The Purple Dawn

by SP Singh

Everyone’s mood at the dining table was somber, unlike the other days when they joked and laughed around. The stiffness in the air was due to a sudden decision by the eldest member of the Prasad family. A few hours ago, he’d expressed his desire to undertake an arduous journey to an unpronounceable village in Nagaland, India. What had prompted that, nobody had a clue. Vaibhav, the man’s son, knew that his father had served for a few years in the trouble-torn state. Perhaps an extraordinary event of that time was calling him. What could it be? He had no clue. Maybe it was the call of the wild.

The septuagenarian Ramesh lately had become a recluse. His wife of forty years had died a couple of years ago. He had diabetes and high blood pressure that restricted his routine activities. Half-dozen pills supplemented a strict diet monitored by Kusum, his daughter-in-law. Vaibhav and Kusum were doctors: the husband was a pediatrician, and the wife a gynecologist. Sanjiv, their son, worked in a multinational company.

Theirs was a small, happy family.

Ramesh’s unexpected decision had caused an upheaval in their lives. The worry lines on their faces had deepened. They stopped eating and stared at him, hoping that he’d change his decision at any moment. For a while, they exchanged many anxious glances.

When his father remained unmoved, Vaibhav asked, getting peeved, “Papa, how can you go on such a long journey?”

“Come on, son, don’t challenge me,” the father replied. “I can still beat you in a five-mile walk.”

“Papa, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” the son argued. “Who’s going to take care of you? Who’s going to give you the medicines on time?”

“Pa, how can we let you take the risk?” Kusum pleaded.

“I understand the difficulties involved in this, but I wouldn’t be going if it wasn’t so important,” Ramesh said. “It’s a burden on my soul.”

The couple knew it would be futile to argue with him because once he’d made his mind up, it was impossible to talk him out of it. Their primary concern was how to make his trip comfortable. It gave them a sense of relief and surprise when Ramesh announced that Sanjiv had agreed to accompany him. To Kusum, it seemed all pre-planned between the grandfather and the grandson. She gave Sanjiv an admonishing look. The boy shrugged.

Vaibhav turned to Sanjiv and asked in a business-like tone, “Will your company spare you for so long?”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“It seems you’ve already spoken with them.”

Sanjiv was non-committal. Vaibhav had an uneasy relationship with his son. Against his wishes, he’d chosen a different career. The son had his grandfather’s traits. He was curious and adventurous but confused. In and out of a few relationships, he was into a new one about which he’d recently developed misgivings. A week ago, he’d asked his grandpa about the meaning of true love. The grandfather had replied that to understand the true love, he’d have to accompany him to a distant destination. Sanjiv had promptly agreed.

A worried Kusum said, “Pa, I heard the girls in Nagaland are extremely beautiful. Protect our Sanju from them.”

“It’s good if one of them wins his heart. I don’t care where the girl belongs,” Vaibhav interjected, suppressing his anger. “At his age, we had a toddler son. It’s high time he gets married.”

Ramesh came to his grandson’s defense, “You don’t have to remind him of his age. After all, he’s just thirty-two. I suppose he’d be dating someone. We should give him time.”

Kusum probed her son. “Sanju, tell us if you have somebody in mind or allow us to look for a girl.”

“You guys don’t lose your sleep over it. Let me handle it,” Ramesh said.

After dinner, they retired to their rooms. Kusum snuggled up to her husband and asked, “Vibhu, don’t you ever feel jealous that Sanju is closer to his grandpa than you?”

“Why should I?” Vaibhav said. “One is my father and another son. Isn’t Sanju the apple of his grandpa’s eye?”

“What if he brings home a Naga girl?” the mother said in an anxious tone.

“Better for him, better for us,” he shot back. “They would spend half their lives in understanding each other’s language and the other half in understanding one another. There would be hardly any time left for the fights. Today, the boys and girls marry one day, start fighting the second day, and seek divorce on the third day. It’s so difficult to understand their psyche.”

After a while, Kusum fell asleep. Vaibhav’s major worry, insurgency in the state, kept him awake a little longer. The ceasefire between the government and the insurgent groups gave him some comfort.

They spent the next week planning the trip. Vaibhav sat down with Sanju and explained that they should disembark at the Mariani Junction and hire a taxi for the village, forty miles east of Tuensang town, close to the border with Burma. In case of any trouble with the insurgents, Sanju was to seek the police's help. He went through the details until he was sure Sanju could look after his grandpa.

With prayers in their hearts and tears in their eyes, Vaibhav and Kusum saw them off. Their journey began in an air-conditioned coupe free from the heat and dust of the Indo-Gangetic plain.

