Worthless Moron

It’s my ancestral home. But presently, none of my own flesh and blood lives here. All are out to earn their living, like me.

I am a govt. servant and normally get chance to come home during festival time like Eid.
I visit my ancestral home mostly once a year. My home remains locked and it takes almost the whole holiday period for cleaning, dusting and putting things in order.

Once in my home, I can be my own-self and can see myself face to face. My childhood lies here. I can also meet my own people. That’s why I come home whenever I get a chance.

During festival holidays, look of the village changes. The naive and hardworking village people get busy serving their near and distant relations vising home once in a blue moon, who are educated and well established in their lives.
A word of advice and some sneak peek of their worthy lives change the meaning of life all together to the villagers.

After a spell of busy schedule, as the guests start leaving to their busy world, the rustic people also start going back to their daily chores, broken hearted having woken up from a spell of reverie. They go back to their works with a wrench in heart for losing the incandescent relatives.
The village again immerses into its hackneyed life.

But for me, this time it was a total exception. Meaning that I arrived when all guests left and villagers were returning to their respective works. It was a demise of all my enthusiasm of vising my home.
The village have already immersed in a melancholic silence like grave yard.

I arrived in the evening and somehow spent the night amidst the movement of cockroaches, mice etc. all unwanted guests stalking in the rooms, locked for months.

It’s a two-story bungalow pattern house. There are bed rooms and kitchen at downstairs and a big room sits at the center of big roof with open space all around. I stay in this room whenever I come home.
I woke up early morning and started cleaning and dusting. But this time everything seems topsy-turvy.

-It’s almost 9 o’clock in the morning but none came so far to say hallo. Has any revolutionary change taken place suddenly!
-May be no one knows about my coming.
I thought.
-But no, how could that be? I switched lights last night, opened doors and windows. That must have attracted notice of neighbors.
I tried to reconcile.
A sense of some unknown dissatisfaction stuck in me.

I stood by the open window towards the back side of my room.
A patch of small open ground is clearly visible. But now it appears to be a vast expanse of openness, vacuum without limit.
Suddenly, it dawned on me about worthless wretched Uncle John. I got very angry on him.

John is a very old and faithful household caretaker, who looks after the house. I just could not bring me to understand as why John is not here by that time. He does not have much else to do other than looking after the desolate house.
He stays in a separate building on the outskirt of our walled complex. He draws his monthly salary from my bank deposit. That wretched who has almost no work to do, is supposed to come running learning about my arrival.
Indeed John is very insignificant in my list of priorities and I don’t have any rationale to look for him. But at this moment his absence has made him more valuable.

I call John, moron really meaning the word. I do it to ventilate my grudge on his Creator.
I remember John from the time of our liberation war. He stayed with us from much before the war. He is in our house since his boyhood.
He works for other villagers whenever he does not have work to do. He took my permission. I asked him for the reason. He said, he wants to help, he feels bad if he doesn’t have any work. The villagers for whom he works do not pay him as he does not demand.
John does not have any complaint against them instead he conceives a peculiar mentality of showing mercy to them by working free.

- Oh no! this time I’m not going to spare them, I’ll make them pay my all my dues.
John utters these sorts of warning to some particular villagers for whom he worked, if the fellow is not in his good book for some silly reason.

Alas! He wants to show mercy for others! once the life has not shown an iota of mercy to him.
The wretch does not know anything about his parents or siblings. His father died before his birth and his mother died immediately after giving birth. As such, he doesn’t know any of them and does not have any onus of doing any duty towards them.

I gathered all these information while listening his blabbering as pastime during my short stay here.
His life story resembles fiction of tragedy hero - which suits only great people. But from where did the moron get this story? I thought but did not condescend to ask him further wasting my valuable time.
I thought of asking him this time as I have much time in my hand.

His skin color is like all others here but his flat nose and monolid eyes tells that he does not belong here, he is from somewhere else.
He is from some area of Assam, as he said earlier. He does not know anything else about himself. He does not have any headache for that. He somehow stranded and came to this area. Then on he lives here.
He does not have anybody here to call his own.
Uncle John looks lonely and outlandish whenever he sits alone distrait.

My annoyance started bubbling up as he has not as yet shown up.
He calls me ‘Khoka’ i.e. son, imitating my late father. But as he had a problem in his uvula, some of his utterances sounded distorted, as such though he used to call me; khoka’ meaning son, it sounded like ‘khora’ meaning lame. I always crack joke out of him whenever he calls me.

