filled with a breeze from the fruit gardens. It was such a sweet smell and that was also death.
She wanted to tell him all this but she couldn’t lift her tongue.
The young man who was sitting in the centre of the room continued talking as if she never spoke:
“You don’t know, do you? I will explain it to you. Death has the smell of bird’s feathers. You will come to know that, soon enough. What about right now? Tell me what your favourite time is? Is it noon when the shameless world lies naked before the sun who looks from above? Or is it evening? And what sort of a woman are you, a bold one or a coward?”
He got up from his chair and went and stood next to her. He was quite tall. She pleaded with him:
“Please let me go. I never even wanted to come here”
“You are lying. How many times have you wanted to be here! You have longed for a comfortable end so many times. Aren’t you like the river which, with its gentle waves and deep sighs, yearns to disappear in to the sea? Don’t you long to experience that ever lasting caress?”
“Who are you?”
She sat up. She found that his fingers were horribly attractive.
“Haven’t you seen me before?”
“No”
“I have come to you often. Once you were just an 11 year old girl and you had jaundice. You were far too weak to get up from your bed. When your mother came in to open the windows you told her that you saw yellow flowers everywhere. Yellow Alari flowers. Do you remember that?”
She nodded
“I was among those yellow flowers which only you could see. I was waiting to lead you by the hand to the place where you were meant to be. But you didn’t come that day. You didn’t know about my love then. You didn’t know that I was the guiding light for you and for everyone.”
“Love? You call this love?”
“Yes, only I can show you the fullness of love. You will offer me everything, one by one…those pretty red lips, the dancing eyes, your perfect body…everything. Every single sweat pore in your body will cease to be yours. And in return for this sacrifice I will give you total freedom. You will cease to be anything but still be everything. You will be there in the roaring of the sea, you will be moving around in the old trees which sprout during the rainy season; when the seeds whimper in their birth throes from under the soil, your cries will rise up with those. You will be the wind, the raindrops and the grains in the soil. You will be the beauty of this world”
She stood up. Her weakness had left her completely. With renewed courage she encountered him and said,”All this may be true. But you have come to the wrong person. My time hasn’t come. I am a 27 year old married woman and a mother too and I have come here in search of a job. My time is yet to come. Let me go back home, the time must be around 12.30”
He didn’t say anything. Opening the door he let her out. She hurriedly walked over in search of an elevator. Her footsteps seemed to echo all around.
Once she reached the elevator she paused for a moment. The peon who generally operated it was not to be found anywhere. Still she got in to it and pressed the button. The elevator went up with the first sounds of destruction. She felt as if she was up in the sky and that it was thundering. It was then that she noticed the board that was hung inside the elevator: “Elevator under repair. Danger!”
Suddenly there was darkness all around, a noisy roaring sort of darkness. She never had to get out of that.
Comments
please check the paragraph that deals with the bird...instead of IT you have used the word I..Please look in to that...
reflections is a wonderful blog in all sense...loved it..
do check http://thesaltedair.blogspot.in/