1
The Figure in the Charpoy

“I was a terror in my days. No one in the village dared to come near me,” the old man reminisced. Ujjwal gave his grandfather a second look. With loose skin on a wrinkled face engulfed in cream-coloured patches, swollen eyes with blurred vision, and black teeth covered with tobacco from pipe smoke, the sixty five- year-old looked anything but scary as he sat on the charpoy enjoying the morning sun.

Ujjwal and his parents had returned from Ara, the ancestral Indian village of Ujjwal’s father, the night before. They had gone there after the demise of the young boy’s grandmother.

Ujjwal resented the intrusion of a guest in his space.

“Why do I have to share my room with him?” he had asked his mother five days ago in Ara after being informed that his grandfather would henceforth be staying with them in the city.

“We don’t have any other space in our two-bedroom house,” Ujjwal’s mother had replied.

“Then why does he have to come with us? He can continue to stay here.”

“He won’t be able to stay alone. Someone has to look after him after your grandmother’s death,” she had explained to the six-year-old, much to his displeasure. That was that—he had to live with this forced roommate.

“Why were people scared of you?” he asked the old man. It was the morning after the family had returned. Ujjwal had gone to the terrace and found the old man sitting there.

“I was the only one from our village to join the armed forces in my time. The uniform, the gun, and the smart salute made me an intimidating figure. No one dared to venture near me when I visited there during my leaves.

Except, of course, your grandmother.” He winked at Ujjwal.

“You must be the one scared of grandma, I suppose.”

“Don’t be cheeky with me, young man. Show me one husband who says he isn’t scared of his wife, and I will show you a liar.”

Ujjwal laughed.

“Good to see you laugh, my boy. Else I thought you were much too upset to have me in your room,” the old man chuckled.

“I. ..hmm.. .nothing like that,” the boy said.

“I may be old, but I am neither blind nor deaf. And I would have also felt the same in your place. Who would not want to be the boss of their own backyard?”

The silence in the air was punctuated by the chuffs of the old man’s pipe.

“Your father grew up behind my back while I was away in remote enemy locations. I missed his marriage. By the time I retired and returned, he was well settled here in town and seldom visited his birthplace. I missed seeing him around. Now I sit here and miss your grandmother.” There was a pause before the old man continued, “I thought I would experience my son’s childhood by watching you grow up. But that is not to be. I will leave your home soon.”

“No,” Ujjwal shouted. “You are staying here with me, Grandpa.”

“Ujjwal, Ujjwal!” Ujjwal’s mother called him from inside the house.

“Go now. I will see you tonight.”

Ujjwal ran inside to his mother.

“Who were you talking to on the terrace, Ujjwal?”

“Grandpa,” the boy replied. “Mama, I don’t mind sharing my room with him.”

His mother gave a start and hastened towards the patio.

The afternoon sun got into her eyes as she stepped on the terrace. The clear sky had no traces of white. The potted plants were all shrivelled. The air was thick with silence. Ujjwal’s mother glanced at the charpoy kept in the middle of the terrace, in the direct path of the sunlight. It stood as it always had, vacant.

“I will box Ujjwal’s ears,” she muttered under her breath. “Weaving fancy tales around my late father‑in‑law!”