Mani swirled the steering wheel of broken down blue tempo on to muddy village road. His granny seated beside him pulled out a small jewellery box from the silken potli bag. She held it towards her chest and reminisced “This is the day I have waited for many years.” Mani acknowledged with a nod as he maneuvered his way on NH 7.
Granny gazed poignantly at the lush green fields that stood out against the dark green of the forests. Surrounded by hills that basked in the golden sunshine. She had never left the village since the day Mani was born. She had single-handedly bought him up ever since he was a 2-year-old boy.
Granny turned to Mani and said "A scarecrow in the middle of the fields. She would have built it herself." Mani usually cherished hearing childhood stories from his Granny. But today he eagerly anticipated to reach the highway motel on time. Tapped his fingers on the steering wheel nervously as he announced "We can reach the motel in an hour."
Mani jammed the brakes in front of an old white dilapidated two-story building. Granny crossed the threshold as Mani trailed a few steps behind her. The place bore a deserted look with most tables left empty. Except for a lone man seated at the far end of the dining room.
His sunken eyes, unshaven beard and disheveled appearance were alarming to Mani. His frail frame resembled that of a scarecrow. The air was filled with trepidation as he stood to confront her. "I can't believe it's you after all these years," she said and crossed her arms.
His eyes lit up when he saw Mani had come nearer. "There you are" he exclaimed, "Do you remember me, son ?"
He is my father, the thought struck Mani like a bolt of lightning and he stared unblinkingly.
Granny with a wave of her hand, yelled "Don't you dare go near him" and tossed the potli bag on the table. "My daughter paid with her life for your thieving ways." she almost choked as tears stung her eyes. She pointed towards the potli bag. Before she continued "I promised to return your prized stolen possession to you on her death bed."
Momentarily shaken and with remorseful eyes he peered closely at two gold bangles in the jewelry box. He swallowed hard, flustered and his guilty-ridden face turned crimson. He confessed, "Until yesterday I languished in prison for 22 years."
Hand on his heart he promised, "I'll never cross your path in life ever again." He pleaded with regret in his eyes "I wanted to meet my son only once." He let out a sharp breath "These bangles will be returned to the rightful owner."
He recalled the police had arrested him in this highway motel years ago. He lurched forward and hugged Mani for one last time. Before he walked away with a heavy heart and a lifetime of repentance.
***
Glossary :
Potli - a small drawstring bag, often made of fabric like silk or cotton, and used to carry small items like money, jewelry, or even a bundle of herbs.
NH 7 - National Highway 7