“It was the weirdest dream last night,” my grandmother said. “I have never had such a real-like dream, ever.”
I smiled indulgently. She always had a manner of exaggerating stuff
and adding nuances and metaphors that would never be required with the matter
at hand. I mean, how one could compare one dream to any other, unless they
could remember each and every one. I could not even remember any current dream
if I woke up suddenly. Sometimes, the dreams were so interesting and exciting,
and I could just vaguely remember that they were, and I did want to return to
the same dream and to the same moment, but it did not happen. That most
intricate moment would always be lost.
“Nanamma, what was the dream about? Do you remember it still? Was it
about all of us? Was it about your childhood? Do tell, but please keep at your
breakfast. You need to eat up that kanji
and oats for your medicines.”
She gestured as if to include the entire hall and dining area in our
2nd floor apartment. “You call this suitable breakfast? Your parents
are torturing me by always siding with the doctors and medical whatnot. Give me
your aloo paratha and pickles and
whatever else that you have on your plate. I am already eighty-five but I am
stronger than anyone of you. I have not lost a single tooth and I have never
stayed overnight in a hospital for the past many years.”
I loved her a lot and it was always an opportunity to do something
that would be an act of disobedience with my parents and that could not be
missed up on. I handed over my breakfast to her and brought back some more of
the aloo paratha and chole and pickles from the kitchen. I
sat nearer to the largish window alongside the balcony so that I could have my
breakfast and keep watching the world moving down there, in the streets and on
the pavements.
“You know that tea and snacks shop on the pavement below, that you
can see from where you are sitting?”
I nodded. I looked down at the footpath and I could see it very
vividly. It was at the corner junction and a lane came out from some apartment
complexes. The shopkeeper had kept four wooden benches outside, extending his
premises and encroaching on the walking area. There were other shops in a line,
a haircutting saloon, an electrical equipment repairs shop, a newspaper and
fruits vendor and a dry cleaner laundry of sorts followed by a flower vendor.
My grandmother continued, “I dreamt about the tea shop yesterday
night. I have never been there ever but I dreamt that I was sitting there,
wanting to take a breather from walking back from meeting up with my friend in
that larger apartment building. A youngish boy, probably about ten or twelve
years old, in a dark peacock blue shirt was sitting alongside, eating a large
bun and dipping it in a cup of tea. I remember that clearly. I can remember the
sounds too but I was not aware at that moment in my dream. He looked up at me
and smiled and he was so very familiar.”
I looked down from my window seat and I could see the people at the
pavement benches. There was a boy out there, sitting, having a bun and tea. As
I watched, he dipped it in the cup of tea and gulped hastily, wiping himself.
“What was interesting about that, Nanaamma?” I asked. “You must have
seen him earlier or from up here.”
“No. It was not that. The boy was very familiar and I could not
remember easily. He spoke to me. He called me by a different name. He said, ‘Saramma,
how are you doing? It is time. You have to come with us and recover the
treasure of the village deity. We have been waiting for you. We need you to
return. Your four brothers and sisters are also waiting. I have to hand over
the treasure that we had taken away from the temple and hidden it by the river.’
And, I looked at him again, and I knew his name. Just like that. And, I knew
what to say to him in my dream. Very strange.”
I turned to look down at the tea shop. The boy was seated there. He
had finished having his bun and tea.
“How can that young boy know you from a different name,” I asked. “You
had only one brother who is no more.”
“Yes, Yes. I thought about all that,” my grandmother replied. “I
asked the boy in my dream, ‘who is Saramma? I am not Saramma.’ And, he replied,
I remember so very clearly, he said, ‘You are Saramma. I know you are. Our
village deity told me so and sent me here. Unfortunately, after the treasure
was hidden, our village was attacked by the enemy and several houses were burnt
down and your entire family was killed. It is time. I have met you. You need to
return to the village and locate the treasure and return it to the deity and
the temple. Only then, will there be peace.’ I remembered it all then, in my
dream, of having helped my brothers and sisters carry the treasure from the
temple to an old unused well and climbing down and hiding it within. I was the
only one who could do it as I was the smallest.”
I was getting worried and jittery. If the entire family was killed,
the dream probably referred to some past life matter that must have jumped the
many years and could have come up now. I did not believe in all that stuff but
my friends had recently shown me some videos about past life regression and
workshops and interactive sessions. That was all ok but if it was about past
life and it was in my grandmother’s dream, what about that boy? I could see
him.
“What happened after, in the dream?” I asked. I did not want to
mention that I could see the boy at the tea shop.
“I remember it so well. The dream, I mean. I spoke to the boy, ‘And,
you are Pattabhi? You are the son of the temple priest? I recollect you. The
families living near the temple knew where we had hidden the treasure. Anyone
of them could have helped you recover it even if my entire family was killed.
Why do you need my brothers and sisters?’ And, he replied, ‘My father was
blamed by the Nayaka and his ministers. They said that my father had probably
stolen the treasure and he was now blaming the families who had been killed and
could not come forward. Saramma, I need you to return with your brothers and
sisters. It is only you who can retrieve the treasure. My father had tied the
sacred thread from the deity on your wrists and bound you all to the treasure. Nobody
else is allowed to bring it back.’ And, as I looked around, in my dream, I
could see them, my two brothers and sister. They were born in different
families but they had returned to stand together. They were looking at me and
smiling. They were all very elderly and must have lived different lives, away
from one another, but they had recognised one another and had recognised me.”
I did not know what to say. I looked down at the tea stall. I could
see the boy standing near the wooden bench, looking up at our apartment window.
Two elderly men and an elderly woman were standing alongside, looking up.
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