Broken Hug

Of Shifts And Shapes

“But how did you come by it, Charoen?”

I can’t tell you how!                            

“This scene appeared in my dream this afternoon when I was taking a siesta. Then I got up and took the materials of my paintings. Luckily, I already had a canvas, so I painted its base white. But,” she found Rohan thoughtful. “Is everything okay?”

Go on… let me collect more info from your words. “Uh… yes. Charoen, I don’t know how to put it, but I’m familiar with this place.” He held her hand, and continued staring at the painting. “This is in Kurseong. To the left ahead of the hill, Goethals Memorial School. It’s where I’ve done my schooling.” He sat on the couch and she followed. “What surprises me is how could you get this in your dream? This was my favourite spot. Perhaps still is. When we would go to town after school hours, which was thrice a week, we friends would stop at the pole on our return, and we’d say that whoever reached the school gate first from here would get Ranee as his partner for the upcoming prom night. The nerd boy amongst us was always the last one to reach the gate and we would then say that we meant the last one of us was the lucky one.”

Charoen stared at the painting after she put it up on the wall.

“Besides,” Rohan continued, “this is the place where I spent my times of sadness and gloom. Whenever I would look at this prayer flag, an invisible hand seemed to touch my head. And no sooner that was done, like the mist escaping from the open window, than my loneliness gradually wisped away too.” He continued looking at the painting. “This spot is the soul-soothing spot, Charoen.”

“I love the hills.”

I have to behave normally. “We’ll go one day to this hill station, and visit this spot. And, Oh,” he suddenly remembered. “Here,” and he handed the framed sketch to her. She studied it, nodded in approval before looking around and placing it on top of the books.

“But it’s strange,” she said, “how I got to see the scene of the hill. Do you think it’s got to do something with the projections of our minds? I mean the smoky beings… Rohan and Charoen?” 

“I see no other explanation. At least as of now.”

“Umm. I too think so.”

She took a piece of thick hand-made paper and stared at it. After much contemplation, she stretched her hand, and still holding the brush dipped black oil paint on the brush and stroked it on the paper, giving it a roundish shape. The strokes waved down. Soon after, dipping into a container of light orange paint, she applied strokes; and the back appeared with this colour. The strokes went down, and then again further down but somewhat straight. She brought some parallel folds, dark orange-grey folds; applied green colour on the brush. The blackness transformed to hair; the orange colour, a sari wrapped around a woman; and the green the border of the sari. As the painting neared its end, she hummed some familiar tune.

Rohan opened his mouth but lost the power of speech. I have never come across such a marvelous piece of painting and that too in such a short time. But why this behaviour? Has Samita’s suicide affected her? Have all the suicides in the city in these past months been playing in her mind? The PM’s words seem untrue at times. Leonard Cohen, you are so true when you say: If I have been unkind, you can just let it go by. If I have been untrue, I hope you know it was never to you… Charoen I love you. I mean… yes… I mean…

And Rohan rested his eyes on Charoen.

From the balcony, looking at the stretch of empty road without any vehicle passing, and with only one lone lamp from the lamp post shedding some light, Rohan heart’s turned restless. Charoen’s last painting is that of a woman. Is that her another personality? Is she plotting something?Mumbo-jumbo-ing?

While in the midst of his thoughts, he felt Charoen’s presence beside him. Her eyes at the building, she put her left arm around his waist. He hesitated but soon rested his right arm on her shoulder. He did not want to, but pecked her on the neck. They did not need to talk, or whisper; but the fact that he was there, and would always be there by her side was a welcoming fact. She still wore that withdrawn look; and he the questioning look.

She straddled over him, her hands on his shoulders. She caressed his head and he lost his face in the mass of her hair. Just then Charoen put her hands on his head and ran her fingers through them. And when their lips met, he gently tugged his hair. After several attempts, a few strands appeared on her hand. She slowly tucked them away into shorts pocket.

“Who is the woman in the painting?” he asked at last.

She looked at him, fiddled with his T-shirt button.

“This woman has been appearing in my dream since I was five years old.  But never has she turned to show her face.” A pause. “But now I want to keep this picture right in front of me so as to one day find out who she is. She is not my mother, though, for mom always sported shoulder-length hair, like mine.”

“I’m sure you’ll succeed in your mission.” And he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m always there beside you.” He smiled. “Back in a minute.”

With Rohan gone, Charoen took out the strands of Rohan’s hair and put them into a small container in the cupboard. There was a lime, some red pieces of thread and thirteen pieces of cowrie shells with thirteen black flecks on each.  

