Creative Writing

Short Story - Janaka's crush

Jayashantha Jayawardhana

The over-crowded bus screeched to a halt, allowing some passengers to get down and some to get in. Among those who had just got into the bus, Janaka, the conductor, noticed a very pretty girl who was now struggling to get hold of a seat top to lean on as the bus was back on the road and gathered speed.

He was quick to get other (unimportant) passengers out of her way and make room for her to reach a seat top on which she could lean, keeping herself in balance.

There was indeed grave necessity for the aid of a seat top or of a steel pole for those who were not so lucky as to catch a seat in the first place, since the bus was being driven (or perhaps flown) at breakneck speed and the reckless driver often swerved the bus and applied brake with little care for the hapless, helpless passengers who had been compactly packed into the flying monster, and who literally jumped out of their skins every time the driver braked, bringing the bus to abrupt halts nearly every ten meters.

Had some passengers been bold enough to accuse him of reckless driving, the driver would probably have dismissed him by saying, 'Because I must reach the bus-stand on time, I can't drive any slower than I do now.' He would also say that he too, like all other drivers had to travel according to the schedule.' Others are going at the same speed as I do', he would further say.

This, it should be noted, was not completely untrue; but even truer was the fact that almost all of them had little care for passengers' safety and wanted, above all, to earn as much money as they could.

However, Achini, Janaka's unparalleled, ineffable idol at the moment, was able to stand without much difficulty, clutching at a seat top. She felt she could still have been on the footboard itself, had it not been for the kind considerate conductor who had made room for her to get in, and thought she should thank him for his kindness.

He was, however, a little different than those conductors who preferred to keep a pretty girl on the footboard itself and to play the role of her protector with one hand thrown around her neck under the pretence of precluding her fall; some conductors might do this with good intentions while the majority of them adopted this practice out of unadulterated lechery.

But this was not totally reproachable, because some passengers themselves looked on the bus as a place for satisfying their pervert sexual needs. If the passengers could enjoy themselves like that, why not conductors or even drivers for that matter?

When he started issuing tickets and collecting the fares, Janaka got opportunity to approach her. Remembering his kind help, Achini gave him a grateful smile as she exchanged money for the ticket.

Her smile so encouraged him that he asked without the slightest hesitation, 'What's your name, nangi? She appeared delighted or so it seemed to him over his question as she said, 'Achini.' Out of sheer politeness, while she had practically no desire for knowing his name, she asked him in turn, 'What's yours ayya?' This simple, single question he misinterpreted as a positive reaction or encouragement from her. So he felt slightly embarrassed as he answered, 'Janaka.'

The bus was pulled up at Kuliyapitiya main bus-stand. As Janaka waited for the passengers to get down, Achini alighted from the bus together with several girls who seemed to him to be her friends. Before they walked their way, she gave him another grin which served, albeit spontaneously, to double his present happiness.

'A diamond among the gems, that's exactly what she....', thought Janaka to himself.

'What a humble girl!', presently he began to wonder whether the popular conviction held by quite a few guys that all the beautiful girls in the world were too proud was correct. Here he found himself trying to refute that long-established conviction.

'How so unreasonable is it for any guy to have such a blinkered view about lovely girls?', thought he, 'no, I'll never be so dense as to say," All the pretty girls in the world are far too proud!"' He said to himself further, 'There may be some pretty girls who are very proud, but why should we, sane, broad-minded people put all the eggs in the same basket?' It was solely on behalf of Achini herself that he started exculpating all the pretty girls in the world.

That day he was happier than he would usually have been on a Saturday. He knew it was meeting Achini that had lifted his spirits so high. definitely there were reasons for him to be happy.

First he had just met a wonderful girl; secondly she had grinned so romantically with him; and thirdly she had shown such interest in him as to enquire his name. If such extraordinary happenings as these did not make a guy happy, what else did?

Janaka did not even remotely look like Prince charming; but there were many worse looking guys like myself. Forget about my poor self-concept. But, who says a guy must look like Tom cruise or Hrikith Roshan if a girl is to fall in love with him? Is Tom Cruise the paragon of masculinity, and Hrikith Roshan the symbol of virility? Indeed, actors are quite handsome; they are far handsomer than most guys trying to emulate them specially at the bus-stand or at a tuition class.

Though very few girls ever took note of the fact, it was indubitable that plain guys like Janaka had their own charms. Besides, he was both a non-smoker and a teetotaller earning a living by a fair means.

