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Short story:
The envelope
Jayashantha Jayawardhana
Mr. Aruna surveyed the narrow road skirting his homegarden from his
verandah, wondering why the nuptial cavalcade of Mr. Jayanath, a
colleague of his, was taking so much time to reach there. It was the
latter’s home-coming. And he had been invited to the function well
beforehand at the school where both of them taught Mathematics.
Mr. Jayanath lived in his ancestral home about two kilometres down
the road from Mr. Aruna’s, so his nuptial procession was bound to take
that road unless he were to charter a private jet for the momentous
event. ‘ Should he hire a private jet’, he thought facetiously,’ he
would prate about it for years to come!’
He was already clad in his Sunday best - a long sleeved white shirt
with blue stripes, and a pair of pitch-black trousers with a
well-burnished pair of expensive black shoes which he had just bought
for this important occasion.
Letting up his search, he went back into the house and looked up at
the clock on the wall which marked time as 11.10 a.m. ‘It’s still a
little too early for the nuptial supper...’, he said to himself and
returned to the verandah to resume his watch. It was his plan to follow
it, partake of the supper and return home at the earliest possible
moment. Not that he was particularly tied up that day, but he was a sort
of recluse, preferring solitude to company. Perhaps, his dislike for the
company of people stemmed from the fact that he did not have the
horse-sense that most people are born with.
Further, he was strikingly unhandsome-a tall, gaunt guy with a dark
complexion and a head out of proportion with the rest of his body. He
was so short-sighted that he constantly wore a pair of spectacles. His
foibles multiplied by his lack of commonsense and, more prominently, by
his unsteady gait were constantly ridiculed by some of his spiteful
friends and neighbours.
Presently, he saw the nuptial cavalcade negotiating the bend some 20
yards from his vantage point. Heading the rest of the procession was a
land-master bedecked with wreaths of wild-flowers, pennants cut out of
colourful polythene, balloons, stripes of ribbon and so on and so forth.
A seat that looked like a throne was placed on the trailer, where the
newly-weds were seated. Because he had already heard about this latest
addition to nuptial rituals, he was not surprised or disturbed by it.
Also, he knew at present it was regarded as important a part of a
wedding as climbing to the Poruwa.
On his bicycle he followed the nuptial procession at a safe distance.
Dressed like a bank executive, he knew he cut a ridiculous figure upon
his ramshackle bicycle that creaked beneath his weight, so wanted keep
himself out of the sight of those inside the last van in the procession.
On his way to Mr. Jayanath’s, he bumped into quite a few
acquaintances, and although he gave each of them a sheepish smile, he
was rather afraid lest they should enquire about the purpose of his ride
just before the mid-noon, because even the dumbest villager rarely chose
this time of the day to go on a pleasure-ride. However, he was spared
the blushes on that account since each one of them seemed to be
perfectly satisfied with a smile from him.
He halted his bicycle and dismounted from it a few houses from Mr.
Jayanath’s, his sense of pride forbidding him from riding further. He
asked permission from an occupant in the first house he found to park it
there. The benign woman nodded in approval as soon as he’d asked.
As he got nearer still, he saw Mr. Jayanath’s home garden swarming
with guests who still continued to pour in from the open gate like a
nest of disturbed termites. He wondered if he would be able to find some
place to seat himself.
Nonetheless, once he had stepped into the convivial home garden of
Mr. Jayanath, he saw several of his female colleagues sitting around a
plastic table, sheltered by a gigantic umbrella. As soon as they made
out him, they beckoned him to their table. He thought it wise to join
them rather than be seated by himself at a vacant table and end up with
a party of strangers. But, before long he became bored by their
incessant feminine prattle. After a short while, he recognized three of
his male colleagues sipping booze sitting at a table, placed in an
inconspicuous, shady corner in the garden, and walked over to them.
Although he was a teetotaller, at the moment, he formed a sudden liking
for them perhaps in spite of himself.