At Hunnie’s store, he picked up some chicken sandwiches, a container of orange juice, some biscuits, a pound of loaf, a slab of butter, a bottle of fruit-peel jam and a packet of paper napkins. Hunnie suggested that he should buy a small gas stove too, and nodding, he did so instantly.

“You always think of the right things, Hunnie,” he smiled as he began ascending the stairs.

“More will be coming your way, Rohan. More expenses. Not to worry.” Hunnie smiled.

Charoen and he ate in silence, sometimes looking out, at other times resting their eyes on the paintings.

When he was about to leave, he asked, “What will you do now?”

She looked into his eyes. Deep within, she noticed a soft murmur. “Umm, I don’t exactly know.” Then tapping her fingers on her lips, murmured, “I’ll contemplate on the smoky beings. And… ahm… I think I’ll give dad the news of how I’ve settled down. And perhaps listen to the radio after that.”

She came up to the door with him. Noticing a thin bunch of hair on her right cheek, he placed it behind her ear. They embraced.

“See you,” and he smiled.

“Yep, see you,” she smiled.  

With Charoen’s withdrawn look in his mind, he walked down the dark road with snatches of light thrown from the lamp posts.

At least her house is provided with some provisions for the time being.

He found the yard of his house dark. Did I, forget to close the main gate while leaving for Charoen’s flat? The bulb was broken and his nose picked up some smell of paint. But the faint glow from the street lamp showed him what he had been suspecting.

Remarks on the wall spray painted with Angry Red, and Danger Black. If you need women, we’ll supply you. Leave her alone. Your days are numbered, Mr. Rohan.

Or should he take these as warnings. From whom? Ravi? No, he should not point his finger at anyone. But then, a detective draws a list of suspects. And didn’t you put suspicion on him?

Rohan stood next to the guava tree, staring at the writings for how long he did not know, but on realizing it, clicked the lock open. What will their next step be, who knows? It’s no point telling this to Charoen. Let’s wait till tomorrow.

He immediately purchased liquid lime and a white-washing brush from the corner shop on the main road; and wrapping a used apron, dipped the brush into the bucket and applied the first layer of lime on the wall.

*

Rohan tossed about in his sleep. Fai appeared, her quiet eyes penetrating deep into his brain. “That’s my tree. And Fai’s,” he told her, spotting her standing beneath it. He waved his arms. But no words came out of his throat. The prominent part was her face merged into Charoen’s and next it was she in place of her. He called out once more but his words, like a piece of bitten apple, stuck in his throat. The way it happened when I was making love to Charoen. Yes, at some point of time I felt it was Fai who had her legs wrapped around my waist.

His heart said: Yes, prominent part? You know that Charoen is taking up Fai’s mannerisms?

His Mind: No, no more. After what PM said.

His Heart: Can you believe something some weird tramp from the street said? He might have made it up to gain sympathy.

His mind: But he said about my dad. My birthmark… Forget it.

The nightmare forced him out of bed, and he sat up, his breath coming out in short and quick gasps. But after drinking some water, he lay down again. Very soon he was up again. The moonlight fell on the yard, faintly outlining the guava tree and the leaves darker. He peered around. But no one was standing beneath it now.

He concentrated and pictured the smoky beings in his mind. But Rohan and Fai, as Charoen had named them, appeared faded. Then the moment they held hands, the mist around them thinned, and soon wisped into the air.

What is Charoen doing, he wondered. She might be fast asleep, tired with the day’s activity.

But sleep had escaped from the prison door of his brain. I need to do something, something physical. My energy needs to be pumped out.

*

Charoen

From where I am, sitting on the floor facing the balcony, I can see the half constructed building. My minister, The Ash Man, stands. His hair filled with ash from the dead bodies of the cremation ground; his body naked save a red loin cloth is smeared with the same ash; a necklace of rodent skulls glows with dead light around his neck. He dead contemplating eyes pierces through me.

On the floor in front of me, a red piece of cloth rests. And on it, a lime, nine strands of a slaughtered swine’s hair, and a crushed and powdered cockroach. The thirteen cowrie shells had been arranged into a skull, and Rohan’s strands of hair placed on the skull’s mouth.

Astra light come to me/Bind Rohan’s hair.

I repeat the spells and can feel my body swaying. At the ninth repetition, the skull’s eyes begin to stir. Soon all the shells take up the stirring and close in towards the centre…