The name Simon Britto Rodrigues is the one which stands fervidly engraved in the Kerala psyche, heart and soul. His storybook-life is on the dissection table of the medical students. He is referred to as the man who loved life to a great degree. His soul mate Seena metaphrases his life to the ‘one who loved life with unquenched fervour and passion’. Seena Bhaskar, his dear comrade in life is ferrying down the straits of memory, sitting in her house ‘Kayam’ which in literal sense approximates to the ‘depth’ at Vaduthala in Cochin, close to three weeks since her husband breathed last.
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This is a story told by Seena Bhasker, Britto ’s wife to Vinod Payam appeared in Deshabhimani dated Jan 20, Sunday 2019.
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The graceful automated wheel-chair looked askance at me as a forlorn figure, pleading; ’why I am being left alone. Britto wouldn’t leave me with such ease like changing apparel”. I caressed its arm with a white kerchief. The waft of the tender dust swept into my nose. It is three weeks, the passenger disembarked. When back as usual after switch-on, the mechanised chair accosted me as Britto does; “Seena, everything ready, No?’
Britto! Biji Hilal, our friend dropped in yesterday. She came weeping, pale as paper with a tender coconut in one hand. She said you had been vivid in her dream!! The girl, who wouldn’t even see her mother in her dreams, was weary and devastated, talking with you in the witching hours. Britto chided her in the dream; “Nilavu craves for the tender coconut. Why don’t you take it for her?” I laughed at the fallacy wondering as to how on earth, could a fervent materialist like him, could show up in her dream!
Britto! You don’t forget to care Nilavu’. Do you? Didn’t you ditch the darned thrift on me when Nilavu came amongst us? Do you recollect; when we started life I asked for 5 rupees to buy a rose stem, you mercilessly cared no two hoots making me cry out like bamboos creak. Certainly, I do!! The last 20 days, Nilavu and I are shrouded fathoms deep in your memory. She would ask for the Abba. The nervous queries of the girl in the Vth class drown me in the dire straits of grief. She, knee-high to a grasshopper, would wipe my eyes in a way as if come of age, console me: “Amma, Abba is with us here.”
Britto ‘walked back to life from certain death’ sharp 35 years ago on Oct 14th when he clenched back his life from them. After 10 years and a day, we were married, till then we were friends. Our relation blossomed not with intent to become partners in life. It so happened. The friendship led to the nuptials on the culmination of my desire to remain his friend forever. Those days I remember him asking me “Seena, Do you vouch that our friendship would endure if you were married to another man? “ It was because I was serious-minded to remain in the shade of his life that I pulled out of the campus and my relatives to enjoy the half slice of his distressed life.
Now in this huge vacuum, how gracious were our journey and our days that spun with love for life. I had never seen a man with such tenacity to stick on to one’s life. The happiness you enjoy, given one moment more- vanished like a line drawn by a chock, so suddenly and mercilessly. When I was away on an errant at Patna, Nalanda university, you were on an eternal journey from Thrissur. Why was it? I was at Nalanda to bring Arjun Das to Kerala. Didn’t you tell us to rummage the library to find the travel accounts in India of Xuanzang, the scholar and traveller? Didn’t you wish to make such journeys as early as 2012? How will we go now? Who would write a book on the experience of such a tour? How I could read that book, enthralled, flummoxed and speechless? With whom Nilavu would quench her curiosities?
When the sourness grew in our private lives, we have shifted to a newly built house at Vaduthala. To reflect the profundity of his thought, he christened it “Kayam”.When the baby came there, she became our “Nilavu” (literal sense ‘the soft, silvery moonbeam’) Nilavu, our little daughter did not make a fuss, never imposed herself and was discreet enough to know that our life was the incessant journey of troubles and turbulence. As early in her sixth month, she would be on all fours and help him when the book slipped or when his plates fell. Even as a toddler, she didn’t give a whimper to make sure not to trouble us. Only now after being grown up like her sober father, she has turned to whine, grizzle or groan.
Britto was worried as Malayalam is not taught as a subject in central school curricula. He taught her the language by purchasing the Soviet children books. Britto taught his Dukka-as she calls her- the candy-like Malayalam laying her on the chest. Both were crazy about football. It was sitting on the wheel-chair that Britto dreamt of the vast play areas of life. Britto was a fan of Portugal while Nilavu was fanatic about Brazil. I stood in between their long arguments as a crappy referee, tired and taunted, who knew no ground rules.
Nilavu loved to travel with us. Britto often wondered that not many children at this age would have partaken in such arduous journey to Himalaya. Britto had always wished to travel unplanned and hassle free. His final exit was unprepared and undecorated leaving no cue. He believed that the travels should not be aimless. It should be like an uncomfortable journey in a general compartment. Reaching out for the references of the places he visited he would say; “Learn about the places where you go, if necessary write on it”
‘Britto’s wife’ is not an appellation or an epithet that we both liked. We were friends and comrades. Whenever his masculine supremacy lay bare, I would remind him; ” Britto ! No.” The response would be an amorous and disarming smile. He was a good listener- which I felt was his great plus. He would talk hours together with the fisher-women. He would listen attentively to their miseries, keep an umbrella over their miseries and find solutions. I would swipe at him; ”Who that Britto !! Was she your old fancier? The quick rejoinder is shot back; “Not that Seena. It is great to feel their pleasure when they find someone to listen-somebody who cares them. I have watched that trait in him while he was an MLA. Britto’s intervention had paved the way for the increased attention of Kerala to the problems of specially-abled people. The ramp constructed in the Kerala assembly was after his mediation. Britto moved a bill in the assembly for constructing a graveyard for the castles and religion less who die sans the funeral ceremonies. It was rejected. He was also concerned with what will happen to him after death. After Abhimanue’s murder, the concern had scaled up. He entrusted me to provide his body for the medical college and avoid the wreathe and such other post-death rituals. The only thing he desired was a party flag on his body, which I passed off as black humour, to happen after a long passage of time.
Britto had planted a passion fruit in the front yard. When Nilavu reaches her 7th class its canopy would spread over the garden. The mango tree, not far, that gives fruits for all seasons would grow to bring the fruits by then. The picture of a father and his daughter- together they peal a mango and relish its taste!! It is an unfinished art. Britto left us for the immortal journey leaving the palette over to me. I want to finish the painting. There is a huge vacuum in my heart now-the void left behind by the shock when the giant tree fell. Britto would never allow me to keep the vacuum unfilled!! New sprouts would never cease to evolve from beneath the fallen trunk. Britto! Let the yellow passion with lush green and dense canopy flourish that is nurtured between us. My daughter and I would bash in the moonlight- in the twilights sitting under the shadow.
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