Short Story

My suicidal note

Lucien PERUMADURA

I happened to meet Subathra Neelamegam for the first time at a brothel. What made me visit there that day or what made her work there could be unethical to you.

But those things do happen where an insignificant incident taken place within a split second could turn the life of a perfectly normal person up side down.

"I am Tamil" when she replied, a tingle of excitement ran through me. Releasing my hands from her waist I took a few steps back instantly to get a better look at her features to make me believe her words.

"Subathra" there are Sinhala girls by that name and then only surfaced in my mind that the name of my deceased wife Wirajini is also a Tamil one.

Anyway it was really a fascinating and enchanting experience to hold a fair and slim Tamil beauty in your arms when the flames of ethnic war are raging round the corner. Fragrance of sandalwood blended with fresh flowers by the Hindu Kovil from her cheeks awakened my nostrils.

"What made you work in a horrid place like this at 28" With contrast to the realities of their trade she looked much younger than that.

As usual I didn't believe anything that she revealed. Husband dying in an accident, going abroad and sending to jail for overstaying or coming empty handed etc, all these could be nice fabrications. Nothing about the affair with the employer or the abortions I thought.

"Still I didn't go home. I can't go home empty handed. Only after saving some money from here I can go home."

There could be some truth in it I thought, then

"How did you find this place."

"Another stranded girl gave me the details. She had stayed here before going abroad."

"The girls come and work here for short periods and go back with good money. Some get married and lead a good life burying their past. That is what I heard from her." she continued.

"But once a whore always a whore" I swallowed the words intending not to hurt her. Instead I found some other words. "Pity the poor mothers in law. If they know about their daughters in law they will hang themselves."

The gentle manners and gestures of this woman made me soften my attitudes.

Not the overage women with faces of over make up and overgrown tummies. Nowadays everything is changed, even the trends of the oldest profession with charming girls of early twenties having entered the arena.

"The tall fair girl in the other room has come today taking leave from her workplace. She looks like a medical student. Her husband gave a call a little while ago and he doesn't know that she is here. He would kill her if he gets the truth."

Being a person with no high emotional fluctuations I stepped out casually. I had come to know about this characteristic of mine after my wife died in the tidal wave.

Failing to find her, I acted like a man with no heart or feelings during those two days without shedding a drop of tear although my interior was throbbing with continuous pain. From that day I lived in the house alone like a gastropod in its shell.

After some months I found that her meagre saving left in the bank was not what it could be. Furthermore I found that she had taken some loans from time to time without my knowledge and at times when we did not need them.

Still later I was informed by the authorities that her pension couldn't be paid due to some formalities and regulations.

Considering all these with the amount she had borrowed from the banks for nothing, and the amount she had saved proportionate to her salary made me think thereafter that if so much money can be wasted or gone unnoticed, money was of no value no use to me. I happened to be passing the sign "The Lodge" one day. That was where I found Subathra.

Thinking of dying never sprouted in my ego before Wirajini's death. I thought of throwing my pension after my death to take some controversial turn.

"After my death I want my pension to be inherited by somebody who can draw it for about fifty years "I cracked the joke at the common room of my office some days later.

"For that you have to marry a teenager" Chitra said opening her parcel of her sandwiches.

"And if it is somebody who is so young and should not marry again, then she could be non other than a whore" Peter joined the party.

"Never mind who ever she is. Wirajini's pension has been held up by authorities and in retaliation I want to die leaving my pension to be long lasting."

"Not bad. She would draw more than twenty thousand per month."

"Who is the lucky bitch?"

"Could be some whore" I joked.

My thoughts drifted to war widows. Subathra could be a war widow. If so her husband was in the adverse regime. Then it could be really a controversial situation. I should inquire about her husband's death from her, I thought. Then I remembered that she had used my phone to dial her number to check some defect in it. I traced the number.

She answered.

"I am still at the lodge. Hope to go to Wattala this Friday. If you can come before that. Oh dear my phone card is down to the.." and the phone went dead.

I couldn't help considering her invitation.

Many times a week I had to walk past this lodge and I knew that it was a place with a bad reputation. Unlike in my first visit I was nervous this time but walked in.

I had to wait nearly an hour in the lobby, as she was busy with a customer. Some sort of jealousy crept into my thoughts. Finally when I entered the room she showed a guilty face. Ignoring that and concealing the jealousy in my face I smiled. She looked much prettier than the previous day. "The denim hides the real Jaffna girl in you" I said for the sake of starting a conversation.

