A Father's Son
Posted on November 17, 2022 by Sandeep Kumar Mishra
The mourners were not plentiful the day of the funeral. Vasudev had not been a popular man in this life, having dedicated very little time to cultivating and maintaining relationships. Pradeep, his eldest, watched the people move about in respectful silence, occasionally stopping at one of his siblings or mother to offer quiet condolences while the chanters continued through their mantras. Some made their way over to him, but he had nothing to say to them in return. Everything was too fresh鈥揚radeep wasn鈥檛 sure how he felt about his father鈥檚 death yet. He hadn鈥檛 even seen his father for at least ten years before now, having gone off to live with his aunt while still a boy.
He looked over at his mother, his brother Ishaan, and his sister Shaleena. His mother looked sad at least, but Ishaan and Shaleena looked about as numb as he doubtless did. He wondered what the past ten years had been like for them. If their father had changed at all since failing Pradeep.
He would never forget the first time his father struck him. It was a miserable, humid day, the air so wet that you could almost taste it. Vasudev was home, classes having been let out, and was especially short of temper.
Pradeep, still a small child at the time, refused to go outside to play. 鈥淚t鈥檚 too hot,鈥 he remembered protesting. 鈥淚鈥檒l melt!鈥
His mother had gently but firmly encouraged him to go outside anyway. 鈥淵ou won鈥檛 melt, I promise. But you really should go outside. The sun is good for you.鈥
鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to!鈥 His little voice rose in aggravation.
鈥淧radeep, my darling, please go outside.鈥 His mother looked around, fear coloring her face. It was the first time Pradeep could recall seeing his mother afraid, though it would not be the last.
Vasudev appeared around the corner, his face an oncoming storm, and Pradeep instinctively understood his mother鈥檚 fear.
鈥淲hat is the meaning of this noise?鈥 It was less a question than a demand.
Pradeep ventured a reply. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to go outside.鈥
The baleful gaze Vasudev leveled at his son burned into the young boy鈥檚 soul. 鈥淚 heard your mother tell you to go outside. Why do you stand there mewing?鈥
鈥泪--鈥
SLAP.
鈥淒o as you鈥檙e told! If I see you in the house again before supper you will get twice as bad!鈥
鈥淚 know your father was not a kind man.鈥 Pradeep shook his head, returning to the moment, and looked over to his Aunt Shashi. 鈥淧erhaps he will be kinder in the next life.鈥
Pradeep couldn鈥檛 reply to that. He wasn鈥檛 certain his father deserved another life.
鈥淚 am sorry you did not get to say goodbye,鈥 his aunt ventured again. She was a kind woman, almost a second mother to Pradeep, but she was too forgiving.
鈥淚 am not.鈥 The first words Pradeep had spoken since the funeral began. 鈥淲e spent all our words to each other a long time ago.鈥
A young Pradeep stood nervously in his father鈥檚 cramped office. Their small house afforded little enough space for their steadily growing family, yet Vasudev refused to give up this room. Pradeep had no idea what it was for, he just knew that his father鈥檚 claims to it meant that he and his new brother Ishaan would be sharing a room.
鈥淵our brother will be your responsibility,鈥 he remembered his father saying sternly, eyes intense and hard. 鈥淚 expect you to pull your weight as the eldest.鈥
Pradeep didn鈥檛 speak. He knew by then that discussions with his father were not truly discussions, they were just brief moments when his father bothered to remember he had a child long enough to impart specific instructions. Any words on Pradeep鈥檚 part would earn him a backhand, and that was if his father was in a decent mood.
鈥淭hat means helping your mother feed and change him, teach him, and--鈥
鈥淜eep him out of your way?鈥
The words were a mistake鈥擯radeep knew that before he said them, but sometimes he couldn鈥檛 help himself. He stood defiantly as the fury entered his father鈥檚 eyes. He would feel the repercussions of that remark for a long time, and remember them even longer.
Pradeep wasted no time after the traditional ten day mourning period to get back to his life. The fact that he even had to take ten whole days off irritated him, and he was unreasonably short with his family because of it. He wanted to leave this house and its memories, wanted to get back to his wife and children and wanted to burn the past away just as the body had been burned.
By sunrise on the eleventh day he was packed and ready to go, not even staying for breakfast. He bore no resentment towards his mother or siblings, but they had lived the past ten years without him; there was no reason to stay here any longer. So he quickly and quietly slipped out of the home of his childhood to catch the first train of the day and refused to look back.
As he walked, his thoughts wandered. He looked forward to home, hoped the train was running on time, hoped his wife Viha had set aside some dinner for him, and a thousand other thoughts like these鈥揳nything to get his mind off where he was and what had just happened and to get him moving forward. He was so focused on putting the past behind him that he didn鈥檛 notice the football until it was almost too late.
With a small yelp he bobbed his head to the side, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with the flying ball. He shook his head, startled and confused, and looked around for the ball鈥檚 owner. He spotted them easily enough, a young boy鈥搘ho was smiling apologetically鈥揳nd his father鈥搘ho was laughing鈥搄ust down the road. The father jogged towards Pradeep.
