Anatomy of a Memory, Part 2

This is the second part of the story Anatomy of a Memory. Please find the Part 1 on the blog.

“A million feelings. A thousand thoughts. A hundred memories. All for one person.” – Lily Wayne

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Twenty-four years earlier…

The rusty bus rattled over the uneven roads, braking and accelerating alternately, over craters and smooth patches. The occasional bumps sent the primary school children inside into peals of laughter. The two teachers chaperoning them, looked on indulgently and continued with their usual chit chat.

A Shillong-based NGO had adapted this school a few years ago. Under its aegis, the village education centre had received a fresh lease of life, but it still had a long way to go before it could qualify as a regular, well-equipped school.

But Luna Lyngdoh, the younger among the two teachers in the bus, wasn’t complaining. At 21, she loved being with the kids and was passionate about her profession. Her father was the Senior Supervisor in a tea factory, just outside their village in Meghalaya. Along with her homemaker mother and teenage sister, the family was content with whatever it had.

That day was special. The Grade-4 children were reading about Gautam Buddha in school and were being taken to the Nongmel Monastery on a field trip, to know more about his life and teachings. The children were excited and happy. The monks were extremely co-operative and took pride in hosting the teachers and their wards.

But the highlight of the event was the momentous meeting between Luna Lyngdoh and Meban Tsangpa, a Samanera or novice monk. A woke, computer-trained graduate, he had been inducted into the monastery as a trainee. He followed many of the cardinal religious precepts but had not yet attained higher ordination which would make him a Bhikkhu or a full-fledged monk. 

And this meeting turned out to be a milestone, of sorts – one, that became the first among a slew of rendezvous that followed.

Luna and Meban felt an instant spark, as if they had known each other for ages. They both had a humble background and hailed from the same village. In Meban’s case, his family had always faced financial hardships because of his alcoholic father and the large brood the old man had produced.

Family considerations topped his list of priorities and it also formed the primary reason for his ascetic way of life – one mouth to feed and the benefits it accrued. 

A few times thereafter, he visited the school, mainly on Sundays, to fix their computers or hold informal life skills sessions with the students. Meban had a way with children – his easy affability, disarming smile, and his play-way method of instruction, made him a hot favourite.

On her part, Luna invariably volunteered to assist Meban on such days, although her Sundays were otherwise strictly earmarked for family.

As the months progressed, Meban and Luna started having clandestine meetings in places far beyond the brick-and-mortar confines of the school and the village. He always changed into regular clothes during these episodes, to avoid curious glances. And the more they met, the deeper their emotions ran.

From sipping the famed black Urlong Tea to sharing their love for poetry, nature treks, and retro music, the pair developed a bond that needed no rationale or societal sanction. They could spend an entire hour together, without talking – simply watching the rains or reading a book together – and later, slide back into their usual discussions, effortlessly and organically.

Being a fresh recruit, Meban had not yet been able to purge himself entirely of these little worldly pleasures, especially since his spirituality had more to do with difficult circumstances rather than a holy epiphany. Being a trainee monk, he enjoyed some leeway which allowed him to venture out of the monastery at certain intervals.

As for Luna and Meban, both knew they were staring at an uncertain future. But as they say, the matters of the heart are seldom guided by the reasoning of the head. Falling in love is not something we choose to do – in fact, we often choose to love someone who we know can never be ours.

And that, probably, is what makes the exercise even more alluring – somewhat like biting into the sweet, forbidden fruit of Paradise.

Thus, the young monk and the naïve teacher embarked on a dangerous journey together with no roadmap in sight; where the destination appeared nebulous; where gossamer dreams were woven with the silken yarn of amour; where memories of a lifetime were engraved in a few fleeting moments of togetherness.

On the morning of 14 July, her birthday, Luna wore a dainty fuchsia net blouse and paired it with a long cream skirt with lace and crochet detailing. A pair of simple pink hoops and a dash of glimmer on the lips completed her dewy look. Meban took a day off from the monastery on the pretext of visiting his family in the village.

Together they headed straight to the Mawphlang Forest. Both had been here several times earlier but this was their first visit together – and a long awaited one, indeed. The forest left them completely enamoured with its stunning array of vibrant orchids, flaming rhododendrons, verdurous ferns and shrubs, towering pines and the sacred rudraksha trees.

It was a warm, humid day with occasional bouts of rain. The air hung redolent with the spicy whiff of wet humus and the innumerable medicinal plants that dotted the place. Luna and Meban talked, laughed, admired the flora, and shared many happy anecdotes. They had reached almost the end of the trail that was kept accessible to the general public.

