Remember Anything?

"There was someone standing under the tree and was gesturing to me to come forward. The normal instinct would have been to bolt, but instead, I was surprised that I felt no fear whatsoever. A strange eagerness to go closer to the stranger filled my heart. I quickened my steps and was soon standing in front of him. Now I could see clearly.

The stranger was tall, extremely fair and his well built muscular body was bare except for a piece of white cloth that was wrapped around his waist and reaching just above his knees. He was also barefoot. I was intrigued by this strange man who had slightly brown and thickly matted long hair gathered over his head in a big knot that looked like a tall hat. He wore large, brown, probably copper earrings and carried a black polished water pot in his right hand. By far, the most striking of his features were his eyes: large, brownish black, glittering and over-flowing with love and affection.

He put his right hand on my head without any hesitation and his kind voice said, “Kuch yaad aaya”in Hindi, which means, “Do you remember anything?”I understood the stranger’s words perfectly for, although our family had settled in Kerala for generations, we spoke a peculiar dialect of Urdu known as Dakkhini, very similar to Hindi. “Nai”(no), I said. He then removed his hand from my head and stroked the middle of my chest with it saying, “Baad mein maalum ho jaayega. Ab vapas ghar jao.”(You will understand later. Go home now).

I still did not understand what he was trying to convey but instantly obeyed the command to go back home. As I hurried back home, I felt as if his touch had made my heart lighter. Reaching the last step to the rear entrance of the house, I turned around to have a last glimpse of the stranger under the jackfruit tree, but he was gone. There was no one there.

It was also getting darker. I ran into the kitchen with great excitement. What an adventure to share with my mother and tantalize my little sister with. A lovely aroma wafted from the kitchen. My mother was cooking prawn curry for dinner. I opened my mouth to begin my story but no word would come out of my mouth.

It was as if someone or something had locked my vocal chords. I tried again and gave up. By then, I was breathing hard. “You are out of breath,”said my mother, “What happened? Ran too fast?”“Yes,”I heard myself saying and realized at the same time that I could not talk only when I tried to relate the strange experience.

On a few more occasions, I tried to tell the story and failed. Convinced that I was being prevented by some unknown power from exposing the incident, I gave up all attempts. It took ten years before I could speak about it to anyone at all. The first person I spoke to about it was none other than the stranger I had first met under the jackfruit tree..." -- Sri M