Brown-Eyed Girl

By Priyanka Mohan

Chandru was a truck driver from a small town in Tamil Nadu. Unskilled and educated till class four, jobs were more limited than his resources and thus left him with very few options. As a truck driver, loneliness was his faithful companion, and while he travelled like a bird, he longed to be rooted like a tree. To have a stable existence, a definitive home. Instead what he got was miles of highways with a sullen partner who did nothing to lift his spirits.

Having been a truck driver for over five years now, he thought he had seen it all. Aggression at checkpoints, greasy notes changing greasier hands, bathrooms unworthy of usage, accidents with blood painting the roads a crimson red.

But he’d never, in all his 24 years, seen anything like what he saw in April 2020.

Deserted streets, shuttered shops, doors and windows shut tight. He’d heard plenty of English but there were some words everywhere now he’d never heard before. COVID-19. Lockdown. Social distancing. Coronavirus, an invisible terror. He hadn’t known what to make of the hullaballoo and assumed it was all a storm in a teacup, and that it too would pass without a fuss.

But then one fateful day the virus made its way into his lungs. It caused his body to start shivering uncontrollably, his nose to become blocked so it couldn’t fulfil its singular purpose of breathing, and his head to throb constantly.

The only thing that made it worse was this boy from Kotagiri, Tamil Nadu was stuck in Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, in a sea of strangers.

Forced to remain confined to his truck as people turned away as soon as he coughed, he was terribly sick and famished in a couple of days. His partner in the truck deserted him, petrified, and instead began an arduous journey of trying to reach home on foot instead of staying in a strange city for an unknown amount of time. There was no food, barely any water, nobody to care for him. He was alone, infected with Covid, and longing to be home.

Being a trucker entailed being away from his family for long stretches of time. With a menial wage, he eked out a living and hoped to one day get married, have a family and live without constantly being worried about money. Now, nearly 2000 km away from his family, he entertained the thought that he may die completely alone without fulfilling those desires. I need to go home, he gasped, even if I have to walk too. He stepped out of his truck. Then the world went black as he fainted.

Fever dreams. Flashes of light, snippets of sound. Arguments? Strong hands lifting him, a wet towel on his forehead. A musical, sweet voice. A white ceiling. A mattress on a cool floor. Khichdi being spooned into his slack mouth. Faces flickering in and out. A pair of light brown eyes looking at him with a kindness he was unaccustomed to. Another pair of eyes looking at him askance. ‘When will you go?’ they seemed to ask. Chandru flitted in and out of consciousness as his lungs tried to eject a foreign object, clinging to whatever bits of reality he could.

After a couple of days, once he regained some strength, he saw that it was a woman who looked after him. She was tall, strong and had the lightest brown eyes he’d ever seen, like her eyes contained a bit of the sun. A large cloth was perpetually tied tight around her face as a mask leaving the covered part to his imagination. She cleaned his room, washed his clothes, and cooked for him. She was a good cook. His palate, partial to the distinct flavours from his region gladly took to what she made. She always made it a point to ask how he was, her soft voice washing over him, concern shining from her eyes. He felt a swell of gratitude every time he saw her and soon developed a fondness for her. He found her attractive, caring yet pragmatic, involved yet apart, gentle yet firm. There were just two problems – blood-red kumkum that shone in her hair, and a mangalsutra that flashed from her throat.

His capable and caring benefactor for whom he was steadily developing strong feelings was a married woman.

But the heart wants what it wants and it dares to defy logic. It couldn’t be persuaded to stop beating faster or skipping in delight when she was there. Chandru was a simple man and his feelings were like him, uncomplicated. He would wake up in the morning and try to catch glimpses of her as often as he could. Each time he saw her, bangles twinkling in the sun as she walked outside, her eyes crinkling above her mask as he thanked her for food, her long plait swishing as she cleaned his room, his blood sang. He asked her name but didn’t understand the murmur through her mask. So he’d always think of her as a kind, beautiful, brown-eyed girl who healed him.

After a month, when his recovery was complete, he was told by her husband in no uncertain terms to go. Chandru was loathe to leave her. Very few people in his life had spoken to him, much less helped him, with such kindness. People of a good nature were few and far between and in all his journeys he never met another woman like her. Patient and poised. Strong and soothing. Companionable and compassionate. She refused to take the little money he could offer while parting. Saying goodbye to her was agony. He hid his anguish and boarded a refugee bus, not looking back. And off he went, taking all his love with him.

On reaching his sobbing mother and worried family, he announced to their relief that he was ready to become a bus driver. No more truck journeys. His family was thrilled but didn’t see the sadness he hid as he turned away.

Around two years later his mother began to ask him about marriage. She was baffled when he shook his head firmly, saying ‘No marriage amma,’ with no explanation. ‘Just see the girls,’ she said, handing him photos. He rejected all of them to his mother’s chagrin. ‘You won’t get a good girl if you keep waiting,’ she snapped, face dark like a monsoon cloud. He ignored her and proceeded to ignore the rest of his family and friends who urged him to seek marital bliss.

One day he saw 3-4 photos on the dining table and was about to walk past. Then he noticed the last photo. He gaped, his heart nearly stopping. He picked up the photo carefully, looking into the girl’s eyes, seeing nothing else.

‘Is she okay?’ his mother asked hopefully.

Chandru nodded dumbly. His family rejoiced but he didn’t hear them. He was lost in the photo, staring into the eyes of his future bride, light brown eyes with a hint of sunshine, that would forever remind him of a brown-eyed girl he’d always love.

By Priyanka Mohan