Our village is adjacent to a cantonment, as such, during the liberation war occupation Army played havoc on our village by killing, looting and burning houses. All most all left the village in such apprehension as the war was heating up.

Uncle John acted like moron again. As war was breaking out and when all villagers were in competition to leave before one another, John told my father nonchalantly-
You leave, I’m staying back to look after your house.
He really stayed back ignoring everybody’s insistence.

As we came back after the war was over, we saw a skeleton like John and completely dazed houses.
John lost his aplomb and slammed on the bare earth as he saw us returning after about nine months. He burst out in loud cry slapping his chest.
-All are lost, I failed to protect your houses. The soldiers came in numbers, beat and tied me with a tree, looted and burnt down all the houses in front of my eyes.
John kept wailing.

It was well past noon but none came so far to see me. It’s very unusual.
My anger on John grew further. I decided to sulk when I see him.

My father died about ten years back. During his life time I invariably had to face one complaint, as to why don’t I write him letter.
I used to get disturbed sometimes for such importunate query and kept quiet.
-‘Khoka’, you will understand when I would be no more, when there would be none to call you. My father used to grumble.
It’s really funny that ever since my father died, if I don’t listen to John, he would utter the same thing, sometimes totally out of context- Khora’ i.e. lame, you will understand when I would be no more, when there would be none to call you.

He has none here and never looked for his any kith and kin. Many years back someone came to claim his relationship with John but John reacted very negatively and suspected that the man and his motive. John expressed that the man came to take share of his properties.

-Sir, it’s almost noon, won’t you take some food?
I was totally lost in my thoughts standing by the window. call of my boy servant who came with me jarred me back to present. Having asked him to place food on the table I took a little walk and stood on the high bank of the huge pond in front of our homestead.
Nobody was seen around, completely desolate. I saw a Checkered Keelback snake sunning on the slope of the pond. She almost ignored me. In one corner, a snow-white king stork seemingly taking a nap standing on one leg.
I didn’t feel good at all. I just felt to go and visit our family grave yard.

It’s a walled Yard with a gate, inside was full of tares, uncared for months.
Uncle John was very particular about keeping the grave yard clean.
-This is the final resting place for all.
In our boyhood, Uncle John used to enthuse us in regular grave yard cleaning work by reminding about its importance.
A sense of annoyance and uneasiness overtook me.
- Khora’ , you will understand when I would be no more.
It seemed the voice whispered from somewhere.
It gave me goosebumps. I felt a sudden wrench in my heart for Uncle John.
-What happened to him? Some fatal disease! A sense of deep remorse overwhelmed me. I grew a sense of grudge against me.

I rushed back home. I met my neighbor uncle at the gate.
He expressed his surprise about my coming at this odd time.
- Is Uncle John dead?
Having exchanged bare minimum pleasantries, I asked him straight.
-Yes, it’s about few months. A brief answer without showing much emotion.
A tart simple answer but pierced me very sharp.

I rushed back to my room, strolled silently for few minutes.
I put the few items I brought out, back into my suitcase. I didn’t feel to stay there any moment more. I felt everything suffocating.
I asked my boy servant to take down the suitcase and load into the car. He looked at my eyes in surprise. I’m not sure whether he saw my tears.
I trundled down the stairs, counting my steps, twenty-two of them. I felt totally exhausted.
It started drizzling. I went out and stood near my car. Lazy drops of rain blended with my tears.
-It’s nature’s way of expression. I thought.
My uncle came.
-Couldn’t really talk to you son, you understand the busyness after the festival. He felt sorry.

I felt myself a bit atoned as I prayed in the grave yard and in the process prayed for the departed soul of Uncle John.
I shook his hand and mumbled, right before entering into my car.
-Uncle John’s grave is by whose side in the Grave Yard?
-It’s a govt. land for burying unclaimed dead bodies, difficult to identify.
My uncle answered nonchalant.
I looked at his face in total astonishment.
Uncle John did not get any place in our family grave yard! I thought.

I almost pushed my boy servant into the car and started off.
-Son, where are you going at this odd hour and in inclement weather? Please give some heads-up before coming next time.
I barely heard the voice of my uncle.

- Burying unclaimed dead bodies. Uncle’s voice haunted me.
- Khora’ i.e. lame, you will understand when I would be no more.
Wind kept whistling the words of Uncle John all around.

Darkness is gradually engulfing the Earth. I don’t know exactly where I am heading now. But I clearly understand that I’m escaping.
I did never understand the meaning of trifling distorted utterances of Uncle John. That never made any impact on me. But at this moment now, I clearly understand that his blabbering were not useless and Uncle Johan was not worthless Moron.