The Return
Monday, July 30th, 2007"It’s gotta go."
Mohandas paced back and forth, each time glancing at the rattan cage.
"No dear! Please!"
Kasturi was a forlorn figure, beaten by the stubborness of her lover, and tied down by the decorum that’s expected of Indian women.
"It’s embarassing, to say the least! I’m a man of honour, a freedom fighter! Its humiliating to think that a man of my character can allow his wife to be part of this cruel sadistic pastime you women are into! What would people say; What would people think at the back of their minds? I have to practice what i preach, walk the talk!"
Kasturi stood up from the floor, and straightened her body. "You always speak about freedom and its greatness. Did you not think for one second about my freedom? My freedom of speech, or my freedom of choice? I have had this with me for the past 5 years. It has become a part of my life. I cannot allow it to be taken away!!"
Again, Kasturi falls to the floor with tears, the hallmark of every women in desperation - taught to every indian women through the movies.
"This is the problem with you women. No sense of appreciation for great things like honour, freedom, pride!"
Kasturi remained on the floor beaten, as Mohandas paced up and and down the hall, the wooden floor creaking to the beat of his steps and her heart.
"I am off to my editor’s office. I am writing an article tonight on the true nature of freedom. I would love to come back to my house, where i live, and find that at least in my house there is true freedom." Mohandas left the room.
The cause of the argument, a rattan cage, housed the mynah, Orange, named after the dark orange coloured beak that Kasturi fell in love with. Orange could speak, words like hello and goodbye. But it was much less the speaking than the listening that brought Orange close to Kasturi.
See, Kasturi was the wife of a famous man, Mohandas Karamchand Ghandi, a revolutionist, a freedom fighter, a warrior in his distinct manner. And there has never been a day in the life of Kasturi that has passed without her being called lucky, and herself feeling so unlucky.
"Being the wife of a national figure," she once shared with her diary, "was like being the wife of his plight, of his struggle, of his people. I never felt like i owned him or he owned me. We both belonged to the fight for independance, him willingly, and I, unknowingly."
Such was the loneliness of Kasturi that she confided and shared most of her grievances with her little mynah Orange. It could as well have been a damn stone she spoke to, because Orange was a bird only interested in the scenary outside the window from which the cage hung, and the occasianal kuaci it ate with intrinsic agility. Sometimes, Kasturi felt inclined to just open the cage and let Orange fly out to the skies, but then again, there was so much that Kasturi only felt inclined to do.
Two hours in the editor’s office, and Mohandas began scribbling sentences into his pad, words that danced to his tune of independance. And within an hour he had actually finished a rough draft of the whole article. He began his conclusion..
My wife showed me today, in her utter innocence and blatant naivety, how a person living in ignorance and compliance can allow slavery and cruel indiscrimination seep into the very core of our hearts. The home in which i live, housed up to today a little creature that belonged in the wilderness, in the skies, floating merrily and singing songs to the trees and oceans. My house, up to today caged such a symbol of freedom in a rattan box, with practically no room for it to spread its wings, let alone fly about. And the wife of Mohandas, up till today thought it was perfectly alright. I end here with this true depiction of our situation. Let us start cleaning our own homes of the dirt of slavery. Let us rid ourselves of the despicable act of animal cruelty. And then, perhaps, we are ready for independance. And then, perhaps, we are ready for true freedom. Then, perhaps.
Upon reaching the house, he saw that his poor wife Kasturi was lying on the same spot where she was when he left amidst their argument. He felt bad, that he had left her with so much of misery, but he consoled himself that it was the right thing to do. Walking towards her, he glanced into her room, and saw that the rattan cage was left open, and the bird, it was no more there. Mohandas felt glad that his wife had followed his instruction, or maybe even realised the message behind it.
He touched her hair softly, and she woke up, her eyes a shadow of tears.
"I have done as you asked"
"Yes, i noticed, Kasturi"
"I really wish you realise…"
"And i, too, wish that of you"
Kasturi knew it was worse talking to him than the bird or the rock. She got herself up, and walked into her room and closed the door.
Mohandas stretched himself out on the patio outside, reading and correcting his article. It was the most relaxing time of his day, the evenings when he sits on his patio, the sun setting in a sea of orange, the birds always busy with chatter, and the crickets and frogs taking turns in musical combat.
Suddenly, Mohandas hears a scream. Then a shriek. It was coming from inside his house, and he rushed to see if Kasturi was alright. She has never looked this sad before, the past few days have been pretty rocky in terms of their relationship. Running into the house, Mohandas tried his best to keep the negative thoughts off his mind. She wouldn’t do anything to herself! No, she’s not that paranoid or suicidal!
He opened her door at once. And there she was, her eyes staring directly at him. He couldnt believe his eyes.
There she was, Kasturi jumping and shrieking in joy, running around the opened rattan cage. Inside the rattan cage, little Orange sat on it’s swing, in her beak, a kuaci, as if nothing at all had changed.
"Look!! Look!! She is back!! My baby Orange has come back to me!! I told you!! I told you!! She wants me!!"
Mohandas closed the room door. He could still hear her talking to her bird, excitedly. He even could hear the bird making noises in return. There was a communication, a deep bond, beyond human understanding, beyond his teachings, his principles, his reason. He felt the little bird knew his wife better than him.
He smiled to himself, and walked to the patio. He took the draft of his article, folded it into half, and without a second thought tore it off.
Opening his writing pad to a new page, Mohandas started his new article :
My wife showed me today, in her utter innocence and blatant naivety, the true meaning of freedom…
