SWEET ACACIA
-SHEELABHADRA
It was faint and hazy, but unmistakably the scent of the sweet acacia. He knew fully well that there was no such tree in the vicinity—the fragrance had traversed over fifty years to make its way to him. Or perhaps it had been with him all along and had now found a release from its surroundings. The moment he tried to associate it with its context, it vanished into thin air like a bird shocked to flight. Choudhury sighed.
We dwell on memories and dream of the futur the past we have left behind and what lies ahead. The present remains meaningless. Truly, what is the present? Which segment in the flow of time can we dam and label as the present—five minutes? Five seconds? A hundredth of a second? A millionth? If the present does not exist at all, what is it? Nothing can happen in the present because every event requires a time span—it has either occurred or will occur. We exist either in the past or in the future. Our lives are merely memories and dreams.
Choudhury is ageing. There are things he is incapable of doing, or not interested in anymore. He can no longer play football, jump around, or fall in love. He has also lost his ability to dream about the future.
As he sits dozing in his easy chair, the scene appears bright and vivid, with details he had missed out earlier, probably because he had not cared to look for them. But the entire episode was tucked away somewhere in the recesses of his mind, and was now presenting itself, down to the minutest detail.
Yes, the birds were chirping on a nearby tree. Choudhury was a confident young man with the future in his grip. He was staring, intent and unblinking, with joy and admiration. The day had just dawned. He had just about opened the window by his bed when he was awe-struck by the sight.
The girl was bathing by the well. Secure in the knowledge that there was no one around, there she was, bathing in the open. The twin globes of her bare breasts jiggled in rhythm every time she bent to draw water. Choudhury froze, his hand still on the bolt of the half-open window.
He felt a pleasurable ache in his heart. The feeling was alien. At that very moment, strangely, he was overwhelmed by the scent of sweet acacia. It seemed to awaken a blurry new sensation within him. Eyes were for sight, ears for hearing. But what was the purpose of this new sense? The awareness of its power seeped slowly through his being and added another dimension to his three-dimensional world. He held his breath as he surrendered himself to this new feeling. The floral scent seemed somehow connected to his awakening. It seemed to have a colour, form, and physical existence of its own. It invaded his mind and made it bright and fragrant.
Choudhury was jolted out of his reverie by his eldest daughter-in- law—‘Deuta?’
He was slightly irritated. ‘What now?’ ‘Here, have your Horlicks.’
‘How often do I need to eat or drink? Didn’t I have something just a little while ago?’
His daughter-in-law did not contradict him. Everyone knew that his memory was failing.
Samar came up and stood by him. ‘Who’s this?’ Choudhury asked his daughter-in-law.
‘It’s me—Samar’, the young man replied.
‘When did you come? Does your college have vacations now?’
Samar, the middle son, had arrived that morning on hearing that his father’s health had taken a turn for the worse. They had spoken earlier in the day, but Choudhury seemed to have no recollection of the exchange.
The past, however, was crystal clear.
The year was 1931, and it was 7.13 in the evening on 14 January when his first son, Amar, was born. Choudhury was all tensed up until he suddenly heard ululation in the inner roorii. His younger brother started thumping on the wall, his mother srriiled, and his misgivings melted away in an instant. He tried to restrain his brother, ‘Hey, what are you trying to do? Break down the wall?’ That was all he could say before uncontrollable laughter gave his mock anger away.
Amar’s concerned voice brought him back to reality, ‘What’s the matter?
Why are you behaving like this? Are you feeling unwell?’ ‘to, I’mfine.’
‘Would you like some glucose and water?’
Choudhury was irked. ‘How often do you need to ply me with food and drink? I just had something.’
Everyone seemed concerncd. ‘I forced him to have some Complan in the morning. After that, he’s been snapping every time we mention food,’ said the daughter-in-law.
Choudhury was no longer an old man dozing old in his easy chair. He was a young man of twenty-two or twenty-three. He opened his window as usual in the morning. Like an orchestra missing a beat, his orderly world was thrown into disarray. The girl saw him through a gap in the curtains. She made a feeble attempt to cover herself and rushed away. Choudhury’s senses were in shambles. The scent of the sweet acacia was gone.
The glow that surrounded him seemed to fade and his world was suddenly grey. He had the reputation of being an upright young man. The mantle collapsed around his feet and left him totally exposed. There was nowhere he could hide. How could he possibly detach himself from everyone around him?
The girl was new to their household. But she would talk. No one would ask Choudhury for an explanation. They would draw their own conclusions. No one would believe him if he said that his pleasure was limited to witnessing ethereal beauty and that there were no inappropriate feelings. There was no way he could explain himself. Any attempt to do so would be like trying to touch the Mona Lisa with muddy hands.
Choudhury was weighed down by guilt throughout the day. His heart felt heavy, his mind numb.
On his way to the market in the evening, he saw the girl chatting with a couple of other girls from the household. As hc self-consciously made his way past them, he noticed that she scowled in his direction. Then he heard her say, ‘…the eyes should be gouged out. ’
No, there was no scope for forgiveness. Scandal was inevitable. He would remain tarnished for a lifetime, at least to one person. Sleep eluded him all night. In the morning, he opened the window as usual. The girl was bathing by the well, uninhibited and oblivious of her surroundings. His mind suddenly felt light and free. His world turned bright once again. Birds chirped in unison and a gust of wind brought in the scent of sweet acacia which enveloped his being.
Choudhury had forgotten all about the incident. He had no recollection of the girl either. However, the scent of the sweet acacia, detached from its backdrop, became a part of his being. And, fifty-odd years later, it filled the moments of his life with its fragrance.
***
Translator Bio:
Maitreyee Siddhant Chakravarty is a translator, editor and Assamese language consultant.
