Pulimoodan

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you

[pulimoodan]

The Visitor

I stared in amazement at the stranger who rang the calling Bell and was walking around the garden. When he saw someone at the door, came to me finishing off his tour. 'Is there Mr. Divakaran' The sound slipped from his phlegm filled throat. 'Dad .... it's been two years since my father died' I replied with sorrow. 'Oh, I'm...... father's friend. We were together in the Army. ' When he began to turn around after the words of sympathy finally, I begged, 'No! Having came here so far, just come in once please' Thinking whether wanted or not, he unbuckled his shoes and climbed into the threshold. Sarasu, who was standing at the door, suddenly ran inside. I led him into the hall. In the kitchen, Sarasu had already set fire for the tea. "There was nothing known about Divakaran who went to leave," he said. 'How ?, There'll be an immediate know-it-all, that was a big news ?' He wrinkled his eyebrows and looked at me. I continued, 'Dad .. some robbers on the train.' He began to cough. He pulled the towel from his pants pocket and wrapped his mouth. 'Well, didn't you say your name brother? ' I asked. 'My name is ...' He seemed to be counting for the answer. 'Edward' Then we sat in silence for a while. He was occasionally crossing his fingers through the gray beard. The hair is overgrown. He should be seventy years old. But he had nothing like a soldier was. When he was tired sitting, got up off the sofa. He moved slowly, looking at the photos hanging on the wall. They were father's only collection. Sarasu had already arrived with tea from the kitchen. 'That's my wife! ' I introduced. He stretched out his hand and took the tea cup. That's when I noticed that he had a lot of dry wound spots on his hands.

He wandered lazily here and there. I asked him many things. In a single word, he confined the answer. He seemed to be not a talker. Finally, at dusk, he left. I landed on the sofa with an empty headache. My hand was stuck on something special at sofa. A leather wallet. The same as the one father used in the past. I took it in my hands and opened it. I was a bit surprised to see a photo of my childhood in the front row. Beside me, there was also my mother who had retired ten years ago ...

Who will be him?...

[pulimoodan]

The Lost Purse

A short story

The wheels of that old vehicle had started to weep. It was going through that potholes way too hard. I was still hanging on a strap among people. I was keep moving along with the turning of the bus. The man behind me fell asleep and fell on my shoulder. I knocked him out, feeling as if he hadn't bathed for two days. He continued to sleep, without feeling overwhelmed. The conductor came rushing through the crowd and hit my shoulder and said, 'Eh, take the ticket?'.

I put hand in my pants pocket with a headband that said no. A sweat dripped down my forehead. The pocket of that cotton pant is empty. I searched for all the pockets with the addiction. I started to sweat more. I turned back as if something was enlightening. That naughty man is still asleep. I held onto his collar. 'Hey, where's my wallet?' I screamed.

* * * * * *

His voice was screaming at the pressure of the police, and the sound of it was all over the place. I sat impatient on a bench attached to the wall. After a while the S.I called me in. He was left with a leather purse on the table, and he asked, 'Is this yours?, it is from him'

I said yes. Within a short time, its edges had begun corrosion.

'Well, you can go.' He said. I turned once in between walking out from the S.I's room. Only a buried moan could be heard from inside the cell.

Going to the bus stop, I took that purse out of my pants. I rubbed through its smooth exterior. When I opened it, the column in front of it had a picture of a girl and her mother. The inner pockets were nothing more than a torn ten rupee note. The fact that this was not my wallet passed through my body like a tremble.

I hurried back to the police station. Occasionally walking became a race.

I went straight to the cell. He was sitting there in a corner. A biryani in front is open. He grabbed a piece of meat from it and pressed it into the bruised gums greedily. The cheeks were all red with swelling. He raised his head and looked at me with a smile. While eating, he was trying to talk, 'I am .. Sir, eating this for the first time. My daughter loves it so much. But where would I get money to buy it? ' He continued to feed. I extended that purse to him. I had put a hundred rupees inside it to appease him. He stretched out his hand and bought it. He opened it and looked at the photo. 'My daughter and my wife, ' he said. ' What to do? They don't want me! I'm an incompetent, right? '.

I looked at him with a sympathy. He opened his wallet. And was shocked to see a 100 rupee note. He took it and stretched it towards me. He said, 'Sir this is not mine, sir. Is it yours?'