THE FINAL JOURNEY

It was a rainy morning in October 1982. I was nine years old then. Although the peculiar stench of the mortuary was making me uneasy, I still enjoyed the rhythm of the water drops falling from the grill of the large window beside which I was standing. 

My mind though, was still in parallel pondering on why Dad had woken me up early that morning and taken me with him to the mortuary. I knew Dad was here to assist with the burial of John Uncle who had passed away a few days back.  John Uncle was a widower. He had been staying in Chennai and all his three sons were settled outside India. They would be reaching only that day afternoon. Some friend had to step in to support the family in the absence of his children.  

Dad was a pillar of silence as he stood beside me. He got the news  from John Uncle's neighbours, only after the body was kept in the mortuary. Standing beside him was another man of almost the same age as him. He was a close relative of John Uncle who had come from Kerala to attend the funeral.

There were a few other people, possibly the family members of the other departed ones whose mortal remains were also kept there. Soon, I saw two attenders carry the body of John Uncle out of the chambers and then place it on the floor. The sheet that covered the mortal remains was old and dirty and so was the attire that was on it. They lifted the head and placed it on a wooden block, so as to keep it raised. The two attenders proceeded to strip the clothes from the body and then with an ordinary bar soap that is normally used to wash clothes, proceeded to bathe and clean the body.

I turned away from that ghastly scene and looked out through the window. I tried to keep my eyes and thoughts fixed on a crow outside whose feathers were all ruffled up after it had shook off the rain water that had dressed it. I could feel Dad's hand pat me from behind.

"Do you remember going to John Uncle’s house last Christmas as part of our carol group? It was drizzling then and he did not let us inside. We could hear him say that he felt that we would dirty the house, as we were all wet. And so the entire carol group stood outside the gate and sang two songs and then we left. And today, you see the irony. The clothes that were on his corpse and the floor where it is kept now are all dirty. This is life. There is nothing here that we can possess and take with us my son. Unless you have exhibited love and respect, mostly you will not get it in return.", he said calmly. The two attenders dressed the body again and soon we left the place along with the body.

As I left that place, although it was a harsh reality of life that Dad had shared, I found it very difficult to digest. But that’s what life is, when it shows its ruthless face.

You can have some more taste of my writing through my books. Visit them at the links below:

Short Stories:
A Pearl From Every Oyster - India Link

A Pearl From Every Oyster - USA Link

Poetry:
Indelible Eternal Etchings - Poetry- USA Link

The book is available across all Amazon country sites with some providing both Kindle and printed versions and the others only Kindle versions.