鈥淢y apologies,鈥 he began, still laughing a little. 鈥淢y son and I like to come out
for a little game before
I have to go to work, and we are unaccustomed to sharing the road so early.鈥
Pradeep took a moment to gather his wits before answering. 鈥淎h... It is alright. I was not hit, so no harm.鈥 His eyes drifted back to the boy. 鈥淵ou two do this... often?鈥
The father nodded. 鈥淢ost mornings. I work long hours, so I cherish the moments I can.
Surely you can understand this?鈥
Pradeep looked back at the father. Such genuine happiness, speaking about his son,
was something Pradeep did not understand at all.
鈥淧radeep, why does father never come out to play with us?鈥
Pradeep didn鈥檛 turn to look at his little sister. Shaleena was barely five, but already she was noticing that their house was not like the houses of some of her friends. Her father was practically a stranger to her, only seen at meals and on holidays. No great loss there, Pradeep thought with no small measure of distaste.
鈥淏ecause he is too busy,鈥 Ishaan said when it was obvious that Pradeep had nothing to say.
鈥淏usy with what?鈥
Ishaan paused. 鈥淲ork, I guess.鈥
Shaleena clearly didn鈥檛 understand, but filed the information away nonetheless and pressed on to her next question. 鈥淎nd why is he so sad?鈥
This got Pradeep to speak. 鈥淵ou think he鈥檚 sad?鈥 Shaleena nodded and Pradeep scoffed. 鈥淲hy do you think this?鈥
鈥淏ecause he never smiles. Sad people don鈥檛 smile.鈥
It made sense, in a little kid logic sort of way, but Pradeep had trouble picturing his father鈥檚 constantly dour expression as anything but angry.
鈥淗e isn鈥檛 sad,鈥 Pradeep said finally, frowning at the football by his feet. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know what he is, but he isn鈥檛 sad.鈥
This confused the little girl more but Pradeep chose that moment to kick the ball and she took off after it, screaming with joy. Ishaan looked at Pradeep and frowned. 鈥淵ou should not speak of our father like that.鈥
Pradeep just rolled his eyes and watched Shaleena run.
Given the early hour the train station was thankfully quiet, and Pradeep managed to purchase his ticket and board with minimal wait. He also had his choice of seats for the long ride ahead of him. Settling his luggage above him, he sat heavily and sighed, thankful to be on the way home at last. The rest of his day promised to be an easy one, as it was nothing more tedious than waiting until he reached his stop that evening, then getting a cab to take him home. Comforted by these thoughts, he drifted into a light nap as the train began to move.
When he stirred a few hours later, he noticed the car was significantly more crowded than it had been, with nearly all the seats outside of the one directly beside him taken. He also noticed a lone man who, noticing that Pradeep was awake, headed his way.
鈥淎 thousand apologies, sir, but is that seat taken?鈥 He indicated the seat beside Pradeep.
鈥淣o. Please, sit.鈥 The man nodded his thanks and situated his own luggage, pulling out a well-worn book before stashing the bags, and settled into the seat. Pradeep鈥檚 eyes were instantly drawn to the cover.
The man noticed Pradeep鈥檚 attention and held the book up for better inspection. 鈥淚 take it you are familiar with Songs of Kabir?鈥
Pradeep startled at the man鈥檚 question as though shocked. 鈥淥h, ah, not as such. Or rather I have not taken the time to read that particular collection myself. Someone... I knew, they did. Spoke of it very highly.鈥
The man nodded understandingly and began flipping through the pages. 鈥淚t is a good book. If you have any love of poetry, I highly recommend it.鈥
鈥淚... Shall keep that in mind.鈥
鈥淲hat are you reading?鈥
Pradeep looked up from his own perch across the room from the conversation, watching where Shaleena had approached their father鈥檚 armchair and interrupted his reading with her question. He instinctively tensed, waiting for the cold dismissal or fiery rage at being disturbed; the first would cause Shaleena to run away hurt and Pradeep to follow so he could calm her down, and the second would be directed at Pradeep for not keeping her distracted in the first place. Either way it was about to become Pradeep鈥檚 problem.
Yet Vasudev did neither. Instead, he looked up slowly and studied his daughter for a moment, as though trying to remember who she was and how he should react. Then he closed鈥揳ctually closed鈥揾is book in order to show her the cover. 鈥淭his is a book of poems. Can you read the title?鈥
Shaleena squinted at the letters. 鈥淪ongs of Kabir?鈥 She spoke slowly, careful to get every word correct. Pradeep couldn鈥檛 help but be a little impressed. He hadn鈥檛 realized her reading skills had progressed so far.
Vasudev smiled at her, and Pradeep frowned in confusion. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 right,鈥 their father said, sounding pleased. 鈥淲ould you like to read some poems with me?鈥
Pradeep looked back down to his own book, but he couldn鈥檛 focus on the words anymore.
That was the kindest he鈥檇 ever seen his father behave towards anyone outside of their mother. Poems, it seemed, were the only subject he could be approached with. Something to remember.
