The Happening

DISCLAIMER: The author of this blog has no belief in the supernatural. By means of this story, which the author had written during his college days, the author wants to convey certain messages to the readers. In the story, the readers may choose to ignore the incoherence of the names of the characters (English names) with the names of the events (Indian events). The characters and the events have been named at random, and any resemblance to any real-life characters/events shall be purely co-incidental.

I stood there, gazing at the fading lights and expecting something to occur; a happening, perhaps, was what I wanted. It could be anything which would suggest to me what I had failed to analyse in my retrospection. Could fate give me a sign? What was it that I need to change? What possible self-transformation could bring enlightenment to my soul? In my career, what were the odds in my favour? Am I a cynic? These and many more questions were baffling my mind. If an observer were to read my mind back then, it would take a Herculean effort to make sense of my thoughts back then. I was utterly confused and fickle.

It was a cold winter evening. A strong wind was, time-and-again, whistling through the eerie silence. Sundown for that day had been a few minutes old now. The blanket of darkness was over-eager to engulf the land. A short while back, I had witnessed twilight. It was like a battle—the never-ending battle between the day and the night. Now, the distant lights struggled with the Dark Lord, willing to give their best to those who 'owned' that light. Strange, isn't it? Homo sapiens claim that they have devised ways to tame light! Yet this very light brings destruction when it visits the earth during a storm.

It was my favourite spot. I was at the boulevard near the airport. On an average, I could witness arrivals and departures to and from the airport at a frequency of one each every 10 minutes. Yes, it was my favourite spot! For hours I could gaze at the sky and yet I would never get bored of this ritual.

The place where I was perched was dimly lit. A distant lamp-post was making things vaguely visible. To resolve inner conflicts, I always preferred to sit at a place in solitude. The silence, howsoever deafening it might be, could provide me with the peace that inner disturbance bestowed upon me.

I had a glance at my whiskey bottle. Its weight made me realize that it was almost empty, except for the few drops of clear brown liquor that evaded my lips and preferred to adhere to the bottle. I had had eight large pegs and still wanted more. I reached my pocket for the pack of cigarettes. I drew out one from the half-filled box and searched for my lighter. I couldn't find it. I got up, searched my pockets over and over again, but still couldn't find it. Was the liquor taking its toll on my neurons? Yes it was. Nevertheless, I usually do not count myself among those who can't control themselves in inebriation. I recalled that I had heard something fall off my trouser pocket when I was on the way to this spot. I hadn't paid much heed to it back then; my mind was too occupied to pay attention to nitty-gritties.

It was a classic Harley Davidson lighter, gifted to me by one of my close friends. The feeling of lament at my loss started to engulf me. It is strange that even in moments of drunken stupor, man doesn't let go of feelings of attachment towards material things is he is emotionally attached with those things. Ethanol does have the capacity to bring out candour in a man. My short reverie was broken when I figured out a man, some yards away from where I was standing. He was smoking a cigar. Here was my man. I asked me—"Excuse me! Do you have a light?" From the man, I could see a nod in affirmation. I could make this out as I saw the light on his burning cigar move in an oscillatory motion—up and down—in the air. I moved up to the man and had my cigarette lit.

"How come here, son?" was what was shot at me.

I am not a man who easily breaks into a conversation with strangers. It is not elitism, which is a cause of this habit of mine. Yet, I certainly do not feel the urge to speak to someone just because he or she is standing next to me. And thus, a question like this would have even made me feel that the speaker is an intruder into my private world. Yet, I could not leave that question unanswered for that would have amounted to impoliteness on my part.

"Just wanted to fix something", I calmly replied. The smoke from my nicotine-stick was being carried away by the wind. I could even sense some apparitions in that smoke. I have had a brilliant imagination ever since I remember having started to fathom things from the days of my childhood. Thus, I could always make out patterns in events which most others might have found too normal to notice.

"You know, the doors of perception need to be cleansed, if you are to make your journey worthwhile", the man said to me. It was a pretty philosophical line. I could, from his statement, make out that [provided the man wasn't faking] the man was either a fellow much more experienced that I am or a man with a philosophical inclination.

I now started to have a close look at my companion. He seemed to be a man in his late thirties. He had a long stature; about six feet tall he was. It seemed that he was wearing a long trench-coat. I could smell the Davidoff Cool Water perfume that he seemed to have miserly applied to his clothes.

"This is the place I usually come to, whenever I need to resolve a conflict in my mind", he said.

Now, there seemed to be odds in favour of a conversation. One, I had a companion in an otherwise deserted place. Two, the person seemed to share with me fondness for this place. Three, this older person might have some advice for me. Four, I wasn't anyway going to move out of that place until the effect of the alcohol on my nerves lessened a bit.