Once they settled on their seats, Sanju asked him, “Grandpa, will you solve my problem?”

“Son, the trouble with your generation is that you guys are always in a hurry.” the man smiled. “Remember, patience pays in love.”

“Grandpa, want some coffee?” Sanju asked, hiding his embarrassment.

Against the din of the wheels’ rattle, they spent time reminiscing the past. Separated by four decades, their destinies converged on a single focal point: love. While the grandson sought its true meaning, the grandfather lamented its missed opportunity. For both, that journey meant a lot. From both, that journey sought a lot.

In the next twenty-four hours, the grandfather shared his wisdom with his grandson on wide-ranging subjects. Over the next two days, they crossed two mighty rivers, the Ganges and the Brahmaputra, and learned about two ancient cultures. After a night’s stay at Mariani, they hired a taxi and headed towards their destination in the morning.

As they passed through one village after the next, one town after another, they received a mixed reaction from the folks: unfriendly stares from the youth, friendly cheers from the children, and curious gazes of the old folks. Around noon, they halted at a hamlet for lunch. The owner, a pretty woman, welcomed them with a warm smile. An hour later, they resumed their journey.

En route, the grandfather coaxed, “Sanju, did you notice the woman? As long as we stayed at her restaurant, never for a moment, she let her eyes off you.”

“Come on, Grandpa,” Sanju protested. “I felt nothing like that.”

“Son, learn to read the language of the eyes because the secret of love lies in them.”

After a while, gazing at the mountains, the grandfather said, “I’m coming back after four decades. And all these years, not a day had passed when I hadn’t missed these hills, the waterfalls, the wind, the mist, the rain, and their smells. My heart knew I belonged to this place, but my mind didn’t accept it then.”

Wiping Grandpa’s tears, Sanju asked, “Is there somebody made of bone and flesh?”

“Shut up,” Ramesh gave an affectionate pat on Sanju’s cheek.

Sanju put his hand out of the car and let it soak in the rain. Then he stroked his face with it. The rain went away as fast as it had come. The wind slowed down. A sigh of relief escaped the driver’s mouth, and he pressed the accelerator. The farmers worked in the fields. In the villages, the boys and girls moved around hand-in-hand.

Sanju watched everything with curiosity. The grandfather turned to him and said, “Son, here people live a simple life. Love or hatred, they express it clearly. Unlike us, they don’t pretend.”

“Interesting,” Sanju said absentmindedly, still occupied with what he’d seen a few minutes ago.

Their thoughts remained stuck as the taxi raced past hill after hill, village after village. Children stopped playing and greeted them with smiles and waved their hands. The adults gave them curious looks. After a while, the road moved up. The wind got fresher and colder. Red and yellow colors bathed the countryside. The driver told him they would reach Mokokchung town in an hour, and he planned to halt for the night there.

The next day, they started for Tuensang.

For the large parts, the landscape stayed unchanged. Sanju believed Nagaland was one of the most beautiful places he’d visited. For him, it was a discovery. En route, he bombarded his grandfather with questions that he answered willingly. In the afternoon, they crossed the picturesque city of Tuensang. After a brief lunch break there, they moved on. The driver hoped to reach the village before sunset.

After lunch, Sanju, tired of constant traveling, dozed off. The grandfather shut the window and put his jacket over him. An hour later, Sanju suddenly awoke and asked, “Grandpa, have I missed anything?”

“Nothing important, or else I’d have woken you up.”

“Grandpa, what brought you to this place the first time?”

“My job,” Ramesh went down memory lane. “Our team was surveying the border areas. I was the team leader. After a week, we landed up in the village where we are going now. It was after the independence, and the Naga leadership hadn’t accepted their state’s union with India. The talks with the central government were on. Then, one day, we heard the Naga rebels had started an armed struggle. We moved back to our regional headquarters in Shillong. The insurgents started chasing the outsiders. We took refuge in a friendly village. The headman invited me to stay with him. I developed a high fever in the evening because of extreme exhaustion. Later, it turned out to be malaria. After a week, I recuperated and joined my fellow surveyors.”

“Grandpa, you never told us this part of the story.”

“I must have. Maybe you didn’t pay attention as it’s not so interesting,” the grandfather smiled.

They fell silent when the taxi passed by any settlement. By four o’clock, they reached the village. After a brief inquiry, they found the house and headed straight towards it. Outside, a woman in her late sixties was picking up a grain-filled basket. The sound of the vehicle stopped her in her tracks. Curious, she waited. Minutes later, a young man, followed by an old man, got out of the taxi. Her eyes fell on him, and her heart missed a beat. How could it be him? She pinched herself.