She giggled.

Taking her to the mirror and studying her face I listened.

"He died in a motorcycle accident" she gave me the details. Then we talked about her daughter. When I was removing the shoes she moved away from the mirror and sat on the bed gripping my hand.

"How did she die? What did you do at that time?" it was like some piece of acting in a Hindi film and that fascinated me. But I started with a sigh.

"When the tidal wave struck I was miles away and I reached the scene at dusk. So I had no idea how it happened and I didn't want to investigate. But after finding the truth no nobody wants to hear it from me" I wanted to tell her everything in details at that moment but casually she adjusted her wrap and our conversation ceased abruptly.

Only when I came back from the shower I gathered courage.

"I am looking for a girl to nominate for my pension after my death.

"Is it alright if she is Tamil?"

"Sure"

"I will let you know."

I stepped out with some confidence.

A few days later I received a call at the office.

"Subathra here." I stopped my work and went to the window with great interest. "I need your help. I have a big problem. Somebody had identified me at the lodge and given the word to my brothers. They tried to kill me. I was given a real hammering. My mobile is gone. Now I am with a sister. I want to rent a room and live there. I need some money."

I thought for a moment.

"Ok, right now, I am at a conference. I will call you to this number when I go home. I promise I will do something" I hung up.

I could have dumped the whole affair into the dustbin of romantic history and thought of a new way to spend and evenings.

"I will come to Wattala tomorrow. Can you meet me" I phoned her.

"Of course, at what time?" She was enthusiastic.

I gave the details. But she didn't turn up. Next morning. I received the explanations.

"I was under strict rules. Yesterday I was not given permission to go out. Can you come tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I have some other work. Okay, If you have no options I will cancel them" and I gave the details.

Once, I had gone to this guesthouse to collect a parcel from a foreigner and the manager had become friendly with me. When he left the room closing the door behind us she clung on to my shoulder and started crying like a frightened baby.

Holding her I sat on the bed and let her cry her heart out. Finally lifting the head she kept looking at me as to study the Sinhalese features of my face.

Kissing her cheeks I stood up leaving a bundle of green notes on her lap. "It is not a loan. Just forget about it" I took the towel.

Unlike at the lodge we had time to cry out our worried hugging each other every other moment.

"That day you didn't tell me how she died," she reminded when I got ready to roll down from the bed releasing her finally. I remained still.

Nobody wanted to listen to it. I recalled the last time I tried to tell it to Wirajini's brother. "Enough. Now it is over and don't bring those memories back into our minds. We also loved her as much as you did. She was everybody's favourite. But now everything was over." That was all what he said.

"True. The truth is bitter. You may not have a heart to hear this but I have to bear it in my heart for the rest of my life gritting my teeth and forcing a drop of tears to form whenever it is surfaced in my mind.

Unfortunately no tears are flowing from my eyes but most of the time I weep in my thoughts and feelings. If I can face the reality like that why are you people so negative to the truth."

I spoke in a high tone." I can't expose these to the others of my side, I mean my family members. It is only for her relatives that I should expose these."

"Save your breath" I thought finally. Nobody wants to listen to me. They have buried Wirajini from their minds.

That was why I finally started writing my suicide note giving every detail of the incident. These are some extracts from it, which is ready in my computer.

I was the most revolutionary type character in our family but who performed nothing of that sort when compared to what others did. Everybody expected that my marriage would be of some controversial one.

But it was one with the consent of all in the family at the correct time. But that revolutionary lived in me.

Though I couldn't show that revolutionary by acts but my thinking had been always revolutionary. After her death I had the odd feeling that I was the same person as before and somewhat different and nearly abnormal.

That was why I picked Subathra Neelamegam to inherit my pension. You would not raise your eyebrows for this if you had seen the movie 'Pretty woman' of Julia Roberts or read the book "The World of Suizie Wong."

Instructing my attorney to send a copy of my death certificate with a marriage certificate to her, leaving the property to the sons who have gone abroad I would e-mail the suicide note. After fidgeting with the idea a few days considering pros and cons I decided to present the offer to her.

With shaking hands I dialled her number. A lady with a Tamil accent answered. When I inquired About Subathra she exploded.

"She is not coming here anymore. Never. She is sent to Koddikammam."

Subathra never returned.

The suicide note still awaits e-mailing.