On their right, a bubbly rivulet suddenly emerged from the dense undergrowth, gurgled its way over small boulders and pebbles for some distance, before disappearing into the thickets again. 

To their left, they found a stack of boulders that formed a natural cave – not large but large enough to accommodate the two of them. They crouched inside the cave and giggled like kids, delighted at this serendipitous discovery.

Luna suddenly felt Meban fiddling with her hairpin.

“What are you trying to do, Meban? People will think we’re weird!”

“Nothing much, just adding some colour to your dark mane, Luna. And relax, it’s raining and there’s not a soul around today. Just the bit of luck we need!” Meban chuckled as he tightly tucked a pretty scarlet bloom into her hairpin.

The moist breeze induced a gentle psithurism while the birds continued to coo in a somnolent monotone. The minutes ticked by at a furious pace, and both realised that these idyllic moments would soon end.

“Meban, do you realise what we’re doing is probably not right?” Luna finally found the courage to voice what had been nagging her for days. “You chose a certain way of life for yourself. But now you’ve strayed far from it. And I know I’m largely to be blamed for it.”

“Yes Luna, I’ve often thought of this,” Meban’s face clouded as he spoke. “I, myself, can’t figure how all this happened. I’ve never felt this way for anyone before, how I feel about you, Luna. You’re always there in my thoughts, in all my waking moments, and even in my dreams.”

He sounded utterly helpless, so vulnerable, that Luna’s heart went out to him.

She cupped his palms in her own as he continued in a trembling voice, “I can’t imagine a life without you now, Luna. Visions of a regular householder’s life and a happy, loving family haunt me. My feelings, my thoughts, are nothing short of blasphemy, I tell myself every day. I’ve brought grave dishonour to the monastery, I’ve let my family down. Will the Lord ever forgive me?”

“No, Meban. Please don’t lose hope!” Luna hugged Meban tight, tears trickling down her face. Was the dreaded moment here? Would he choose propriety over emotions? She didn’t want to end this beautiful day on a dejected, defeated note.

“We’ll figure something out. And whatever decision you choose to take, be assured, I shall always respect it.” Luna looked at Meban earnestly, smiling feebly through her tears. 

That was the moment when the universe conspired to unhinge their world and turn it into a tumultuous farrago of desire and daring. Shunning every religious diktat, sundering all moral sinews, Mebaan embraced Luna in a vice-like grip. The dams of restraint broke and Luna found herself swept away in an overwhelming deluge of passion.

The shrill symphony of the cicada, crickets and katydids celebrated this unusual union. The velvety algae beneath, offered them a duvet of taboo dreams and unbridled passion and together, they explored the dizzying heights of pleasure until they both exploded in sheer ecstasy.

It was almost five when Luna and Meban walked out of the forest in silence and headed to their individual homes. Later that evening, while Luna was knotting her hair into a tight bun, a dash of red dropped on her lap – the same flower that Meban had pinned to her hair. Luna let out a gasp. 

The holy forest had a strict rule – not a single leaf, twig, stone, flower – in short, absolutely nothing – was allowed to be taken out of the forest. Anyone who did, was bound to face the wrath of the presiding deity, Goddess Labasa, in the form of a deadly affliction or misfortune.

Luna shuddered involuntarily, an uncanny foreboding engulfing her. Would the deity curse them? Were they doomed to suffer a terrible fate?

***

“Memories of the past, thank you for all the lessons.”

Over the next couple of months, Meban and Luna meticulously avoided meeting each other. The events of that afternoon had flung them both into a spiralling vortex of embarrassment, uncertainty, and dilemma.

Meban, especially, suffered mortifying guilt pangs whenever he thought of how he had tainted his sacred robe. Luna noticed the first red flags when she started feeling unwell during meal times. Her monthly cycle evaded her, and she often felt too sick to attend school.

It wasn’t long before her mother sensed something amiss. Luna felt compelled to confide in her – together, they visited an unknown doctor in faraway Shillong who confirmed their worst fears. Luna was with child – Meban’s child.

The next few days passed in a blur. The entire family was initially in a state of shock, followed by denial, which eventually spiralled into pure rage. Endless questions – a barrage of stings – toxic accusations and censure became the norm of the Lyngdoh house. Luna became a prisoner in her own house. No one was allowed to meet her.

Meban tried his best to communicate with her but failed miserably every time. The days seemed to stretch endlessly. Come night and Luna would curl up in the backyard all alone, her body racked with silent sobs, a thousand misgivings assailing her.

The curse of the goddess has actually come true. We should have never brought that flower out of the forest. Oh Meban! Are we destined to meet again in this life? Will you ever come to know what happened to me…to us?!