"I'm Pete Mitchell", I said to my companion. "I'm Major Kaffee", he replied and we shook hands. Yes, his firm handshake was testimony to the assertion that he had a military background.

"So Mitchell, what draws you here on this not-so-pleasant evening?"

"Well, Sir, I had some issues in my mind—issues that I need to pay attention to."

"I would like to hear more, young man, if you don't mind."

"Sir, I've been sitting here for an hour-and-a-half now, yet I wasn't able to come up with the solution to my quagmire. Perhaps, Mr Jack Daniels has taken its toll on my ability to comprehend. I could use some help."

"Go ahead, son."

"I used to work as an investment banker. It's been two years since I started working for that bank. Recently, I've had a promotion. The job used to fetch me good money. But honestly, I didn't like the job because of two reasons. One was the bosses' attitude towards their subordinates. The other was the long working hours, which left me with no time to experience what Davies had called 'leisure'." I paused to have a glance at his face. He seemed to be interested, and this convinced me that my playing the narrator was not proving to be a futile exercise.

"Continue", he said.

"Today was one of the worst days of my life. As I entered the office, I was informed that the boss wanted to meet me. I went to his cabin. He offered me a glass of water and told me to be comfortably seated. What followed was a group of arrows shot at me, aimed at my heart. He said, 'As you know Pete, these aren't good times for our business. Recession has badly hit the globe and companies are witnessing declining profits. It's been a difficult task for the companies to continue with the same strength of workforce that they used to have previously. Our organization, too, has decided to restructure. The higher management was to send to me a list of employees who have to be relieved to ease the economic pressure on the company. I received this list today. I want you to have a look at the list.' I guess you must be very much able to figure out what would have happened next."

"Yes, I can infer that based on the analysis of your appearance right now."

There was a silence for about two minutes. From the nature of the winds, I could sense that a storm was about to come. My imagination said to me that the storm was a depiction of the uneasiness that was prevalent within me at that moment. Kaffee was emitting dense puffs of cigar smoke, like a chimney, from his mouth. Soon, my eyelids started getting shaky in the silence that seemed to have descended. I was about to get over-powered by slumber when his voice interrupted.

"How old are you, son? You must be in your twenties, I guess", he said to me.

"Twenty three."

"Well, you see son, I am going to tell you some things now. When I was of your age, I had quite a good comprehension. I was able to see through people, to analyse situations and to deduce from seemingly complex situations. I think I will be able to tell you something which might benefit you in the long run."

Given the fact that I had put in some effort to converse with him and that I wasn't able to think about a solution to my problem myself, I was willing to listen to him in anticipation of some words of wisdom.

He continued, "I am quite certain you will extract a few ideas for use in your best interest."

I was very much willing to listen to the older guy.

"But before I continue with my narrative, let me ask you a question. What do you want, son?"

What was this? "What do you mean by 'what do you want'?", I shot back.

"I mean, what is it that you want for yourself, with utmost passion? For which single aim in life would you willingly give away all that you have, and yet be content to achieve that single thing?"

And I was speechless. I could not think of any such thing. Was there any such thing? Could there be such a thing?

"Pete, wake up! Wake up, Pete! Meeting with the boss: twenty minutes", my colleague woke me up. Phew! "Why do you have to interrupt my reverie?", I asked. "If I don't, the boss will make sure that you won't afford to have any more dream in future", was her prompt reply.

"You know, hadn't you been a drop-dead gorgeous person, I would have killed you."

"Oh! Thank you! Now get ready for work", she glanced at me with impish eyes and whisked away. I went to the washroom and started splashing water on my face.

What an evening that was! It wasn't fiction which I was reminiscing. That cold winter evening was so fresh in my mind: I can pen down each and every detail on a piece of paper. I entered my workspace again. There were still fifteen minutes left for the meeting. I closed my eyes and was lost again in the recollection of the events which followed on that evening.

"What, do you think, I was doing when you were drinking yourselves to insanity? I was observing a young man—a man whose mind is facing turbulence. I noticed each and every action of yours, son. A man of your age thinks that he has seen too much in life and is quite experienced. This kind of thought is what starts dragging you into dangerous waters. Son! Life is, indeed, synonymous with treading on the sharp edge of a razor. But, through conscious and logical decisions, one can move through a path of thorns as gracefully as if one is walking on a bed of roses. Failures and tough times come for two reasons—one, to provide you with the stepping stones to success, and two, to make you somewhat immune to suffering and to toughen you up for the challenges ahead."

