Message in the Zephyr

That night was as starless as the previous night. The void firmament was bespangled with the earthly cacophony of cricket chirps and the lonesome frog croaks. But they did add a little colour to the drab surroundings. It was never too hot or too cold in my room. The cool November zephyr due to the torrential downpour days ago had swept away every bit of heat. No one could turn down a cool, refreshing night. No one could even be insomniac when the night air was blended with the nature’s spray of comfort. That included the regular person like me. Though the breeze had tapped on the window panes noisily while the curtains danced to the nature’s tune with fervour, I didn’t stir. It was just a perfect night for a tight slumber.

Maybe the year end holidays were round the corner. It was like what the Westerners of the Northern Hemisphere called it, what’s the name again, right, the winter holidays. The holiday mood coupled with the soothing night breeze made my bed extra cosy. I thought I could even hibernate on it. It was a dreamless night. Dreamless was good, as uninterrupted sleep was a yearning everyone would want. I was a regular sixth grader. I just sat for an important exam. With the approaching holidays, I couldn’t help but smile even in my sleep. Everything was nice and happy, at least for that moment. As a kid, I thought happiness last longer than the sadness in the world. Naively, I thought even sadness and despair were inevitable they would only come after the happiness was enjoyed first.

It was like riding a bike on a mountain range. As you climb up the mountain, you are getting more and more exalted and happy. You enjoy it. As you go past the peak and start to descend, you are still enjoying the thrill the happiness bring you, only that the feeling starts to get a lot plainer. Still, you are happy. Then, you come to a valley, a stretch of low land. You feel depressed, unlike the feeling while riding up and down the Fun Mountain. On the flat land, there might be occasional trenches and bumps that make you uncomfortable. After the Valley of Despair, you will see another Fun Mountain. Again, you ride up the mountain happily and descend to another Valley of Despair. It is like a cycle. You get to feel a little happy at first. Then the happiness becomes intensified. Later, before sadness strikes, you will get to feel the happiness leaving slowly so that you can adapt to the upcoming despair.

That was what I thought as a kid. It was impossible that before one could finish enjoying happiness, sadness would interrupt. But my belief would be shattered to smithereens soon. Not only that despair would interrupt while a person was enjoying, it would interrupt violently and relentlessly. Despair is rude. It will never wait or take turns. When it wants to come to see you, it comes right away. As it arrives, it won’t stop in front of you or knock before entering. It barges into your heart and knocks you down like a truck running down on you. Hard and unforgiving.

It was when I thought I could sleep on until the next day the phone in the adjacent living room rang. At first, I thought it might be some “oh-sorry-wrong-number” people. The master bedroom door squeaked open. I heard footsteps scurrying. Someone answered the phone. Maybe mum. Then I just slept on. A little while later, the phone rang madly again. I was still thinking of the same reason. Maybe the same caller called again. It happened all the time. When they dialled and was told to reach the wrong person, they thought they might make a mistake by punching the wrong number. Hence, they punched the number again. When they were told, for the second time, to dial the wrong number, it was clear that the number they had in hand was wrong. Then, usually the ringing of the phone would cease. 2 wrong-number calls in a row hence didn’t strike as anything peculiar to me. After my eyelids closed shut for a few more minutes, the phone rang again. This time, mixed feeling of indignation and suspicion began to brew in my gut. Something was wrong. Indignant, because of the ear-piercing phone calls. Suspicious, because of the nonstop ringing. Who would call this late in the night? I dismissed the thought of wrong-number callers. I reached for my glasses at the bed side and turned on the lamp. I squinted due to the sudden bright light. After adjusting to the surroundings, I looked at the clock. It was barely 5 in the morning. Weird. Who would call at this hour? My friends? Couldn’t be.

I strained my ears to listen for any conversations. I heard nothing. I was pretty sure someone picked up the phone. The ringing stopped immediately after it started.  Definitely someone answered it. Then I realized something unusual. When the phone rang for the first time, I heard my parents’ bedroom door made a characteristic squeak, signalling that someone was opening the door. But the 2 subsequent phone calls didn’t follow with the door-opening creak. I knew I wouldn’t miss it because the squeak was quite audible and our room was 3 steps away from the master bedroom. Sensing something was up, I got up. With feline footsteps, trying not to wake my still sleeping brother, I tiptoed to the door. After shutting it quietly behind me, I planned to head to the living room. But a sound made me stood riveted. A sobbing sound. It was somehow unnerving. Somebody crying in the wee hours? It sounds like mum. Something was really wrong. I went to the living room and saw her. Her trembling body was silhouetted against the red lantern light. I tried to say something but words seemed to be stuck at my throat. She raised her head. Her face was carved by rivulets of tears. The eyes were swollen with tears dammed up to the brim. The next thing she said stunned me for a long, long time.

