Purba Medinipur, West Bengal
The grey clouds had been quietly gathering in the sky, heavy with melancholy, since the morning. By afternoon, the stillness gave way to a violent upheaval. Darkness engulfed the surroundings, as if a dusky-skinned woman had let her long, dark, curly hair cascade over the endless blue sky.
Suddenly, a group of fierce storms emerged, disrupting the gentle rhythm of the wind. How intense they were! With their clenched fists and random blows, they wreaked havoc on the grey sky. Countless shapeless cracks pierced through, and the torrents of water descended. An unseasonal downpour. While the sudden assault of the mad winds at the beginning of Baishakh is known as a Kalbaishakhi storm, this stormy intruder, arriving in the pre-winter period, was quite unfamiliar, nameless. Lately, it had been appearing suddenly every two or three days. As a result, by the end of September, the winter had set in quite firmly.
On the balcony, Animesh Roy arrived. The chilly fog painted by the touch of an artist was tinged with the evening's lifeless light in the twilight hue. The recent madness of the wind had left the surroundings chaotic and disorderly. Confronted with a reflection of his own life, Animesh's aging eyes closed. He could not stand outside for long. As soon as the sun set, the cold had further intensified in his dwelling. The seventy-two-year-old frail bones had become very sensitive to the cold. From one side of the disordered cot, he wrapped himself tightly in the shawl he had received as an honor for his retirement twelve years ago. He would have wrapped himself better, but he couldn't, as the worn-out old shawl was feeling the lack of cover again. Even if he wanted, he could not afford to buy a new shawl with his pension money. By the end of the month, the only financial independence he had was signing the check in the designated place. The two extra pleas in a broken voice also became an unauthorized entry into household decisions. Then, the smoldering fire turned into a blaze, and even his nine-year-old grandson was not spared from its relentless heat. When the promise was disregarded and the white flowers were plentiful, and when the goddess Nirala selfishly went in search of eternal peace, that day, the pillar of survival for the elderly Animesh became his only son's son, his only grandson.
One life thrums with the touch of another. In Animesh's life, that touch was provided by his elder brother. Even though he was overwhelmed with love and care, the other two in the family had no hesitation in keeping their eight- or nine-year-old son from coming into contact with his grandfather. Animesh accepted everything. Perhaps there was no other way. At this given to him and wears whatever is provided. But this sudden, unfamiliar cold was causing him great difficulty. Although he managed to cover himself with the old shawl, his feet were feeling extremely cold. He did have an old pair of socks, but with numerous holes, the big toe of his left foot and the heel of his right foot were exposed. The cold was very painful for him. When he first became a father in the month of Maagh, in middle age, he had bought many colorful socks for his baby son. The goddess Nirala had mockingly said with a laugh, "Even if you don't have warm clothes all over your body, it's okay, but if your feet are warm, the cold will be suppressed." That practice continued until his son grew up and went to the office.
Forgetting old things is preferable. With a heavy heart, Animesh wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. In the house, apart from a six-and-a-half-foot-by-four-foot cot, the only seating space was a small wicker stool. Its age hadn't been lessened, and it now creaked under the weight of his old bones. Animesh sat down on it. He didn't feel any relief even by slipping the socks onto his feet. Compelled, he timidly brought up the matter at the dining table, "Son, I know you're very tired from work all day, but still, I mean... the cold has suddenly become quite severe, my feet are hurting these days... I mean... if the cold were a bit less, I could manage for a few more days... actually..."
-"Stop beating around the bush and just say what you want to." Pulling the new-scented pullover's chain, Ritesh Roy, Animesh Roy’s son, aged forty, said.
-"Look, maybe there is some scheme." Nila, clad in colorful winter attire, curiously sipped her hot milk.
-"Baban, you better not spill even a drop of milk. It will strengthen your body in this cold." Holding the glass of milk near her son's face, Nila continued, "I’m not giving it to you, Dad; at this age, you won’t be able to digest milk, and your stomach will get upset... then there will be a thousand troubles... medicines... this and that..."