This person was definitely trying to help, I thought. I had to listen to him intently.

"Son, I was commissioned as a lieutenant in the Army. Back then, I was twenty one. Since I started thinking about career, I knew that I wanted to join the defence forces. Choosing a career option was not an arduous task for me. Whatever hardships one sees in defence forces makes one rise above petty considerations, such as prejudice, envy. It was in all these years of my career that I learnt to face life like a fighter. Son! I can tell you that you, as does each and every individual on this earth, have a part of the Supreme manifested in you. You just need to keep on discovering your potential. Seemingly impossible tasks will themselves pave way for the doors to success; you have to use your observation and your 'vivek' to extract the solution of a problem. You have to realize what your peccadilloes are, and then work upon them to increase your strengths."

"There is one other thing, son. If you decide to go for something, never back down, no matter how tough the resistance is. You must believe in yourself. You will, unquestionably, achieve your goal. Perseverance is the key to success. Labour Omnia Vincit, son. Genuine efforts never go in vain. And who says opportunity knocks at the door but once? I can tell you that life offers a large number of prospects, you just have to watch out for them."

By now, he had finished smoking his cigar. I had developed a sense of admiration for him. He was playing the perfect guide for me—this at a time when I needed these directions the most. There was a moment of silence. The storm within me had started to subside; I felt much relaxed now.

It had started to drizzle. A flash of lightning appeared in the northern sky. In the light emitted by that flash, I saw that my companion had a scar on his face; it was probably a blemish from his war experience.

"I'm now going to tell you something about my experiences from Operation Vijay, son. Anyone facing  dire straits might think, in the first instance, that he/she is the most miserable person on earth. I hope that my narration gives you an idea about having a positive attitude towards things. Never wail over the 'bad experiences'. They are one of the best teachers in life."

"Son, we were given the task to capture Peak 5140 (Tiger Hill) in Kashmir. Pakistani infiltrators had a strategic advantage in that they were perched atop higher reaches. They could sense an ambush at its first signs. During our final attack, we lost many men to raining bullets and bombs. Many of my friends died in front of my eyes."

He now gazed directly into my eyes and said, "Son! Let your imagination grasp you thoroughly. Can you imagine the pain felt by a man when a bullet pierces his skin and lodges itself inside him? Can you visualize how it feels to see the gush of warm blood out of your body? There is biting cold outside. Slowly, the poison of the gunpowder spreads in your body. And you are helpless. Do you know what it is to see your friend breathe his last in front of you, all the while expecting you to create some magic to improve his condition? You can't do anything except consoling him and watching him die. In a lot of instances, we had to carry the mutilated bodies of our friends on our shoulders. The shrapnel sometimes damages the nerves and renders a person incapable of motion."

"I tell you these things today because I want you to know that pain and suffering are a part and parcel of life. You have to learn from your pain and look at the brighter side of life; in our case, the thing that gives me satisfaction is that we won what we aimed for."

I looked towards him. I could sense that feelings of satisfaction and pride clearly marked his voice. Evidently, our courage drives us through all the adversities.

By now, it had started to pout heavily. Yet, I wanted to remain there with my companion. That rain seemed to wash away all the doubts that obscured my mind. However, my companion told me that he had to leave.

I thanked him for the light that he had poured on this troubled soul. I asked him for his contact number, but he said that he would contact me sometime or might call on me. He memorized my telephone number.

"I guess I have to return to my Elysium, the place where I'm posted since quite a long time", he said. "I would like to meet you again", I expressed. "Well, I hope you do well", he replied. It was strange that his voice seemed shaky and he had tears in his eyes when he left. I couldn't guess what had made him sentimental all of a sudden. He took off in his vintage Jaguar 1956 XT140 roadster.

"This was, indeed, some happening", I thought as I too left for my abode.

I had known what I wanted to. With the benefit of hindsight only, a man is able to tell what purpose a particular event had in his life. I got a job, that too in a renowned firm, within a week of that fateful day. Au revoir misery! And it has been exactly three years since then. On this day, 5th July 2010, I consider myself blessed as I recall the events of that day.

I believe that there is no need to feel dejected in times of despair. Nature always provides one with the answers to one's questions—that day, I witnessed a sign which I was in desperate need of.

Yesterday, I was going through the newspapers when something caught my attention. And I did not know how to react. There was a small rectangular column in the obituaries—Maj. Daniel Kaffee, MVC (Posthumous), is remembered by 18 Grenadiers for the supreme sacrifice made on 4th July 1999 during the attack on Tiger Hill.

His words echoed in my ears—"I guess I have to return to my Elysium..."