Sunshine sneaked into the room, filtering through the abstract patterns on the French window. He slowly opened his eyes, rubbing them to clear his weary mind. Putting on his aged glasses, he slipped off the bed, his tired legs aching in the process. His eyes went for the window but got blinded as he focused for a view. He walked towards the light and flung open the windows.
The sweet aroma of ripe paddy. The wind still holding the sweet dampness of the last night’s rain. The petrichor emanating from the dirt, drugging him to the topmost ecstasy…
How he wished! But it remained just that—a wish.
Instead, the smell of the dry dirt drilled through his nose. The aroma of death! Ahead him, laid a barren field devoid of a tiny speck of life. Every day, the first time in the morning, he looked at the field as though waiting for a miracle to unleash.
He would have done the miracle himself if his skin had been smooth and his muscles lacked fatigue as they once were. Unfortunately, such a scenario is ridiculous to put hopes upon.
A while later, he found himself sitting on a creaky armchair in the veranda with a cup of tea in his hand. This daily routine did no good except for reminding his loneliness in the house in the middle of nowhere.
On finishing the last sip, he got to his feet but didn’t move back into the house. Something had caught in his eyes—something coming from far away. A dust cloud accompanied by a rumbling. From the cloud, emerged a white SUV car heading in his direction.
That’s strange, he thought. Occasionally a garbage truck passed through the area and some motorcycles. But cars are rare.
He watched curiously as the car parked on his driveway. Two men in casuals got out from either side of the vehicle. He made no mistakes in identifying them.
Robert Stark and Ben Stark. His sons.
“How are you doing, dad?” Robert enquired as he stood on the doorstep.
“Not dead,” Mr. Stark motioned them in. The sons made them comfortable on the sofa. Mr. Stark sat across him; his eyes dense.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
Robert cleared his throat. “Ben got a scholarship to study abroad. But it’s still costly. And—” Robert stammered. “And my company isn’t doing well for the last couple of months. So, I was wondering if you could—”
“Help you? Are you blind?” Mr. Stark was amused. “You think I have money? Just look around you!”
The wall around them pleaded for new wallpaper. The dusty ancient floor beneath them appeared like a pool of black water. The discoloured windows had curtains that were drained out of any beauty. Everything around his small house was worn-out, just like him.
The sons could feel their bottoms sinking down into the soft lifeless cushion. Robert said nothing. But Ben looked out through the window. His gaze answered Mr. Stark’s doubts.
“No!” Mr. Stark stated quickly in response to his behaviour.
“It’s of no use, dad,” Ben tried to justify. “The dead field is just a wasted area of dirt. A space of no use! Selling this big plot would fix all our problems, including yours.”
“It’s our ancestral property. It’s in this land—this dirt—that our ancestors lived and died.”
“Dad,” Robert began. “Clinging onto the heritage and ancestry won’t give us anything. Consider the people now first, not the people who were long dead.”
“Our ancestry had given us everything they had before they died. They are just as important as us. They are our history,” Mr. Stark explained. “Man is born out of the dirt. On death, he reunites with the dirt. The work they spent above the dirt brought us to this stage. Even now, we are standing upon their toil.”
“They are dead, so it doesn’t make a difference—”
“You’re wrong, son!” Mr. Stark interrupted. “A man’s life doesn’t end on his physical death. They live through the memories they left above the dirt. For us, those memories rest on this land—on this space. I won’t give it away.”
“Memories may be emotionally invaluable,” Ben remarked. “But they are certainly not resourceful.”
Mr. Stark leaned forward; his eyes red with fire. “I won’t give away my land to someone who doesn’t care about our ancestry. And I certainly can’t allow them to build their mansion atop our forefathers’ graves. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“The discussion is over. Now, leave!” Mr. Stark concluded, his eyes going to the window. He could hear the breeze whispering something—something from the field.
Ben stood up and stared at him.
“If you’re not going to give it,” his eyes grew red. “Then I have to take it from you!”
At the next moment, Ben jolted and caught Mr. Stark’s throat. The victim’s eyes rolled up, and his decrepit arms tried to push Ben away. All the while, his industrious lungs begged for some air.
Shaking away the initial shock, Robert caught Ben behind and pried them apart. Ben went on cursing his dad until Robert pushed him out of the house.
Mr. Stark saw darkness bordering his sight. It began to grow inwards in haste. And then suddenly, he was no longer hungry for some air.
He was in his field, golden with innumerable paddy plants. Strangely he saw no dirt under his feet. The land was transparent. Under him, lay thousands of ancient corpses in layers. Some people looked like him; some didn’t.
He scooped to take a close look. The next moment, to his horror, one of the corpses opened his eyes.
Mr. Stark opened his eyes. He was back in his dilapidated room, Robert by his side.
“Dad, are you okay?”
But Mr. Stark wasn’t listening. He looked away with half-closed eyes.
“You will have the money,” he said, straightening up his pose. “I will sell the land.”
Robert was puzzled. “No, I know you’re scared. So, take some rest now and then—”
“No, Rob, I’m not scared,” his voice was sharp. “I’m going to sell the land for something worthy.”
#
Mr. Stark woke up feeling a slight warmth on his dry face. A couple of sunrays that barged into the room had been on his face for a while.
Sitting up on the bed, he looked around his newly painted room. His gaze quickly went to the window. He got out and opened the well-furnished window. An air of strange liveliness rushed into the room.
Atop his land stood a tall building, elegant and well-crafted. He remembered that vision he had long ago. The vision that made him think about his heritage as well as others’. The land wasn’t just his own space of heritage—it’s a shared one. And it deserves more than being the victim of his greed or someone else’s.
The building was waiting for its inauguration. Its board ran,
‘History of Humans’ Heritage Museum.