MUNMUN SAMANTA

Abstract Drama Inspirational

4.5  

MUNMUN SAMANTA

Abstract Drama Inspirational

Stranger

Stranger

8 mins
431



 On his way to Mrs. Mathur's house, he met none, except a runny nose boy chasing a dirty shabby dog in its heel. When he asked him about the house, he wiped his miscreant nose in his worn-out sleeve and pointed towards some direction, which even Columbus's compass could not puzzle out. So Brijen went on his way. It was a beautiful avenue decked in stand-still mahoganies and eucalyptuses, silent sentinels of mother earth.

When he reached a big white old house with rusted railings and a beautiful front garden facing the gate, he realized he had reached his destination. Being sure he jerked the gate and the iron doors clattered in an irritated bawl, opening them ajar with hinges. But no one appeared or peeped. Without making any further sound to attract others’ attention he slowly opened the gate.

Looking at the house his mouth gaped and his heart came to a standstill. The house stood like an ancient charisma of Daedalus’ craftsmanship before him. It stirred awe in him. He heard so much about this white mansion that his mischievous brain calculate a bright future for himself out of it. As per his indubitable investigation, there lived none except an old woman and the maid. So it would be not so hard for Brijen to hatch a poignant story of his lashing poverty and seeking the job of a gardener. Then gradually he could win the aged, solitary heart, and his mission would not be far to reach. But for that moment he forgot his diabolic master plan and just looked for the inhabitants. 

Supporting his pre-calculation there appeared none, except a middle-aged plump woman cladded in a simple white saree. She opened the door with an amiable smile and looked enquiringly at him.

“Who are you, stranger?” Her eyes were asking.

 “I need a job and I can do every errand, from domestic repair to gardening.”

He would be a good handyman he ensured her. And at the mention of the garden, she became so elated as if she finally got the clue of a mystery case.

"Yes, it's my garden. It is a big, beautiful garden. I always mend it well. But nowadays I cannot do it. My back aches in protest due to the job venting on them. So it is just becoming the free ground of weeds. It needs care and nurture."

“I can do it for you at minimum wage.”

“Oh! No, you don't have to bother with the money. My concern is my garden. You should take care of it carefully like your own, and I'll pay you well. I never cheat anyone in my life."

She said with a cordial patronizing look at Brijen.

But Brijen's heartbeat stopped for a second as he gulped the word, "cheat."

He wanted to say, “Never believe a stranger.”

They said, "Brijen this time you will get a big profit. She is a widow with a king's treasure and her only son lives abroad. Just keep your patience and put your brain in the right cart. You don't have to do any work for three generations." So Brijen thought for seven days and then started for the fringe of the city.

Brijen was a hard worker. But he took more pride and credit in his fraudulent schemes or actions of swindling others. It was so easy and comfortable. Just use a little bit of your grey material and your bag will be full.

So he came here and joined as a gardener. He toiled hard and always used his saccharine voice to keep Mrs. Mathur happy. There is none in this house except one maid Bimala and an old man used to come now and then for business purposes. The neighbours sometimes joined in the tea party, relaxing in the afternoon warmth of the setting sun. Mrs. Mathur welcomed them, and introduced everyone to Brijen,

"Look, he is Brijen, the new gardener. He is a hard-working boy and he knows how to mend the saplings well, how to bloom the stubborn buds."

As they turned at him, she said, "Say ‘hello’ to them Brijen."

When no one came and there remained nothing so serious to do Mrs. Mathur came to the garden. She recalled her past days when all these trees were bought by her husband. When their first baby was born how the garden blooms with happiness and joy. 

“That plumeria never blossoms after Ritesh died. But I can see those tiny little foliages, twigs over there and I feel this year it will bloom, after so many years.”

Then she sighed and her eyes filled with water.

“My son Akash lives in the USA and I also had another son Ritesh whom I lost at a very early age. He was such a jovial spirit, but he had blood cancer and we could do nothing. You know Brijen money could not do everything.”