“Have you seen your grandpa?” She asked me while trying to suppress her emotions. We went back to hometown to visit my grandparents just 2 days back.

“Yes.” I answered bluntly. Suddenly, I knew where she was going. I shivered. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. I must be thinking too much. I quickly shook off my assumption.

“Well,” she swallowed hard, mentally preparing how to break the news, the bad news, to me. ”He went away.”

I was frozen. The last 3 words smote me hard on my head with cold water washing down from scalp to toe. It was like I was hit by an ice sledgehammer that instantly melted into frigid water. I tried to remain composed. No. No, it just can’t be right. Just as I expected. But it couldn’t be. But it wasn’t be a joke, right?

She thought I didn’t get it. She repeated, this time without euphemism. “He passed away.” Though I had already got her message the first time, still I felt my heart sank deeper when she reiterated in a more straightforward manner. I held back. I didn’t cry. I shut my eyes and refused to think any of this. I didn’t go to the school that morning for obvious reasons.

I remembered that day as he bade farewell to me. It just didn’t register to me that the farewell would be a long-lasting one. Grandpa was someone I revered and respected. His fatherly looks and the hardworking personality never failed to awe me. Though his visage was etched by the merciless time and hands tattooed with scars and bruises, he still worked diligently by heaving and shouldering anchor-weight sacks and gunny bags filled with goods.

“Eh, I am leaving now. See you in New Year,” he said in a smile. “Bye.”

Bye. That was the last word he said. He was tying his shoe lace then while I was watching the TV programme. At that time, the word didn’t have any other meaning other than a normal way of people bidding farewell. But it meant a whole lot differently after the incident. Bon voyage, but a voyage to another world. If I hugged him before he left for work, or forever, at least I could still let him touch me for the last time. Maybe if I pled him to stay for another night or his car broke down and needed repair, he might still be alright. Maybe. If. These words meant nothing after the worst had happened.

He was driving with his co-driver on the highway. Then they thought something was wrong with the lorry. He stopped by at the roadside and got down to inspect the vehicle. Then disaster struck. A motorcycle suddenly appeared before him and it happened. The last light he saw was that of the bike and the last air he inhaled was that of the highway. Then everything went dark and unconsciousness set in, just like when one was sleeping - only this time it was forever.

We went for the funeral. It was my first time attending to one. The atmosphere was funereal. It was an elegiac moment for everyone. The innocent eyes of the toddlers and grandchildren, who couldn’t grasp the meaning of death and departure, darted doubtfully from one crying adult to another lamenting adult. Ignorance is bliss, they said. Watching the people around you crying and weeping was contagious, especially to a twelve year old who first experienced the meaning of death of a close relative. Those adults who usually lectured you and acted maturely all the time were now broken down into tears. The wailing and bawling went unabated for a long time and I couldn’t help but cried silently. Every time the scene of my grandpa waving goodbye while he was tying his shoe lace re-enacted in my mind, my guts ached and tears began trickling down. Usually, that happened when I tried to sleep. I wept silently and the tears would wash down my face incessantly. I couldn’t believe it. He was just waving to me the other day. His voice was loud and clear. Only days ago he was still alive and vibrant. It was so unreal to me. You heard of people losing their kin and friends on the news or via conversations. Yet, you wouldn’t feel the sorrow but just a sense of sympathy. When people were sad when they lost someone they love and you attempted to console them by telling them that you know how they feel, they would reply that you couldn’t be possibly understand their feeling unless you experienced the same. True. One cannot empathize with another until one has undergone the same ordeal. The feeling of losing someone close to you was really hard to comprehend, much less to convey to another. It was more than just sad and sorrow. It was complicated.

The funeral had lasted for 3 days. So did our tears. I finally accepted the situation. Grandpa had left. He now resided in a different place – in our heart and soul. He would join the ancestors and be the guardian of our family, watching over us. I believe when a person leaves this world, the most important parts of him/her will remain with us – the memories, the love and the warmth. Those are more than enough to keep a person’s existence in our hearts forever, though the tangible physical self was no longer there.

Staring at the same night sky almost a decade later, nothing had changed much. The starless sky and the hidden moon spoke of the same loneliness. Perhaps the croaking and chirping had lessened. The breeze was as cooling. This time, I had a favour for the wind. Message in the zephyr, that's what I called it. Hope he could receive it. I knew he would.

Grandpa, how do you like it there? If you are bored, you can come to my heart. I left a room for you there. Don’t worry, grandma is doing fine. Hey, you have a granddaughter. I bet you will be very happy since you only have grandsons all this while. She is very cute and of course, naughty. Grandma is very happy playing with her. Oh yeah, granduncle, your brother, left us recently. He is very brave in confronting his illness. Though he succumbed at the very end, still he fought with valour. He lost the battle but he defended his pride well. Now you have a companion. Hope you will no longer be lonely. We will take care of grandma. Oh yeah, grandpa? We still love you.