Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 5, Number 1. May 2022. ISSN: 2581-7094
Stay Safe Krishna
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| Image courtesy: e-pao.net |
Shail sits on the armchair overlooking the
backyard, a faraway look in her eyes. I think I know what she’s thinking about. Krishna. I can see
a tear glistening in her eye. Of course, it is only my imagination. From this
distance her face itself is a blur. She gets up, shakes head and disappears
inside. I shake my head too. It is my fault really. I shouldn’t have indulged
her. I should have put my foot down in the beginning. But I could not help it. She
had gone through so much. I close my eyes, remembering that fateful day.
It was a beautiful balmy day when we drove
from Churachandpur towards the inspection site. We stopped near a road which
was under construction, where I had to undertake an inspection. I was an engineer
working in General Reserve Engineering Force. I went to the site with a team of officials
and left Shail in the guest house with Kannan, an orderly, to look after her. I was sure that she would wander off into the nearby
woods and I wanted someone responsible to be by her side. When I returned from
the inspection, I found Shail and Kannan sitting in the jeep. I hopped into the
front seat along with the driver, while Shail sat at the back with Kannan. It
was dark and I was in a hurry to return home. The roads in Manipur were not
safe. There could be an insurgent attack anytime.
It is only when we returned home that I
discovered a baby deer, lying inside the jeep. “What!” I shouted, “where did he come from?” Shail put her finger on her lips and said, “Hush,
don’t startle it.” “It’s illegal to have a deer as a pet,” I
rasped. “No one will know,” she said petulantly, her lower lip drooping, “and
very frankly no one will care.” She was right of course. No one in Manipur
would raise an eyebrow if they found us raising a deer as a pet. “We must leave
it back in the jungle,” I said half-heartedly, realizing that I had almost lost
the battle. “No,” she said, her face crumpling.
The next day I saw Shail trying to feed
the deer. Of course, she had no idea what food to give it. I found her trying
to feed it biscuits, dipped in milk. “It’s a deer, not a dog or a cat,” I wanted to tell her. The next day
I found her holding a thali with khichdi in it. The smell of ghee was very
overpowering. She must have put dollops of ghee on it. I watched fascinated as the
deer licked the khichdi off her hand. She looked at me triumphantly and said, “Did
you see that?”
She named the deer Krishna. I could hear
the poignancy in her voice as she crooned his name. It was the name she had
chosen for our child. Tragically she had a womb which could not hold a baby. After
she had three abortions and some complications the doctor had been forced to perform
a hysterectomy.
Something had died within her that day. I
knew what it was. Hope. The hope that one day she would become a mother. The
hope that one day a son or a daughter would call her `Mom.’ She had chosen a name which was common to both a girl and
a boy. And then the dream had been aborted.
I tried to guess what had happened in the
forest. The deer must have been trapped.
Kannan and Shail must have managed to free it and provide it sanctuary. Shail’s
maternal instincts must have been aroused on seeing it. For her Krishna was the
child she never had, and would never have. She lavished all her pent-up love on
him.
Soon Krishna became a part of our
household. Everyone doted on him. Then one morning Krishna escaped from our
house. Perhaps Shail had forgotten to lock the back gate. She got up in the
morning to feed Krishna but he was not there. She was heartbroken. “Krishna
must have gone home, its place is in the forest,” I tried to
console her. But
she was inconsolable. She shuddered and
said, “It has lived with us for so long. How will he survive in the jungle? Wild
beasts like lions or tigers will kill him. Or a poacher may take it away.” I
shrugged my shoulders, and said, “That’s
the law of the jungle. But you cannot keep a deer as a pet. It is against the law.” “To hell with the law,”
she said, turning aggressive suddenly, “I am going back to look for him.” She
called for the driver, took the jeep and went with Kannan to look for him. They
returned late at night but they came back empty-handed. Her shoulders drooped
and she looked defeated.
Every morning she got up and went to the
backyard, her eyes alit with hope, but she soon returned with her shoulder hunched.
One Sunday we were woken up by a loud
banging on the door. We got up, looking startled. I opened the door and found
Krishna standing outside. Where had he
gone? Why had he gone? Had he been
craving for adventure? And why had he returned? What was he missing? Home?
Shail? Or her khichdi? Had
he really become domesticated? I
was plagued by these thoughts. I wished Krishna could speak and let me know!
A year later we heard that a film star had
been accused of killing two black bucks in Rajasthan. The news made headlines.
I shivered with fright. We had not killed anyone, but were keeping a deer in
captivity, which I knew was against the law. But when I looked at Shail I did
not have the heart to say anything to her.
One morning I got up and went to the
backyard and found Krishna standing majestically with antlers on his head. I realized that he was no ordinary deer, he
was a brow-antlered Sangai deer. He belonged to an endangered species found
mainly in Keibul Lamjao National Park in Manipur. He was not meant to be cooped
up in a backyard. His place was in the jungle. The next morning, I took him
away to the jungle and left him there. “Stay safe, little Krishna,” I said,
patting his head. My last image of him was of him standing majestically amidst
the trees, poised for flight.
I returned home a few hours later and
entered the house quietly, almost like a thief. Shail was standing at the door,
her face glistening with tears. “You took him to the jungle,” she said, her
voice accusing. I nodded my head. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye,” she muttered.
“You would never have let him go,” I said. “Perhaps,” she admitted reluctantly.
“His place is in the jungle,” I murmured. “What about me?” she asked. “You will
survive,” I said, my voice deliberately callous. I wanted Shail to know that she couldn’t
create an artificial world for herself, she would have to reconcile to being
childless.
It has been five years since I left
Krishna in the jungle. The Sangai deer have a longevity of only ten years. Bred
in captivity, deer live longer. But I know that I did the right thing. Shail
never talks about Krishna anymore, but at times I see her with a faraway look
in her eyes. And I say softly, “Krishna,
wherever you are, stay safe.”
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