Hailing a taxi to take him from the train station to his home didn鈥檛 take long, thankfully. It was already much later than Pradeep had hoped to arrive home, and he was anxious for the comfort of his wife and bed. As he was driven across the city, the driver made occasional attempts at small talk, most of which Pradeep answered with polite but short replies, doing his best to avoid a protracted conversation. One comment, however, caused him to pay attention.
鈥淎re you excited for the start of Onam tomorrow?鈥
Pradeep blinked. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 tomorrow?鈥
The driver nodded. 鈥淚 love Onam, personally. Well, specifically the Onasadya Feast, but the entire festival is fun.鈥 Pradeep glanced at the driver鈥檚 bulky figure and guessed that the man did not save feasting for the festival alone. 鈥淒o you participate?鈥
鈥淗urry, Pradeep! Father wants us to be among the first visitors to the temple!鈥
Pradeep groaned, stretched, and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. 鈥淭he... temple?鈥
鈥淵es, the temple!鈥 Shaleena was entirely too excited and loud for this early hour. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the first day of Onam!鈥
Pradeep shook himself more fully away and swung his legs over the side of his bed.
Onam... He smiled
a little as Shaleena scampered off, her mission accomplished. Father was always in
high spirits during religious festivals and holy days, his usual dour expression lightened
and stormy mood calmed. He might even be persuaded to give his children treats, so
long as all the proper observances are met. 鈥淚t is a holy day first and a festival
second,鈥 he would solemnly intone. 鈥淏e respectful of that.鈥
And they were, though it was more out of fear of their father than respect for the day. Still, it bought the household some peace, and at the time it seemed worth it.
Pradeep slipped quietly into his home, unsure if his wife was still awake and knowing their infant son was not. He paused just inside, seeing the flower decorations all prepared for Onam. Setting his luggage down in the entryway and taking off his shoes to make as little noise as possible, he made a quick walk of the house.
Everything was spotless. His wife had done an excellent job keeping up with the cleaning, even with the added responsibility of their newborn. He smiled slightly as he paused by the dining room table, laying a hand on their son鈥檚 highchair. 鈥楽he is a good woman. I hope I am a good husband to her,鈥 he thought to himself. He wondered briefly if his father ever had the same concern.
He moved into his office and saw everything was just as he had left it. It was, by agreement, the only room she didn鈥檛 routinely clean as Pradeep had his own method to the seeming madness. He knew where everything was and that was the important part. He looked over his papers, his bookshelf, the grading pens and the half-finished poems, and he frowned. It looked remarkably like how he remembered his father鈥檚 office being laid out.
How had he never noticed that before? 鈥淎m I becoming my father...?鈥 The question was asked quietly, barely even whispered, as though Pradeep was afraid of the answer. In a way he was; were not all men their fathers鈥 sons? What hope did he have to build a better life for himself when he mirrored his father in even this tiny detail? In what other ways had he shaped himself after a man he... He what?
He missed him. Here, in the darkness and the silence, he could admit it.
He missed his father. Or, perhaps put better, he missed the idea of his father. He missed the connection he saw so often, even just coming home from the funeral. Someone he could talk to, someone he could play ball with, someone who led by example and listened to the worries of his children. Vasudev had never been any of those things for Pradeep, but he鈥檇 seen glimpses of that man in the way Shaleena interacted with him, and wondered if he had changed at all after Pradeep had left. If he had missed his son as much as his son now missed him.
鈥淚t鈥檚 too late for regrets,鈥 Pradeep told his ghosts, trying to push them away. 鈥淗e鈥檚 dead. Whatever that may mean for him, it means to me that he is beyond reach.鈥 Forgiveness and healing were beyond Pradeep鈥檚 reach; there was no saving Vasudev鈥檚 memory or salvaging the relationship. The abuse, the neglect, and the fear were all Pradeep had to remember his father by.
Pradeep left his office and its ghosts and headed up the stairs. He paused midway up to look at the pictures hanging from the wall鈥揾im and his wife on vacation, on their wedding day, on the day they brought their son home for the first time. They were happy in those pictures. Pradeep knew true joy in every moment captured and it showed. He thought back to pictures of his father; Vasudev had rarely smiled in person and never for the camera. Even in the oldest photos he looked serious and stoic, never expressing joy in his life.
He finished climbing the stairs, bypassing his own bedroom to check on his son. The child was sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the presence of his father, and Pradeep smiled down at the small bundle. Resting a hand on the side of the crib and nearly crying for reasons he couldn鈥檛 explain, he made his son a promise. 鈥淚鈥檒l do better. I swear, I will do better.鈥
The floor creaked softly, and Pradeep looked over his shoulder to see his wife, wrapped in her dressing robe, squinting sleepily at him. 鈥淧radeep?鈥 Her voice was barely audible, and he quietly crept over to her after a final look at his son. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 hear you come in.鈥 She squinted at him again, then reached out and touched his face, concern taking over her expression. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e crying! What鈥檚 wrong?鈥
Pradeep cupped her hand and smiled. 鈥淣othing. Come, let us go back to bed. I am ready for today to end and tomorrow to begin.鈥