He’s gone

This post originally appeared on medium.com/@kannarkk before I consolidated my writing here.

Why can’t they hasten? I cannot bear this anymore. But I won’t cry. Like everything else in my life, I shall swallow this one too. He lies there, on the neatly laid blocks of sandalwood; this is the last time I shall see his beautiful face — that smile amidst this twilight will haunt me forever. I cannot dare to go and touch him lest I breakdown. He would not have liked it.

The chants only seem to be getting longer every minute. I can see every face on me. Who is this mother who cannot cry on her son’s funeral? But I am grieving. There’s a storm roiling inside me, and it’s one that wails stronger with the ominous wind. Why does my sister have to hold me? Do they not understand my grief? Why do all of them have to cry for someone they don’t know at all?

I am not tired, and yet I feel no energy left to live in this world. I am not heartless, and yet I have no heart to shed a tear. My heart is now on a pyre, waiting for the chants to complete, waiting for my husband to light it and set it free.

I look at the canopy of oak trees as I hear something. What was that noise? Nobody seems to care. Can’t they get over this soon? Time is a ticking bomb. And yet, time has slowed down, to give me all the time to grieve for my son, my only son. But I know it’s not enough; not even forever. Not even the music of a phoenix can uplift me in this sinking ship. After all, my heart never came home.

Silence. Abrupt silence. I am woken from the world I went within. The chants have stopped. There’s a small fire trying to spread in this darkness; it’s not found its strength yet. Does my son not want to leave me? Come back son, come back.

And there’s a rustle and the fire is ablaze, in full strength. No. he’s not dead. He is alive. Stop this fire. I want to shout, but no words appear. I want to run to him, but I am stuck. There’s no sound apart from the crackling fire.

“Leave me alone with him,” I tell my sister who tries to lead me home. It’s dark now, and I face the burning wood, alone, feeling lost. There goes my son — the son who I am proud of, whose achievements didn’t need a proclamation, the son whose intelligence made me feel very stupid. I said come back. But not this way. Come back son!

I have fallen down. I can smell the fresh grass. I can see the ashes fly around. I know my heart is gone. A mother’s heart always waits, even though it’s gone; come back son. I well up and the tears gush down silently.

* * *

I stand in the darkness of the woods, the canopy of the oak trees giving me the perfect vantage point to see my own funeral. I see my father performing the funeral rituals alongside the pandit. I see my mother standing, her beautiful face ashen. I see my relatives crying for me. I find the moment funny. The two most important people in my life are silent, and the rest of the world can’t quiet down.

Why can’t the chants finish? The quicker this ridiculous joke gets over, the quicker I can leave. I shouldn’t have come at all. What was that thing crawling over my legs? Shoot! I just stepped on a fallen branch. I hope nobody hears that darn cracking sound and comes over.

Ah. There’s the fire. Soon, it will be over — my funeral. I will be declared dead, free to roam around with a new identity. This is the only way I can keep my family safe from all of them. And now everyone’s leaving. Tomorrow, I will be a memory — someone who existed, someone who was a foolish brat, someone who never made their mark.

I didn’t realize that I had lost track of time fallen in my own deep train of thoughts. It hits me that it’s only my mother and me now (well, and the body of a stranger being passed as me) She seems to be welling up. She has fallen down. Ma! How I wish I could come there and tell you all of this isn’t true.

I can smell the fresh grass and the dew that lingered around. I can smell all of the woods. In this moment, I can feel a barrier between two worlds. My new identity has already formed. I cannot cross the canopy of these woods, to show myself in the light of the burning fire. That person is dead — the person fallen down in the stranger’s cover. Accept that. Turn back and get out of here. Run before your cowardice gets the better of you. Run.