After the Accident

AFTER THE ACCIDENT
(Winner of the Asian Age Short Story Competition 2001)

Travelling across India, I have found that the best cities to live in are the ones with military cantonments. Here, at one end of a concrete jungle, you will find an oasis of green. Down shady avenues, you will pass sprawling bungalows, the way the British had left them half a century ago, each with its half acre of garden. Poona has changed not only its name but has transformed itself from a pensioner's paradise to a metropolis of teeming millions. But go east and walk down the Prince of Wales Drive on a winter's morning and if the day is clear you can see forever - from the Officers' Mess half a mile up the road, past the residences of Majors and Colonels, to the Centre for disabled soldiers. Here by the side of a parapet stands a Banyan tree and as a boy I remember swinging from its adventitious roots looking out for the horses that would come cantering down the road from a stud farm behind the Officers' Mess. Now my eyesight is not what it used to be and as I sit on the parapet for a while after my morning walk, I can hear things some time before I can see them.
Behind the parapet a little wood shelters a narrow lane on which paraplegics propel themselves on wheelchairs. Some are middle-aged, some are rather young, and after a while I begin to recognize them by their faces but I have never been able to get beyond a smile and 'Good morning!' Perhaps I am shy, perhaps I feel guilty - guilty that a twenty-year-old should have to push himself when I can run under the trees. And what can I say to ease their pain? I know this is not the right attitude and yet….
"I beat you this time!" he cried.
I had just come out of the wood and he with his bright T-shirt was waiting by the parapet. His shirts were always colourful and for the past few days I had been noticing him glide down the lane that dipped into the glade, but coming up was hard work. Once or twice I had the feeling that he was trying to keep up with my jogging and when he passed me by today I thought he gave me a sidelong glance and smiled.
"I beat you this time!" he repeated, panting.
"Oh did you?" I asked, sitting at my usual place. "I had no idea you were trying to race me."
"I had been doing that the whole of last week. I won today!"
I congratulated him. We shook hands and laughed. He told me his name was Jitesh and I gave him mine.
And then there was a silence; the uncomfortable silence between two individuals, both trying to think of something to talk about and at the same time wondering if it wouldn't be best to shake hands and be off.
I looked at him sitting in the wheelchair; looked at his striped white and blue T-shirt covering his broad chest; looked at his strong muscular arms holding on to the wheels and at a pair of legs that had deserted him and did not seem to belong to the rest of his body.
"It's a nice place," I said.
He looked at the Paraplegic Home. I pointed to the forest behind and he nodded.
"And a very fine morning!" I said.
"A very fine morning," he repeated.
And again there was a silence.
Little beads of perspiration had collected on his forehead. A faint smile hung on the face of that young, painfully young, face.
"See you!" he said and began to push off.
A stone had got wedged beneath one of the wheels and the chair wouldn't budge.
"I'm stuck!" he grinned sheepishly.
In a hurry to exhibit his independence, to show that he wasn't really stuck, he backed quickly to circumvent the stone. The inner wheel went off the road and ploughed a couple of inches down into the dirt tract by the side. It was difficult for me to keep sitting as he struggled to maneuver himself on to the road.
"No! No!" he cried as I got up and began to push.
"Really now," I said, " you must occasionally allow someone to help you for the time being. I'm sure you will be up and about soon."
He shook his head decisively. He lifted his arm and sliced the air.
"Slash! It's transected," he said.
"Yes?"
"The spinal cord. It's shattered. Cut into two. Motorcycle accident"
He talked about the danger of just a little bit of oil on the road. He mentioned the day and time it had happened and then talked about his home and his parents.
Once again there was a silence but now it wasn't uncomfortable. It was a silence between friends, not strangers. With two people at peace with themselves and with one another conversation is rarely needed; at times it is not even desired. We knew we would be meeting now perhaps everyday, exchanging pleasantries and then giving ourselves up to the trees, to the wind that rustled the leaves, to the invigorating cold as long as it lasted and to the flawless sky above. He seemed happy and as that is all that matters in this world, my guilt dissolved.
There was a swish of branches and looking up saw a monkey swing from tree to tree. It was a red-faced mite, all limbs and tail. Every time it was airborne I feared it would fall but its judgment was unerring. I looked at Jitesh but the monkey had not attracted his attention. He had turned his head to the right and his eyes were focussed upon something at the far end of the one-way road. I could see nothing but after a while I heard snatches of a familiar melody and then the hum of an engine. The car had crossed Major Sharma's bungalow before I could pick it out. The boy was staring at it intently. I saw his fingers tapping the armrest of his chair. The car slowed down to negotiate the speed breaker opposite the Paraplegic Home and then shot past scattering the leaves, its stereo blaring.