True he was not nearly as rich as the owner of the bus; nonetheless a story went that he, the conductor and Sunil, the driver had the lion's share of the profits. The rumour thus spread was not without an element of truth in it.

But their employer, the bus owner, was a veritable miser who had amassed a fortune by means of his parsimony, so it did not count very much that they retained a little more of the day's earnings than they ought to.

Even if they were to retain all the earnings themselves, it was hardly likely that it would impoverish him; besides it was common practice among the drivers and conductors to report to their employers less income than they would actually earn at the end of the day and to share between themselves that additional amount as some kind of commission.

But if Achini were to be his fiancee, he would eschew from that pilferage too. In fact, what would he not do to win her heart? He could barely conceive of anything he could not do to impress her.

Even if he had to do the most impossible of all the tasks, that is to reduce the cost of living, to win her heart, he would gladly immerse himself in the work of formulating a new economic policy that would bring down ever rising price level. Infatuated guys were always over-confident; so was our protagonist, Janaka.

He had little doubt that there was divine involvement in the whole incident. That it might have been just a coincidence really occurred to him too, but that wisdom being instantaneous did not last long enough for him to make an objective assessment of his state.

Also, like all other infatuated men, he desired to believe that it was far more than a mere coincidence. how so often do we, poor mortals give divine interpretations to pure everyday occurrences and view ordinary encounters as miracles? At this particular moment, Janaka himself was little different from the majority of us who are irrational and insane early half of our time.

If he ever wanted to be rational, surely this was a moment when every logic practically eluded his wisdom. Perhaps it was also possible that he willingly and deliberately let them elude his wisdom. However, nothing now seemed to him to be more real that Achini's love to be bestowed on him and they becoming lovers.

While they were on their return trip to Pannala, his head was a whirlpool of emotions. True he issued tickets, collected money, and paid back balances. He also smiled with several passengers with whom he was somewhat acquainted. But all this he did more out of habit than thought, and was, in reality, woolgathering.

What was lying uppermost on his mind that moment was whether he would meet her again. He certainly wanted to believe that he would. And why not? It was pretty obvious even to Janaka himself that he was a little too swift in forming positive conclusions as the thoughts about her were beginning to supersede all other concerns from his mind. Several times he caught himself just in time giving passengers more balance than was actually due.

From a conductor's point of view, it is indeed be better if he can overcharge or short-change a rupee or two; but in paying balance he will calculate it to the last cent since overpaying balances or undercharging bus-fare may substantially detract his profits. So, most conductors may naturally forget to give one rupee balance to a passenger while they insist them on paying the bus-fare to the last 25 cent.

But now Janaka was more concerned about his fiancee-to-be than those small omissions which he could easily make up for that day itself or the following day. He had grown so romantic now that he would gladly lose million rupees, not to mention some hundred rupees, for her sake and never heave a single sigh about it.

'Next to her love, what is money?,' he asked himself perhaps having temporarily forgotten that it was out of the question even to eat rice and coconut sambol, the classic staple diet of eloping lovers, without a reasonable amount of money at his disposal.

Now he was quite convinced that she would soon fall in love with him despite his being quite a plain guy and of course a conductor. 'I am the world's happiest and luckiest guy!', he thought smiling to himself, never knowing that this was the standard notion of every infatuated man.

They always preferred to describe themselves in the superlative; Janaka was no exception. And the more he thought about her, the more positive he felt his dreams would all materialize in the nick of time.

As they were travelling back from Pannala to Kuliyapitiya, he was still more distracted by his fantasy speculation. He began to wonder how to express his love.

'Should I propose to her myself?', he asked himself, 'or wouldn't it be better if I got Sunil ayya to make a proposal to her on my behalf?' He half suspected that Sunil ayya, the driver was a smart persuader.

May be he gave credence to prodigious lies the driver frequently told him. Not that it had not occurred to him several times to ask why he still remained a bachelor while he was such a potent persuader, but he could hardly muster enough courage to pose to him that blunt question since he knew that Sunil ayya could easily squelch him by impregnable arguments. 'What if I gave her a letter, a long persuasive love letter?

Wouldn't it be still better?'

He felt deeply amazed at the range of options left for him. Eventually he decided that it would be best for him to propose to her himself. 'A letter', he thought, 'wouldn't do because I have had virtually no experience in writing a love letter.'