-"You’ve spoken correctly, daughter-in-law. Fine, I really can't tolerate it in my stomach." Animesh interrupted Nila’s clever speech midway.
With his weak, brittle teeth, he somehow managed to half-chew the dry bread and get up. As he took a few steps towards his own room, Ritesh called out from behind, "Dad, please sign the check tomorrow; it's due the day after."
The thick glasses covered his foggy, dull eyes with tears. With a sorrowful voice, "Son, could you bring me a pair of socks?"
"As soon as the month's money arrives, you’re planning to spend it! You old scoundrel!" Nila grumbled and gave a smack on the back of her cherished grandson, "Why are you sitting without eating? Finish the milk before it gets colder."
And so it began. On top of that, now the little Baban, who was in class four, had to endure all the anger and abuse. The little boy too was becoming increasingly stubborn these days. In such an inhumane environment, who can have a childhood?
"Everything is destiny. Why didn’t I leave before you did! That’s what we had agreed upon, Nirala. Come and see your cared-for person once." Animesh's lips puffed in resentment. He had to hide this expression from his son and daughter-in-law, or else he might have to hear again, "In old age, he has developed love for his deceased wife."
As he pulled the blanket over himself and leaned back on the pillow, he was just starting to doze off when Baban’s affectionate touch arrived.
"Grandpa......", Baban, sitting on his lap, hugged him with his chubby hands.
Ah, the warmth! The two tender hands absorbed the warmth from his body, warming him up. It was as if a drooping spine had found support, as if two cataract-covered eyes had a clear vision again, as if old age had a new impetus for life. Animesh drew Baban close with the loose strength of his frail, wrinkled hands.
"Grandpa, eat this biscuit. It’s a milk biscuit. I saw on TV that it's made with milk," Baban said, pulling out a biscuit from the packet and offering it to his grandfather.
"Eat it, Grandpa. It’s from my lunch. Dad and Mom won’t know. You eat it."
Animesh couldn’t control himself. Deep joy from the core of his heart made his cheeks wet. Tears of happiness came to his eyes! A loving kiss from Grandpa on Baban’s forehead.
The next day went by amidst his son and daughter-in-law’s busy activities. The following day was also filled with their busyness. Amidst all this bustling activity, the expensive foreign perfume bought with his pension, Nila’s fur muffler, and Baban’s new gloves found a place in Ritesh’s cupboard. Only the pair of socks, due to a lack of money, didn’t reach Animesh’s home. With the arrival and departure of unseasonal rains, warmth decreased further, and the cold increased. The cold north wind sneaking through the old door weakened Animesh’s tolerance. He was suffering from unbearable pain in his two feet. He had mentioned to his busy son a couple of times, but every time he mentioned socks, Ritesh’s ears seemed to become deaf.
The injustice and inhumanity happening within the four walls had matured Baban’s mental age. Grandpa’s unblinking, sorrowful gaze had etched the letters of protest into his young mind. As he grew up, his focus on studies increased with the motivation to take care of Grandpa. Even during the recess period, his mind was stuck in the folds of the book pages.
"Not only should you have a good job, but you should also be a good person," was etched into Baban’s memory from Miss Sucharita’s class on general knowledge.
"What do good people do when they see someone causing pain, Miss?"
In response to the question wrapped in the experience of a fourth grader, Miss gave an articulate answer, "They protest. Against injustice, against the wrongdoers. You will understand if you read the book 'Autobiographies of Great Minds' attentively."
As soon as he woke up, Animesh sat up abruptly. He looked outside through the torn gap in the curtain made of Nirala’s saree, which had been a companion for many years. It was nearing six o’clock on the old clock, which still bore the old smell. Why hadn’t Baban come! He was supposed to see Grandpa and enjoy Grandpa’s affection as soon as he returned home from school at three o’clock. Baban had also learned well to ignore Nila’s objections. But what happened today! He had been waiting for Baban, but he didn’t realize when his eyelids had closed. Lately, once he falls asleep, the whole world seems to become immobile; such is the depth of his sleep. Perhaps it was preparation for his final sleep.
