To Live Once Again

By Jayanti Anubhav

On the day Yamini accidentally finds herself behind the door of her parents' bedroom, she witnesses the monster that her father is and her life is changed irrevocably. Scared, friendless and alone, she revolts in solitude. It is when her father sends her to a convent boarding school in the serene hills of Nainital does she find her true friend. Lavanya. But Lavanya, a chirpy girl, has her share of problems from a broken family. In each other, the two young girls find their faithful confidantes and cultivate a deep friendship. Both girls have secrets of their own - painful past that refuses to abandon their thoughts. They take their separate ways, Yamini in her quest to live with dignity and independence and Lavanya striving to find an honest relationship. But life has its own twists. Will the two friends meet again? Can friendships stand the test of time? Can scars of childhood be erased and forgotten?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9789358561340

Book preview

Acknowledgement

I am indebted to my parents and can't thank them enough for blessing me with a privileged life, for supporting me through all my decisions and being proud of me in all my endeavours.

I have no words to express gratitude towards my school teacher, Sister Bertha, for introducing me to the magical world of books.

Thank God! It has cleared up, Yamini murmured to herself.

I must reach home before it starts raining again. She looked up at the sky.

The sun, soaked in various shades of red, orange and yellow, was tired and was slowly retiring to its distant, unknown shelter. The greener and fresher leaves of the tall coconut trees which lined both sides of the narrow road were making the warm, golden sunlight play hide-and-seek with Yamini's wistful face. The thundershower had washed off the concrete road, and it now lay grim and black. Though it had stopped raining, the air was damp and the road was still wet and slippery. It was late in the evening and darkness had started to spread its wings. The heavy, grey clouds had vanished and the sky was wiping out the raindrops from its face.

The scenery was beautiful. But it could do no good to uplift Yamini's mood. The air was soft on the skin, but Yamini's heart was awash with heaviness, burdened with the gloominess of the setting sun and the departed clouds.

Yamini's repeated attempts to walk faster were failing. Her pale white toes were red with the effort, but her feet seemed resolute to act defiantly. Her pink ankles, below her light blue jeans, looked beautiful. The sleeves of her white, oversized shirt were folded. The loose bun that held her long, black hair was falling on her nape. She would gently run her tongue over her dry lips and press them against each other, turning them dark pink, dark red almost. The dark kohl, smudged between the corners of her large almond eyes, made her eyes look larger with a hint of mysticism. A thin, diamond-studded watch adorned her left wrist and a delicate gold cross dangled on a gold chain around her neck—the former, a gift from her grandmother, and the latter, a wedding surprise from Ananth—shone occasionally.

The temple Yamini was returning from was only two hundred meters away from her home. On any other day, she would have blithely walked in the rain on this narrow road of Kumarakom, a small and upcoming town in southern India and her home for the past three years. But, this was not a usual day. This day, she took more than half an hour to traverse the distance. Yamini had longed to surrender herself to the darkness of the night and had wished to succumb to the serenity of the temple, but, she had had to leave, against her wishes. The power supply was very unpredictable and Yamini knew that once it was dark, the road to her house uphill would get deserted. It would become difficult to cross the two-hundred-meter long stretch, even though it was tarred. As she walked, Yamini heard the temple bells ringing; the distant sounds soothed her heart for a while.

Aah! Thank God, Yamini expressed her gratitude again as she reached home. It started pouring again. The gate was locked and Ananth was not back yet. The door made no sound as she closed it behind her; just as she'd closed many chapters of her life, silently. The structure, her home, that welcomed her as a new coy bride three years ago had now transformed into a deserted frame of bricks and cement. It tacitly witnessed Yamini losing her grip on life since then.

Slowly, struggling with emotions, Yamini walked towards her bedroom. Her head bowed and entangled in thoughts. The rain outside had receded again.

The window in her bedroom opened to the backyard of the house. Her eyes wandered towards the small shack there and lingered on for some time. Her domestic help, Shompa, stayed there with her husband, Unni. At times, when Ananth would not be in town, Shompa would come and amuse Yamini with numerous stories of her village Birbhoom.

Shompa was a Bengali woman in her early twenties who had come to Kottayam to find work. Here she met Unni, a local Malayali guy, and both had fallen in love. Unni, who was the caretaker of the house even before Yamini and Ananth had moved in, was a quiet man. Shompa, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. Her deep loyalty towards her mistress was founded on three factors. Firstly, she had never seen such a beautiful woman; she looked like a movie star to Shompa. Secondly, Yamini never interfered in her work, unlike other nagging housewives and, thirdly, she also gave her good bonuses on festivals.

As she stood looking out of the window, the tall coconut trees, the backwaters and beautiful sky stared back melancholically at her. The sky was wet and had a beautiful shade of midnight blue, as if it was ready to be touched and smudged on a canvas. Soon, the midnight blue was replaced by an impenetrable darkness, and it began to rain again.

Shompa . . . Shompa! Yamini called out several times but there was no reply. In the din of the heavy downpour, her voice perhaps drowned.

"Didimoni, close the window, it's raining heavily," Shompa yelled in her thick Bengali accent from the threshold of her shack, when she saw Yamini standing near an open window.

Yamini noticed a lean structure behind Shompa. It was Unni. Yamini, at times, felt envious of her maid. The woman with limited means had an unlimited supply of happiness and love. Yamini walked away and fell on her bed. She was tired but not sleepy.

Faint sounds of a Bengali song; about a distant memory of someone promising to go to the deserted river bank to meet one's beloved beneath the full moon, reached Yamini's ears. Shompa was singing loudly, something that she did on special occasions. Yamini understood Bengali; Lavanya had taught her. The song was melancholic and Shompa's voice was suitably sombre.

Whose memories were pulling the strings of Shompa's heart? Or was it Yamini's heart, wounded and silent, that was feeling nostalgic? It was not a distant memory but the vicissitudes of her life of late which were troubling Yamini.

Shompa's song faded after sometime. Silence settled in the room, and the rhythm of the raindrops became muffled. Lying on the bed and looking up at the ceiling fan, which hung still and pensive like her, Yamini retrieved a thousand memories from remote and recent times, all at the same time. But it was one particular memory which lingered on and became vivid gradually and uncontrollably. Yamini found herself outside the half-closed door of her parents' room, staring in to the most horrendous sight of her life.

No. Not now. She must suppress that unpleasant reminiscence; Yamini began to play The Beatles in her mind.

When I find myself in times of trouble

MotherMary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Yamini had first listened to The Beatles in school. Lavanya had somehow managed to smuggle the walkman into the hostel. Later, she had been severely punished for it, not for the first time though, by the Reverend Mother. No such gadgets were allowed in the hostel without permission.

But Lavanya's soul was intrepid and difficult to curb. Forget it. Lavanya had shrugged off when Yamini asked her what the punishment had been. The bitch is jealous of me. Abusing was not a big deal for Lavanya, unlike Yamini who chose her words carefully.

A game of hide-and-seek would always be inadvertently played between the Reverend Mother and Lavanya. Both were resolute in their own ways— the teacher, in using her