Getting Sunil ayya or some other person to help him would not be very wise either since the broker might either bungle or deliberately disrupt the whole thing. 'This', he thought shrewdly, 'isn't a time for one to trust even one's very own parents.'

May be he looked upon these times as the Epoch of Incredulity, as did the famous English novelist Charles Dickens the time of French Revolution in the opening chapter of his highly praised, wonderful novel, 'A Tale of Two Cities.'

He also tried to surmise what her reaction was going to be. Albeit he was only too sure that she would happily accept his proposal, he still remembered what most guys often said: they said that a girl, even if she was happy to accept the offer, would first say 'No' upon being proposed to by a guy, and would give him her assent later on possibly after getting pressed for a 'Yes' a few times.

So, he expected no aberration from what was commonly known as the women's standard procedure of acceptance of guys' proposals. He was not at all reluctant to be a little patient and wait for an indefinite time over the courtship as he was confident that he was never going to lose her. Certainly, if a fellow knows he will really get what he loves most in the end, will he be worried overmuch about having to wait for a little while?

Janaka's heart was so full of hope now. 'Once she has said "Yes", he thought, 'I'll begin to treat her like a princess, like an angel.' Here he was not without a little hope that she too would reciprocate with affection and treat him like a king. 'If she wanted me to quit this job', he mulled in glee, 'then, I'd waste no time arguing with her, and would simply do as she wants me to do.'

Once she had accepted him, they were indeed going to prove all the pleasures. And here was a mortal in whom one might see all of Shakespeare's immortal lovers, Bassanio, Romeo, Ferdinand, Otherllo and also Tolstoy's Levin! Certainly, he was intent on making history. If the world's greatest lovers were to be ranked or rated and listed out, chances were not too slim that our hero would top the list.

It was close to 12.30 and they were now in Kuliyapitiya main bus-stand. And Janaka had nearly lost himself in one of those romantic reveries when Sunil ayya, the driver said, 'I think it's time we had lunch.' Startled Janaka looked as if in dismay at the other and asked, 'What did you say?' 'You were to engrossed in something else to hear what I told you, weren't you?', asked the other blandly.

Embarrassed, Janaka gave him a sheepish smile. 'I think it is high time we took lunch.' And together they began to walk to Ranliya hotel where they usually had their midday meal.

As they were nearing the film hall on their way to hotel, Janaka happened to see a couple among those emerging from the ciname. Not that it was at all unusual for two loves to come out of it at that moment; by the same token, they were not the only couple among those emerging from the film-hall.

What really dumbfounded him was his remembrance that the girl walking a couple of yards ahead of him was clad in the same dress that he had seen Achini wearing in the morning, an orange blouse and a tight black skirt.

Although he had not yet seen her lovely visage, he felt like a man who had just been dealt a heavy blow at the back of his head. Still, he was optimistic and wanted to believe it was not Achini but some other girl who was clad in the same dress as Achini, and who was of the same stature as her. it was on pretty reasonable grounds that he came to that conclusion.

Nevertheless, part of his mind constantly said much to his distress that the girl a few yards ahead of him was none but Achini. She was leaning on her lover's hand (Janaka was, however, not so stupid as to think that they were sister and brother) In spite of himself, he felt it was Achini, the girl of his dreams herself, that was strolling before him hand in hand with her lover.

'No, this is just a nightmarish illusion that I am seeing, and that girl can't be my Achini at all', he contradicted himself again and again in his mind.

With just two or three yards to the hotel as they overtook the couple he saw Achini, his angel staring into her lover's face. She did not see him as he averted his eyes the next instant. He felt his heart break into pieces as his fantasy world collapsed to the hard ground of reality.

Shortly a silent, dejected but disillusioned Janaka walked in to the hotel.

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Profile of a Scribe:

The vivid story teller from Chile: Isabel Allende

Isabel Allende was born in Lima, Peru to diplomat Tomas Allende, the Chilean ambassador to Peru and Francisca Llona Barros.

Tomas Allende was the first cousin of Salvador Allende, the President of Chile from 1970 to 1973. It is important to note that many sources also cite Isabel as Salvador Allende's niece, although most, if not all of these sources, do not state the relationship between Salvador and Tomas. In 1945, after Tomas "disappearance", Isabel's mother relocated with their three children to Chile, where they lived until 1953, moving briefly to Bolivia, then Lebanon.

