Brewed With Love

She was a gorgeous damsel, in her friend’s eyes. Little did they know about her alter-ego. The hundreds of photographs adorning the wall of her room, camouflaged bouquets of memories. The sun loved to peek through the jet black strands of her hair, as Niharika stood like Narcissus every morning, trapped in the vortex of reminisced memories.

Today was no different for she was lost in her own world.  One that was made of memoirs inscribed onto the parchments, of the numerous trips she had embarked upon. She emptied the neatly torn pouch into the coffee brewer. The wooden rack, had packets neatly aligned. Coffee beans had always been her souvenir, from the stalls enroute to Batasia Loop in Darjeeling, to the hill-grown beans while birdwatching the Andaman tribes. She sat down on the turquoise duvet that lined her bed, with the mug in her hands. From the aroma of the cappuccino, she could infer that the beans were from the land, where backwaters are looked upon by coconut groves. Kerala.

The dark recesses of her mind, cleared to reveal a murky afternoon.

‘The monsoon rains of July had ceased for a few moments. Through the pale backdrop of peepal trees, all I could decipher was Vaniyambalam written on the ochre-hued building. I headed towards the exit, as the bellowing train escaped out of the platform.

The man’s name was Augustin. Bereft of a moustache, neatly dressed he was, for an auto rickshaw driver. Darker than most Indian are, the bulges on his arms were presseing against his shirt cloth. The auto rickshaw scooted off on a road, partly decorated by potholes. Typical Indian roads. Already used to the uneasy rides. I pushed the cloth of nylon affixed to the side of the vehicle a little, to see the chiming railway station clock strike two in the afternoon.  We didn’t talk much. He was busy manoeuvring the vehicle, trying to prevent a bumpy ride.  

The cracked glass of my wrist watch revealed the time to be five. The skies were already pitch dark, betraying the existence of day. The auto came to a halt with a screech, unsettling me. Augustin conveyed his apology with a grin of concern, that the fuel had run out. I got down, to find myself standing on a bridge. The road was deserted. The rivulet beneath was roaring, with the skies having opened up to a drizzle.  Augustin, who was standing beside me, quoted words of being able to see a railway track a few paces ahead, after getting down from the bridge. The railway track passed through the settlement of Mepaddi. A place to reside in, could be easily obtained. The next day, one could easily trek to reach the Chembra peak. Since the destination was a few kilometres walk from there, Augustin offered to escort me. I had no choice but to suffice.

Minutes later, we were walking on the railway track.  Wise it was, for the vegetated slope on either side seemed to be abyssal. The pebbled ballast, underlying the narrow gauged tracks, was slippery due to rain. I slipped, but Augustin somehow managed to hold my elbow, and pull me up. Not once but thrice, he saved me from falling into the forest that dwindled down, beside the tracks. It felt strange, for an uncomfortable notion of being taken advantage of overtook my senses. A bad omen invoked fear.

Half-an-hour’s walk brought us to a clearing, from where Augustin suggested to get off the tracks, which were going the other way. The faint silhouette of a settlement was hardly visible against the fading light of the sunset. Mepaddi probably. The burning stub of a cigarette, caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat, when Augustin called out, and a man’s voice responded. Terror overtook my senses. A man came into picture. One of burly physique, his eyes, were sparkling with lust. He said something in Malayali to Augustin, and laughed. Few more laughs echoed from behind. I could see a few handful silhouettes of men, smoking. In an unknown land, outnumbered by men of brute strength, I stood no chance. I felt a hand touching my shirt pocket, as if trying to grope. I resisted, trying to frantically escape. I managed to. I ran. Far from them. My sole slipped over, and I feel, headlong onto the ground. Something hard collided with my crown. The last thing I remember, is shadows of men gathering around, as I passed out.

I could see a fan rotating above me. I couldn’t feel any pain. A nurse was eagerly looking at me. Thankfully, I wasn’t injured much. A bandage had set it right.  I was discharged from the hospital, a few hours later. I rushed straight into the inn, on the other side of the road. Gobbled up few noodles, brought in by the room service. That very night, I slept with unnatural peace.

The rays of dawn found me, trekking. The mountain was a tough climb. Two hours of exhaustion, brought me to the lake. The heart-shaped lake, that hadn’t dried up all this while. Since the old times.

I was wearing the same clothes, hadn’t changed. Even the Labrador that slept infront of the cottage inn, was astounded to see me jogging away so early, before dawn. The air atop Chembra peak was rejuvenating. Felt something in my shirt pocket, pushed by air onto my skin. A piece of paper.

‘Dear stranger, my apologies for last night. I am sorry for not being able to see you off personally. I am entrusting you to Ayub. He will help you find a safe refuge in Mepaddi. A good hotel, perhaps. My wife is expecting a baby. Maybe by the time I reach Kalpetta Municipal Hospital, I would be able to see my newborn child.

Take care. Enjoy your stay.

Regards,

Augustin.’

Wayanad was infront of me, bathed in forests lush and green. All men weren’t bad. Few were good too.