A decision had to be taken and it had to be taken fast. She was already in her second trimester and the city doctor ruled out abortion as an option. After much deliberation, it was decided that Luna would go to Shillong to her aunt who worked as a nurse in the government hospital. Her husband had abandoned her after she birthed three daughters in a row.

Luna would double as the nanny for the teenage girls when their mother would be out on work and perform all the household chores. She must also manage her own ‘blight’, whenever it chose to arrive. The entire village was told how Luna had landed a fabulous new job in Shillong.

Luna was unceremoniously bundled into an auto rickshaw in the wee hours of the morning and taken to the bus depot by her father. As the rickety bus pulled out of the village, Luna frantically looked all around her, trying to bottle up in her mind, every sight, scent and sound of a place which, for more than two decades, she had called ‘home’.

Here she would likely never set foot again.

***

“In the end, we’ll all become stories.” – Margaret Atwood

Present day…

The next day, Luna reached the café on time. Choosing a table at a secluded corner, Luna osmosed the tranquil surroundings. Meban arrived shortly afterwards.

Over steaming cups of Urlong tea and dumplings, Luna narrated all that had transpired in her life in the past twenty-four years. As the layers kept peeling off the mothballed journal of memories in her heart, her core was laid bare – still raw, still vulnerable. 

At the end of it, she showed Meban photographs of her 23-year-old daughter, Twinkle. Their daughter. Twinkle had studied fashion design in Guwahati and was now assisting her mother in running their boutique. Meban cast a fixated gaze on the picture for a long time, heart pounding, lips trembling, too astounded to speak. 

“Luna, this is our daughter? She’s beautiful. Just like you!” He finally spoke through his tears. “I can’t wait to meet her. Can I accompany you while you return this time?”

This was going to be the most excruciating moment of truth, as Luna had already apprehended. Steeling herself from within, she drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and faced Meban. And when she spoke, there was no trace of hesitancy or indecision. 

“Meban, I told you about Twinkle because as her father, you have a right to know. My so-called family severed all ties once they dumped me with my aunt. And there was no way I could contact you in all these years. And believe me, Meban, they were really difficult years. But now that I have some semblance of sanity and stability in my life, I do not want to reverse it.” 

Looking at his stricken face, Luna paused momentarily. But almost immediately, she regained her resolve and continued.

“Twinkle, too, had a challenging childhood. An existential crisis – a single, struggling mother who could not fulfil even the tiniest of her wishes. A father, forever in absentia. She had a lot on her plate. But Twinkle is a gifted child who resiliently forged her own path ahead. And now that she’s finally come into her own, I don’t want her to experience yet another emotional whiplash, Meban.” 

“Well Luna, if that’s what you’ve decided for Twinkle, who am I to contest it?” Meban spoke in a choked voice. “Although I’m curious to know how you managed to cater to all her needs and sponsor her education, all these years. It’s nothing less than a miracle!”

“Well, once Twinkle was a year old, I managed to find work in a handloom factory in Shillong and we shifted to their humble staff accommodation. I was known as this young, widowed mother with a mewling child. Empathy and support came hand-in-hand with crude advances and sly innuendos.

“The salary was inadequate, the labour, herculean, the living conditions, dismal. However, I soldiered on, undeterred. My life revolved around Twinkle and the click-clack of the shaft – the shuttle moving up and down – the warp and weft of the fabric interlacing and weaving an intricate pattern.

“A few weeks of training offered the much-needed fillip to my confidence, and soon I became a valued employee. In all these years, my daughter served as both my raison d’etre and my nepenthe. After years of relentless labour, I finally had enough resources and, with Twinkle by my side, I realised my dream – Weave ’n Warp.”

“You’re right, Luna. It’s been a long and arduous journey for us all. And now that we’re healing, it’s only fair that we don’t upturn the natural rhythm of the universe. The cracks and scars will always be there. But aren’t they like Kintsugi – adding beauty to our life and making it more meaningful?

“I shall take your leave now, Luna. But you, and my darling Twinkle, will always remain in my prayers, till my last breath!”

And thus, they stood, holding hands one last time, steeped in the twilight haze, as the sun went down in a blaze of lilac and gold, leaving them with sepia memories and the promise of a brighter, happier, calmer morrow.

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If you enjoyed this beautiful two-part story, please check out these other offerings from the MockingOwl Roost staff and contributors.

• For Sale
• A Silent Hello, an Unsaid Goodbye
• An RAF Childhood
• Princess Piano Box Full of Teeth
• A Dream
• Hail to the Chief
• Faith and Dandelion Seeds
• Memories on a Rainy Evening