One in a Million

He was a million dreams without desire

He was a voice unheard and a ranging fire 

He was a fading hope that never tired

He was a cure that had long died 

His voice reverberated throughout the hall. And for first time that evening one could hear the sound of silence…. the only voice that could be heard was his. People held their breath, fearing least they disturb the music. They listened in rapt attention as the notes flowed. The pitch voice and the rhythm had them entwined to the their seats. 

It was not everyday that a city like Bangalore was treated to a voice unparalleled.

People lost track of time and strummed to the beats as they listened to him.  The dance performance, the musicians, the actors and the story all took to the backseat, they were all but reduced to an afterthought. 

Shruti stood at a corner of the stage leaning against the pillar. She was feeling faint, she had not eaten since the morning. But it was not her hunger that troubled her, it was the joy, the ecstasy of watching Anil lost in his passion that did her.  Shruti had spent months working on a job that she hated to make this evening possible. She had struggled against the taunts, she had fought against desires, she had cut corners to turn this dream into a reality. She had stolen food from their mouths, deprived their only son of his birthday present to provide for this hope ..... a night that she thought would end all their wait. This night ..... 

Her hopes had been her strength. Their families had long lost the will to support Shruti and Anil. Her job at the neighbourhood school was the only thing that helped Shruti put food on their plates. The job was the only thing that provided them a place in the society. And then there was her love for Anil .... her only undying dream, her ever burning desire …. an dying wish that Shruti had harboured since their marriage.

X----------------X

Shruti had first heard Anil singing at a function at their village school. She had been sixteen then. 



Her father Sitarama had been an adherent fan of Yakshagana. Sitarama unlike his name was a big let down to the mythological characters he was named after.  

Shruti's dad had once been a famous Yakshagana artist. He had been very close to touching the pinnacle of glory when the tragedy had struck, leaving him incapacitated for life. 

Sitarama had fallen from helm into the lap of his wife to lie there for ever .... never to rise again. 

Sitarama had been a famous Yakshagana actor. Even today, people in the village who were old enough to have seen him perform could not stop singing praise for his performances. But his fate could not stand the test of time and he was plucked from glory by his misfortune. The pain of this fall was too big for Sitarama to bear and he took to drinking hard. His life was reduced to a orgy of drinking and listening to Yakshagana performances on his small tape recorder. 

Shruti had been a few months born when the ill-fated event had occurred. The people in the village labeled her an ill omen and blamed her for her fathers fall from grace. It was Shruti's mother had stood by her child and shielded the little one from the inhumane taunts. 

Shruti's mother had always been a strong women. And this sudden turn of fate had made her stronger.  She worked hard to support her disabled husband and little daughter.  The family thankfully had received some help from the village landlord who was kind enough to employ the services of Shruti's mother as a help at his fields. Life had slowly taken the steady road and things were starting to get stable. 

Shruti had always been good at studies and was doing quite well at school to her mothers liking. Shruti now a grown up girl was also able to take responsibility around the house letting her mother work harder at the field. Life was settling down and their only problem if it could be called so was her fathers constant carving for a drinks and the abusive slander once he was satiated. The mother and daughter were used to the daily ramblings  at home and at times even had a hearty laugh about it. 

..... But fate had different plans for them.

X----------------X

There was finally hope ....

Shruti was finally able to dream again. She was able to feel the wind in her hair and breathe without a concern. Her father had found a stable job with a catering service in the city and had moved to the city. 

Her feet had a spring in them as she ran towards the village school where she had recently taken up a job. It was only a temporary job but was  enough to kindle her dreams of future. Anil and his family were to visit her village tomorrow to talk of their marriage. Shruti's father was returning from his city this evening to make arrangements. All arrangements were being made at Shruthi's aunts home. There was little to talk about the hatchment where Shruti and her father lived. The place that Shruti had known as home for all her life was nothing more than four walls with a cot and a chair. A dark curtain at one corner acted as a partition, hiding the stone stove and few old vessels that made up most of the kitchen. 

For Shruti her aunt who stayed close by had been a great support. Shruti's mother had always been independent and wanted her family to be as little burden to her younger sister as possible. And after her mother had passed away Shruti had continued to take care that she and her father did not become a burden to her aunt. Her aunt was always welcoming but they had drawn boundaries that ensured that no strain fell on the relationship they had shared. 

Tomorrow was a special day and none of them had wanted to leave any stone unturned. Shruti had agreed without hesitation when her aunt had suggested that Anil's family should visit her aunts house instead of Shruti's house.

Shruti sat with bated breath as the sun came up next day. Her joy knew little bounds. She hoped her mother was alive to see this day.

X----------------X

Death knocked at their doors unannounced. 

Her mother was alive one moment and ceased to exist the next. The doctors blamed it on a sudden heart attack. But Shruti knew better than to believe the doctors .... she knew what had killed her mother.

X----------------X

                                                                                                      ....... to be continued