The family returned to Chile in 1958 so that Allende could complete her secondary education.

Allende attended a number of private schools in Lebanon and Chile and was also briefly home-schooled. The young Isabel also read widely, particularly the works of William Shakespeare. In Chile she met her first husband Miguel Frias, whom she married in 1962.

From 1959 to 1965, Allende worked with the United Nation's Food and Agriculture Organization in Santiago, then later in Brussels, Belgium, and elsewhere in Europe.

For a brief while in Chile, she also had a job translating Romantic novels from English to Spanish.

However, she was fired for making unauthorized changes to the dialogue of the heroines to make them sound more intelligent as well as altering the Cinderella endings to let the heroines find more independence and do good in the world.

Her daughter Paula was born in 1963. In 1966, Allende returned to Chile, and her son Nicolas was born there that year.

Reportedly, "the CIA-backed military coup in 1973 that brought Augusto Pinochet to power changed everything for Allende because her name meant she was caught up in finding safe passage for those on the wanted lists helping until her mother and stepfather, a diplomat in Argentina, narrowly escaped assassination. When she herself was added to the list and began receiving death threats, she fled to Venezuela, where she stayed for 13 years.

During a visit to California in 1988, Allende met her second husband, attorney Willie Gordon. In 1994 she was awarded the Gabriela Mistral Order of Merit- the first woman to receive this honour. In 2003, Allende obtained United States citizenship and currently lives in San Francisco. Most of her family lives near her.

Beginning in 1967, Allende was on the editorial staff for Paula magazine, and from 1969 to 1974 for the children's magazine Mampato, where she later was the Editor. She published two children's stories, La Abuela Panchita (Grandmother Panchita) and Lauchas y Lauchones, as well as a collection of articles, Civilice a Su Troglodita. She also worked in Chilean television production for channels 7 (humorous programmes) and 13 from 1970 to 1974.

As a journalist, she once sought an interview with Pablo Neruda, a notable Chilean poet. Neruda declined, telling her she had too much imagination to be a journalist, and should be a novelist instead.

He also advised her to compile her satirical columns in book form. She did so, and this became her first published book. In 1973, Allende's play El Embajador played in Santiago, a few months before she was forced to flee the country due to the coup.

In Allende's time in Venezuela, she was a freelance journalist for El Nacional in Caracas from 1976-83 and an administrator of the Marrocco School in Caracas from 1979-83.

In 1981, when Allende learned that her grandfather, aged 99, was on his deathbed, she started writing him a letter that later evolved into a book manuscript, The House of the Spirits (1982). Allenda is quoted saying: "In January 8, 1981, I was living in Venezuela and I received a phone call that my beloved grandfather was dying.

I began a letter for him that later became my first novel, The House of The Spirits. It was such a lucky book from the very beginning, that I kept that lucky date to start. The intent of this work was to exorcise the ghosts of the Pinochet dictatorship.

The book was a great success; Allende was compared to Gabriel Garcia Marquez as an author of the style known as magical realism.

Allende's books have since become known for their vivid storytelling. Allende's trademark is the use of emotive words and phrases and, of course, the style of Magical Realism. Isabel also holds to a very methodical, some would say menacing, literary routine.

She writes using a computer, working Monday through Saturday, 9:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. "I always start on January 8," Allende stated; "a tradition she began in 1981.

Allende's book Paula (1995) is a memoir of her childhood in Santiago, and her years in exile. It was written in the form of a letter to her daughter Paula, who lay in a coma in the hospital. She died of porphyria in 1992.

Reportedly, Allende's impact on not only Latin American literature but also on world literature cannot be underestimated.

The Los Angeles Times has called Isabel Allende "a genius," and she has received many international awards, including the prestigious Dorothy and Lillian Gish Prize, granted to writers "who have contributed to the beauty of the world."

She is also the founder of the Isabel Allende Foundation, which is dedicated to supporting programmes that promote and preserve the fundamental rights of women and children to be empowered and protected."

She has been recently called a literary legend by Latino Leaders magazine, which named Allende as third most influential Latino leader in the world in their 2007 article. Allende's novels have been translated into 30 languages and sold more than 51 million copies.

She has three movies of her books currently in production-Aphrodite, Eva Luna and Gift for a Sweetheart. Her next book is a memoir, The Sum of Our Days.