WE SHARE... Part 7

Author: Divya Saksena

By himself again, Browning waited for the splinters of memory to hit him anew.

Reading Tennyson again, m’dear?

             My favorite poet, as you well know.

Ulysses

“Though much is taken, much abides.”

We share a common history.

We share.

He looked down at the now clean inscription, rescued briefly from the onslaught of dust, and bent to touch it once…twice. Then, turning, he made his way towards the gate from which he had entered. The courtyard was now dotted with knots of people, chatting and laughing as they waited for the evening service. Several curious glances and some tentative smiles came towards him as he edged around the enormous plinth that was all that remained of the magnificent monument put up by Metcalfe for his murdered friend Fraser. A polite smile fixed to his face, he let out a breath of relief as he came through the gate into the street and paused to get his bearings.

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On his left, a plaintive call to prayer issued from the loudspeaker mounted on one of the minarets of the mosque that James Skinner had built for his Muslim wife at the same time as he had the church constructed for himself and his British friends. The sound mingled with the cries of street vendors and the chatter of workers emerging for an evening snack after a long day at the line of auto-part stores and workshops across the street. A couple of cars swerved to avoid each other and hooted impatiently at a trio of pedestrians nonchalantly navigating through the increasing traffic. On the right, down Church Road, the bells of the small Hindu temple began to chime the rhythm of the aarti in evening worship.

Close by, some small schoolboys debated the merits of a balloon over a kite as the vendor leaned against the boundary wall of St James, resting his long pole festooned with both items. As Browning pulled the gate shut behind him, the portico lights of the church came on and through its open doors floated the sounds of the choir striking up “Happy Birthday.” Browning squared his shoulders and strode briskly towards the line of taxis waiting further down against the kerb, stepping into the first one. “Maidens Hotel, please.”

In the now quiet churchyard, a departing koel shouted one more welcome to the approaching monsoon from its tree. In the surrounding hedge, a bulbul practiced a few notes of its nightly warble. Two small candle flames shone with increasing brightness against the growing dusk. In their light, an inscription glowed fresh again.

HERE RESTS MY BELOVED WIFE

AND MOTHER OF OUR CHILDREN

CATHERINE MARY ANNE BROWNING

24.12.1873  -  30.6.1908

IN HER ARMS OUR INFANT DAUGHTER

PATRICIA EMILY ANNE

27.6.1908  -  1.7 1908

LOST, BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

wikipedia.org

About the author:

Dr Divya Saksena earned her PhD in English from The George Washington University, USA I 2003. She has taught English and Women's Studies in the USA, Canada and India for over 18 years. She is an avid reader and prolific writer.

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