The monkey had descended and was now sitting at the other end of the parapet watching me inquisitively. I had once brought a bag of peanuts but soon there was a hoard of monkeys around me and the bigger amongst them were not just bold but aggressive. The creature began to creep towards me, taking a few cautious steps and then stopping. I waved a twig at it. It went back a step and opening its mouth wide eyed me balefully. It didn't know whether to scamper off or wait for a treat. Jitesh barely noticed it, his eyes were fixed on the Officers' Mess at the end of the road. He craned his neck to the right and moments later another car went past. He did it again and again. Had the cars captivated his heart? He stared at them with alarming interest though once the cars went by he wouldn't - or couldn't? - turn his head the other way to see them disappear down the road. Did he wish himself in one of these sleek machines? Did he find himself cut off from all the future joys that could have been his had he not been crippled?
The silence once again became uncomfortable. After a few more cars it was intolerable.
"Look at them," I said, forcing disgust into my voice. "Yuppies, flaunting their parents' wealth."
"Are they?" he asked innocently.
I felt this wouldn't do. I wanted him to bare his heart. It is best to have such emotions off one's chest and I braced myself for some pep talk but he said not another word.
"You won't believe the cars one can get now-a-days for paraplegics," I said. "Gears and accelerator and brakes so well designed, you can zoom off just as fast."
He nodded.
"Yes, of course," he said. "I suppose I'll get myself something like that one of these days."
"I'm sure! There is no need to feel sorry, to feel….er….envious…."
"Oh!" He slapped his hands together and let out an explosive laugh. "I'm not jealous of these people in their cars, if that's what you are thinking!" And he threw his head back and had a hearty laugh.
I felt like a fool. People will confess any emotion except envy but I could feel the transparent honesty of his voice.
"No, no!" he choked. "I do not envy them."
He laughed again. He composed himself and looked at me. "It's like this. It's just a game I play to pass time. I must guess the make of the car as soon as I see it by the Mess. Not later than Major Sharma's house. I score a point every time I get it right. Today I've got five out of five!"
"You know cars well then," I said. "And your eyesight is better than most. At such a distance I'd give myself a point if I can tell between a car and a truck!"
He laughed and then snapped his fingers.
"Ah, listen!" he said. "Why don't we play the game together? That would make it more interesting. I'll make allowances for you, of course, taking into consideration your handicap!"
His eyes twinkled. I nodded and smiled.
"Good!" he continued. "Now I'll guess before the car gets to Major Sharma's. You are allowed another hundred yards, at the fifth electric pole from here - that's Lt. Col. Oberoi's. Ready?"
"Ready!"
We waited. He was as excited as a schoolboy.
"O.K." he suddenly cried. "I've guessed. I won't change my mind now."
I was just beginning to see a red speck.
"Now!" he said, thrusting a finger at me.
"Esteem," I ventured.
"Opel Astra," he said confidently.
He won. He won every time, except once. We called off the game when the score was 4 - 1. He stretched himself lazily and grinned. It felt good to see him so relaxed and so happy. The little monkey was still scampering about and he been joined by a full-grown male, baring his teeth every now and then. The sun had risen higher and filtering through the leaves, a patch warmed the back of my head. I thought it was time to get going.
"I don't envy cars!"
I was startled by the anguish in his voice and quickly looked up at him. A chill froze my heart. His brows were knitted and the corners of his mouth dropped. He was looking down the road with the expression of a soldier who has just seen a friend blown to bits.
I strained my eyes. A shadow was approaching us, coming nearer every moment. When it burst into a patch of sunlight I could make out a cyclist on a racer coming on full steam, the bright blue shorts going like a frantic seesaw. He took the speed breaker without slowing down. Standing on the pedals he bounced over it and as his hair fell across his eyes he tossed it back with a quick easy motion of his head. The moment he had cleared the obstacle, the strong muscular thighs hit the pedals and he was off - a vortex of energy.
Jitesh watched him hungrily and for the first time I saw him turn his head the other way and follow the rider down the road. He kept staring into the distance for a long time.
And the silence grew heavy again.


--------------------------------------------------

drncedul@gmail.com

Nazir Edul
A2-406 Kumar Pinnacle
Tadiwala Road
Pune 411001
India