Unbelieving, she took measured steps toward the taxi. When she was sure, she cried in joy, “Oh God! Babu, it’s you.” She, with her stretched hands, ran and hugged the old man.

Turning to Sanjiv, Ramesh explained, “People here called the outsiders babu because most government officials in the state were Bengalis.”

“Your grandson?” she asked and kissed Sanju on the cheeks. “He’s a handsome boy.”

She took them to her house and gave them tea and rice cakes. In the meantime, she started cooking rice, lentils, and vegetables. The taxi driver, who had a relative in the village, begged to leave them with a promise to return in the morning. As soon as he left, she chatted with Ramesh in Nagamese, the local language. Sanjiv looked at his grandfather and the old lady in awe and felt left out, as he couldn’t join the conversation.

In the fading light, he glanced around. It was a long hut whose walls were of bamboo, the floor made of wood, and the sloping roof of tin. In one corner lay the hearth, and in the opposite corner the bedroom. Between these two was a large living room with a dining table. In it were two medium-sized windows that were open to let the fresh mountain breeze in. Sanjiv felt its gentle pat on his face.

An hour later, they sat down to eat supper comprising rice, lentils, and vegetables. The food was spicy but tasty. The woman took great care to see the young man’s plate was never empty.

“Do you know why your grandpa came here?” she asked in English.

Sanjiv gave her a questioning glance.

“Those were terrible times,” she went on. “The fight had broken out between the rebels and the Indian Army. Babu and his co-workers had taken shelter in the village. My father, the village headman, brought your grandfather to the house. Ramesh had a high fever. I sponged his body with a wet cloth to bring the temperature down. The next morning, he felt okay. After a few days, he fully recovered and left this place.”

Both men noticed a dense mist in her eyes.

“What about your children and grandchildren?” asked Sanjiv.

“Oh,” she smiled. “I’ve three daughters and four sons. By God’s grace, they all survived and lived happily in different villages close to this place. I’ve more than a dozen grandchildren. Your grandfather would have told you that we keep a large family.”

The mention of sons and daughters alerted the old man who asked her something in Nagamese, to which she replied, “Oh God! All these years, you punished yourself for a wrong you never committed. You thought you did it, but you didn’t. How could you?”

Unable to comprehend anything, Sanjiv begged her for an explanation. His grandfather gestured to her not to. With a smile, she spoke, “Come on, he is a grown-up boy. We can share this with him. On the night when I was nursing your grandfather to health, I dozed off in the same bed. In the morning, he found me sleeping beside him and misconstrued.” His grandfather went red and peeped outside.After a brief pause, she said, “But what he should have easily understood, he didn’t.”

“What?” the grandson asked, getting impatient.

“He failed to read my eyes at the time of parting and my love for him in them. I’m still in love with him. Since that day, I’ve carried his picture in my heart.”

“And what about you, Grandpa?” the grandson tried to clarify his doubt.

The old man turned to them, gulped down a glass of water, and replied, “I wasn’t so smart. I realized that very late.”

“Not your fault,” she said. “Men take longer to distinguish love from liking but take less time to express it. With women, it’s the opposite.”

Those words impressed the young man who thought it prudent to seek benefit from her wisdom. In a carefully worded question, he asked her why his grandfather couldn’t recognize her love. She said that it happened because of a lack of expectation. A simple mind saw the signs of love better. A confused mind often surrounds itself with unnecessary doubts.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “The love is ageless, endless, and boundless. But remember, in its victory, seek no reward. In its defeat, seek no revenge. It thrives on sacrifice. It decays on selfishness.”

Then a brief silence ensued.

“I think we should go to bed now. You both would leave early morning.” Tired, both men fell asleep instantly. The old lady wound up the kitchen and sat at the table. Unsure of what to say to God, she stared into the dark. Unlike hundreds of previous nights, she got no answer. After a while, she went to bed.

Sanju awoke the next day. His grandfather was feeding the birds as if it were his own house. They had breakfast together. An hour later, the taxi driver arrived. Sanjiv whispered into his grandpa’s ears, “I think you are staying back here.”

The grandfather nodded with a coy grin. Sanjiv walked up to the landlady and thanked her for the warm hospitality. Then he hugged his grandpa, who wished him good luck between the sobs.

“Grandpa, your quest for true love has ended. Mine begins,” he said, got into the taxi, and drove off.

The grandfather prayed that his grandson would find the answer soon.