Shortly afterwards, he, along with Mr. Ranjith went to the hut where
the buffet was being served and helped themselves to a delicious nuptial
buffet-fried rice, fried chicken, tuna fish, jumbo prawns, potato,
brinjal salad, dhal, noodles, cutlet and some other dishes.
Having finished his lunch before his friend, he went to clean his
hands, drink some water and help himself to some ice-cream served as
dessert.
As soon as he washed his cup and placed it on the table where some 50
empty cups were disposed, he saw a big heppuwa covered with betel leaves
upon which lay some twenty envelopes. When he examined them closely, he
found them void. ‘Surely’, he thought to himself, ‘they must have been
put here for the guests to leave their nuptial boons to the newly-weds!’
He guessed so because he himself had seen his father placing his
envelopes upon a heppuwa adorned with betel leaves at several weddings
where the latter had accompanied him when he was very young. So without
thinking twice, he pulled out the envelope containing a note of Rs.
1,000 from his trouser pocket and placed it on the heppuwa. And he had
not forgotten to scribble his name on it as he had seen his father
doing.
But, once he had seated himself back at the table where his friend,
Mr. Ranjith was still polishing off his plate and the other two were
still busy with cups and bottles, doubt began to assail him almost with
the force of a tidal wave and stagger him out of his wits. Was it
sensible that I left my envelope there?’ he wandered. What if someone
else picked it up? It was true that there were some envelopes: but it
was equally true that no one else had deposited their envelopes there.
So what was the guarantee that his gift was safe there? Now he was more
than sure that he had made a monumental blunder.
Shortly, he was able to rally his wits enough to ask Mr. Ranjith
almost casually, ‘where should we leave our envelopes, dear?’ ‘I think’,
the other answered, ‘we’d better hand them to the bridegroom himself!’
He was so startled by his friend’s reply that he felt his facial muscles
twitch.
Maybe Mr. Ranjith also detected the sudden change that came over the
other’s face and could see that something was amiss, ‘Why did you ask
that?’ ‘No, it’s nothing. I just asked’, stammered Mr. Aruna, torn
between reason and prided, ‘ I mean, you know, I kind of placed my
envelope on the heppuwa,near the portico over there...’ He pointed in
the direction of the portico and added, ‘Maybe it’s still there!’ It was
that he just hoped it was still there, not that he believed he would
find it there. Ok, do let’s go and see whether it’s still there, ‘Mr.
Ranjith rose from his chair and picked up his plate.
Mr. Aruna, as a matter of fact, was less surprised than disturbed
when he found his envelope disappeared. Soon, his imagination began to
run riot as a weird wave of highly embarrassing possibilities rose on
the turbulent sea of his heart.
What will Mr, Jayanath say when he has found out that he he’d just
eaten and lift? How uncivil, how mean was it for a man to do such a
thing in the eyes of the censorious society? How glad will they, his
malicious friends and neighbours be to learn about such a juicy scandal
and spread it? Will he still be able to hold his head erect and walk
tall when his students have got the wind of this scandalous news?
While Mr. Aruna was busy considering those dreadful possibilities,
his practical friend hailed Mr. Lankajith, a fellow staffer who was busy
serving drinks to the guests. ‘Machan, Aruna had left his envelope here
some 15 minutes ago, but it’s gone missing now: we wonder if someone
took it away?’ ‘Don’t worry, machan, I’ll try to figure out what
happened to it’, said Mr. lankajith reassuringly, ‘maybe Sunil ayya
moved ut ti safer place...’ Mr. Aruna was scarcely comforted by his
reassurance and felt uneasy even as he went to bed that night.
The following morning, beside the Principal’s office he ran into Mr.
Lankajith, who said with a grin, ‘Your envelope was found, dear, intact,
I can, if you want, tell you the exact amount contained in it!’
Presently, it occurred to him that there was the possibility that the
person who’d taken away his envelope could have replaced his note of
Rs.1,000 perhaps with a note of Rs.500 or even less.
And he thought it wise not to have his doubts clarified any further. |
