The Poison and its Antidote - Part III: A story on Memory and Guilt | Thursday Tale No. 24

  In the end, it is not truth that changes, but the way it finally allows itself to be seen. 

  The Poison and its Antidote - Part III follows the quiet convergence, where what was once revealed and withheld begins to take a final shape.

The Poison and its Antidote - Part III

Photograph by Narmin Aslanli on Pexels.

  “No… Momo, I know that the candies are drugs and even before realising that, I knew it had to be consumed in secret. Mom always maintained an air of secrecy around that topic, so I inadvertently knew to keep it undisclosed.”

  Vasuki had sat in deep thought trying to make sense of that conversation. She had realised how clever like her mother, and mellow like her father, Mia was, because even after being in the deepest grief, she had felt no rage, no anger, no desire for justice. She was among the ones that surrendered without attempting their hands in the games of life. Vasuki also realised that she was attracted to people of that kind, the people in need of support and care. Just like a climber. Then Sam, and now Mia.

  “Momo, am I a bad girl? Will you hate a girl like me?”

  “No, baby, you are not a bad girl, nor will I hate you. You are just a little misguided. I'll take you to the right people who will guide you back. Don't worry, Momo will always be there! Love you!” Vasuki had assured her as she fell asleep.

  Hours after the intensity of the gloom had settled, and moments after her glass of wine had emptied, Mr Chandru was at the door, all by himself, on a self-proclaimed unofficial visit. Vasuki invited him in and paid him professional hospitality before settling to hear out the purpose of his visit. Leaning on the spine of the sofa, he revealed the result of the forensic report.

  “Ma’am, Mr Samuel was not under the influence of any substance. And the bullet that was retrieved from his body was not shot from the revolver seized from Miara’s hands. So, we might not require taking Miara into police custody, but…” he took a brief pause, “the drugs in the room and the suspicion of drug intake by Miara lays a fair ground for her arrest,” he declared.

  He waited silently, examining Vasuki’s facial movement as if anticipating a certain response. Sensing the intentions of Mr Chandru, Vasuki affirmed, “I’ll take care of it personally. Please do something which does not involve Miara in it.”

  He smiled instantly at receiving the response of his desire and assuredly said, “I’ll do everything in my power to take care of the matter. Don’t worry, ma’am! Now that the purpose of my visit is conveyed, I shall take a leave. Have a pleasant night, ma’am!”

  “You too!” greeted Vasuki.

  Shutting the door, she leant on it, breathing freely. She dabbed dry the sweat that was sneaking down her right sideburn with the folded handkerchief that she always held in her closed fist. She walked back to Mia’s bedroom and looked at her tender face. She kissed her forehead before turning off the lights of the house.

  Vasuki went into the room minutely designed for her by Sam. He had said that it was his symbol of a lifetime invitation to his house, but she had stayed there only twice before. She rested her tensed spine on the softness of the bed and reflected on the blandness she had felt while kissing Mia. She began looking back to the intimate moments she shared with Mia. A bit of pondering over some of her past rash decisions towards Mia proved her hypothesis with certainty that her concern for Mia had sprouted from her attachment to Sam. But now she had to accept Mia as a consolation prize.

  Frustrated by this, she dug her face into the pillow, also allowing herself, in the emptiness of her room, to dig deeper into the layers of her conscience. She walked down the tunnel of repressed memories, glimpsing pictures of herself from different temporal instances captured in frames of axons. Down the passage she met versions of herself waiting to narrate stories and indulge in conversations with her over a glass of her favourite red wine. Their polite clay-like smiles and the gentleness of their invitations churned a vortex of discomfort in her core, causing her to race towards the mouth of the tunnel. Upon reaching the Land of the Conscious, she found herself seated on the bed with a palpitating heart. Her surroundings kept transforming from the inside of a crowded train to the silent shore of the pond in her nani’s village, from the centre of an unfamiliar searing desert to the corner of Sam’s old terrace house where they spent most of their teenage years. All of these flashed until her senses settled on the lamp on the table by her bedside, the flat TV, the curtains of the balcony that opened to the vastness of night with moon shining in its seventh grace, and she recognised the room, herself and anchored herself in time and space of the present.

  Finding herself in the comfort of the familiar room, she tried to distract herself from the image that was in the forefront of her mind. She realised the frame had clung to her flowing cloak when she sprinted out of the dark tunnel. Even without turning the frame face-side-up, she knew the finest details of the image – the sight of his wrathful face in the mirror, his dilated pupils responding to the shock felt upon recognising her face through the mirror, his monumental enlightenment and his immediate defeated surrender, the impulse of her frantic finger, the “plop” of the gun, and a shattered man at her feet.

  Her shoulder sunk into her ribs followed by her knees. She felt shrunken by the pulls of guilt, grief, and shame. It was the only time, in the length of years, that her plan had failed. Vasuki could not comprehend the intensity of the loss which a tiny error had caused. She was aware that she didn't love him in the “love” sense. That's why when everyone wondered why they were not together, she unthoughtfully said “I am like his older sister. You will never understand!” But she was also conscious of her deep attachment to him, because she cared – cared greatly for him. In the grip of her feelings she witnessed images of her teen self crawling from under a Mercedes car with a pair of diagonal pliers. She also saw images of her looking from a distance at Chaya waiting on the park’s bench for Mia to return. Tripping through the circus of emotions, she fell into repose, waking only to the beam of light shining through the balcony. She freshened up, instructed Miara's nanny, and left.

  Running a few errands, she reached her office situated on the ground floor of her house. She dragged behind her two huge suitcases from her car, propped them on her huge marble desk, sat on the edge of the desk and began sorting out one of them. The new intern who walked in saw pieces of pierced papers, a tiny awl, packets of medicines, wires, books, a pair of leather coats, gloves, shades, and a lavender-tinted crystal bottle of Lady Noir travelling from the chasm of the black suitcase to the bin sitting beside Vasuki’s desk.

  “Are you throwing all of these?”

  Vasuki, focused on her task, nodded.

  “If you would not mind, can I please have the perfume? It's still full; it is barely used.”

  Vasuki nodded again. The intern placed a few documents on the other end of the table.

  “I am their poison and its antidote!” mumbled Vasuki.

  “Uh?” asked the intern.

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  The intern picked the bottle, thanked Vasuki and withdrew from her office with joy over her latest possession.

  “Linda, on your way out, tell Ramu to empty this bin immediately.”

  “Sure, ma’am!”

  Having rid her suitcase of its past burden, she cleared her workspace and settled to carry out her office work with the clarity of her newest purpose—to care for Mia, the daughter of her dearest friend.

- Mercy Rebonica