Then she wiped her tears and smiled,

"You know sometimes I feel so close to you. . These three months you are working here, and my garden and my house just get a new look.” “I feel...”, She hesitated and then said,” I feel, sometimes, you are my lost child, not a stranger but my son Ritesh. He was also very fond of the garden."

Brijen looked forlorn and sad. But he just touched her feet and she caressed his dishevelled hair.

"Can I call you in the name of my son Ritesh? "

Brijen nodded his puzzled approval.


Brijen was allowed everywhere in the house at any time and he even talked to her son Akash. He was also a good guy. He told him to take care of his mother.

Everyone believed him, more than he deserved. And it made him uneasy. Sometimes he got angry as he felt like a trapped beast in a cage. His ploy, his determination, and his aim were dismantled and collapsed. But he should not let it do.

"The rich people always manipulate the poor ones, either with emotion or with exploitation. Both are the same." He spat out his grievance on the flower beds and wiped his sweat.

***************************************

Six months have passed and now he knew every nook and corner of the house, even the key-holder. So now he must come to the point without making a more tangled fuss and not letting that old bitch pour more intriguing emotional stuff on his already strained brain. He had to pack up and fly far away beyond their clutch. And he knew everything, how to do, where to go.


Mrs. Mathur's health was not so well these days. Most of his time was spent in her company listening to her boring words and sentiments. Sometimes he thought he was losing his determination. He was dwindling, regressing from the mission, from the zeal. But the next moment he spurred up fiercely and tried to bring back the fanatic fire, hidden covertly.


That day was the best. God was in his favour.

Bimala, the maid had gone to her sister's house. Mrs. Mathur asked Brijen to stay with her. She had to sleep with the doses of the sleeping pill. And he easily could add some extra to deluge her in a never-ending sleep.

But that was so easy, the child’s game was not so easy then. He felt his heart, pounding hard in his chest, his nerves rebelling. He never felt such a quandary in his life, such a betrayal of his determination. He always possessed rare expertise in making master plans and executing them with cool competency. But this case took the wrong turn. But why? Everything was ok. He never got such a favourable situation in his life.

 He mixed the tablets in her soup and fed her. She looked at him. Her eyes like the dark black sky poured bliss over his soul. He just fed her till the last drop and then asked her to sleep,

"I'm here, no need to worry."

“I don't worry till my Ritesh is here, with me.

She closed her eyes peacefully.

Brijen sat in the chair and watched her calm smiling face. Sometimes he wanted to scream, sometimes to choke her to death. Finally, he rose and looked for the time. It's at 12.30. The night was dead silent. It was the best time to act. So he huddled for the torch and the keys.

Mrs. Mathur was in deep sleep. Brijen was sure that it would not break till mid-noon. He would be far away by that time. He secretly and stealthily approached the almirah, crossing the bed. Intense silence was making him deaf, except for the deep breathings of Mrs. Mathur.

He put his adroit hands in the keyhole and unlocked it. It was a rusty one. The almirah opened on its hinge with a cracking sound.

Brishen's breath got caught in his throat and he stood still. Somewhere a night wolf shared its first howl and others joined with glory. Mrs. Mathur squirmed in bed and in her sleep she mumbled,

"Ritesh tomorrow those plumerias will bloom. Today I noticed them gathering colour from my window. Tomorrow you must take me to the garden. I will touch and smell them. Do you know Brijen how I love my garden and how I love you? You are my son." She went on muttering. Brijen stood still on his feet. His face looked white through the oozing moonbeam. Suddenly he collapsed on the floor and cried silently.


 The next day the perfume of plumeria woke him up and he found himself sleeping on the ground. There was a hard knock on the door. He rushed to open it. It was Bimala. She looked at him anxiously, "How is she?"

"Fine. She is sleeping. She needs sleep. Don't disturb her. I am going to the garden. "

Brijen trudged over the dew-soaked grasses in haste; the garden was wallowing in the hefty smell of neonate plumerias, white petals, splashed with glorious yellow. He felt the smell permeating his senses. Never in his life had he felt such joy and peace at heart. He is no longer a stranger.



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