"Grandpa, oh Grandpa......", Animesh was astonished when he got up from the edge of the bed to look for Baban. There were white, brand-new woolen socks on his feet. The socks were mismatched—one on the left foot and the other on the right. Animesh was dumbfounded. After the wedding, Ritesh and Nila had lost all sense of courtesy, but how did these socks come? Astonished, Animesh looked around and saw two mischievous eyes peeking out from behind the door. Before he could say anything, Baban made a brave leap into his fading chest. His empty heart was filled. The money he received on his birthday was used to buy this first gift for his grandfather. Animesh removed his glasses and placed his head on the picture of Goddess Nirala kept under the pillow. His moist eyes soaked in the bright moment framed in black and white days. The father, Animesh, who had sacrificed his life’s comfort for his only son, wept bitterly. He embraced Baban. His only grandson had become the balm for his heart’s wounds. His love-deprived, respect-less life’s debris had, for a moment, turned into a palace. The silent moments were swept away by the tide of tears into the eternal moments.
Animesh kept the pair of warm gifts, received in absolute security, hidden from the public eye and used them on his bed. However, his happiness didn’t last long. Ritesh’s office had a general meeting. The senior boss from upstairs was coming, so all employees had to look presentable. Returning from the office, the smell of the wet socks made it necessary to find clean ones. Unable to find any, Nila stumbled upon the white, pristine socks in the father's room while searching. The discovery astonished Ritesh. Meanwhile, Animesh was with Baban in the next room. Tomorrow is Baban’s essay competition.
Baban was once again reciting his lines in front of Grandpa. Taking advantage of this, Ritesh and Nila quietly slipped out of Animesh’s room, stealthily stealing Baban’s loving gift.
Nila prepared for bed a bit early today. The next day was Ritesh’s meeting and Baban’s competition. Baban was reciting loudly to Ritesh inside the mosquito net, while Nila was busy with her fragrant cosmetics. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Animesh’s anxious, wet voice called out,
"Son....... Have you gone to bed? Actually... I can’t find something important."
"Secretly bought socks! Let’s get through tomorrow’s meeting first. Then we’ll discuss properly!" Ritesh composed himself.
"Look, where have you misplaced it? Now stop bothering us and go." Even though Nila and Ritesh’s unusual glances evaded the weary, trusting eyes of Animesh, Baban’s sharp young eyes grew suspicious.
Unable to ignore the movements in his body late at night, Animesh took to his bed. Today, the gentle, soothing touch of sleep did not beckon him; instead, his mind was troubled by fragmented dreams of a bird’s vain attempt to see the sky with its old wings. The bird tried hard to fly towards a life of freedom, a life without constraints, relying on its weak, old feathers. Animesh’s eager, sleep-laden eyes were focused on the bird’s repeated attempts with its aging wings.
"Oh, little bird, little life! I give you all my life force. I give you all my suppressed desires. You alone can unveil the masks of mutual relationships and rise above the frailties of old age. I will see the ocean of uncompromising love in your eyes. Oh, great life! Fly away, fly away, fly away."
Animesh’s consciousness, submerged in the depths of his soul, was jolted back by Ritesh’s urgent cry.
"Dad, have you seen something I need?"
The broken sleep delayed the realization of the current situation. In a groggy voice, he asked, "What do you need, son?"
"I can’t find a pair of white woolen socks." Nila’s curtain fell in the search for socks, leaving everyone stunned.
An unspoken, gentle smile lingered in the corner of Animesh’s eyes.
A silence fell between them. Only from a distance could be heard the clear recitation of the biography of the sage Ashutosh Mukherjee.