Noor

I stopped the bike. Vimala got down. She craned her neck to look up at the big board.

“Noor’s Inn”

“So! This is the place you’ve been going on and on about?” She said, looking at me. I smiled.

We walked in. Vimala seemed to like the place. Of course, most people like this place, far away from the city and the milling crowds. Calm and quiet.

We walked into one of the huts and sat down at the table.

“Such a lovely place. Why didn’t you bring me here earlier?” Vimala asked.

“Madam, this is the first time you have agreed to come with me so far on my bike,” I clarified.

As we were talking, Nazeer bhai came by. We exchanged greetings, and I made formal introductions. “Vimala, this is Nazeer bhai. The whole and soul of Noor’s Inn.”

Smiling, he greeted Vimala and said, “We haven’t met before, but I have heard a lot about you.”

“Nazeer bhai is like an elder brother to me,” I told Vimala.

He sat with us for some time, and then got up. “I forgot I’m the host here! What would you like?”

“Pineapple juice.”

He looked at me. “The regular, right?” I nodded.

While leaving, Nazeer bhai turned and said, “Noor has been asking for you everyday. Don’t go today without meeting her.”

I could see a question posing itself on Vimala’s face. “I will.”

Noor was Nazeer bhai’s 12-year-old daughter. Nazeer bhai had found her on the streets when she was around 3 months old. For Nazeer bhai, who didn’t have a child after almost 15 years of marriage, she was God’s gift.

I kept on talking, mostly about Noor. In the past 3 years, an amazing bond had developed between me, Noor, and Nazeer bhai.

Sipping her pineapple juice, Vimala proved to be a good listener. “Your coffee is getting cold.”

The conversation then veered towards Vimala’s project, her venture into documentary direction, her longtime dream. She was doing a documentary on Indian orphanages.

While Vimala was talking, I heard a loud call from the back. “Bhaiyya!” Before I could turn, she was behind my chair, hugging me from behind. Then came in front, her face puckered in mock anger: “Where were you all these days?”

I turned to Vimala and said, “See? Even you don’t question me like this!” Only then did Noor look at my companion. Realization dawned on her face. “You are Vimala bhabhi, right?” Vimala nodded.

They spoke for some time. They got into each others company easily, while I tried to finish my cold, dead coffee latte.

Noor turned to me, “Bhaiyya, you have not seen the drawings I’ve made in last two weeks.” I nodded. “I’ll bring them,” she beamed, and ran out.

Vimala said, “She is such a lovely girl. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

“I know. I also can’t take my eyes off her. But one day she will have to go and we won’t be able to see her any more.”

Vimala look at me quizzically.

“Last year, she was diagnosed with a heart problem.”

I could see the shock spread on Vimala’s pleasant face.

I continued, “Doctors say it’s a miracle that she has lived to this age.”

It took some time for Vimala to speak. “Does she know about this?”

“Yes.”

Noor came running with the drawings. She had amazing talent with the brush, especially portraits.

I faked an expression of complaint, “You still have not made my portrait.”

“I will, Bhaiyya. Soon.”

Noor looked at Vimala. As much as Vimala tried to put on a smile, there was no mistaking the effort.

Noor turned to me and asked, “You told her, didn’t you?” I nodded. We both looked at Vimala.

Tears were now freely flowing down her face.

There was silence for some time.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be with you, bhaiya, abba jan and ammijan always.” Noor’s tone was firm, none of the childishness evident.

While leaving, Nazeer bhai accompanied us to the parking area.

“God only knows how long. I can’t imagine the days without her. She’s the reason we live for.”

I could see that his eyes were bereft of all hope.

---

Vimala was silent throughout the journey back. I didn’t feel like igniting a conversation either.

Before dropping her off in front of her hostel, she reminded me about the shooting that was to commence two weeks later. She was a one-woman crew, and I was to be her transporter to the location. I had promised to take her to the old Church where they run an orphanage. The priest had agreed for the documentary to be shot after two weeks.

I put a reminder on my mobile for the previous day.

--

The mobile rang to wake me up. It was Vimala.

“Are you still sleeping, you lazy bum?” Her voice came through clearly through the mobile, clearing the cobwebs of sleep.

“What time is it?”, I asked. “Nearly 7.”

“The shoot is only day after tomorrow, right?” The indirect question was evident in my tone. “Why the heck are you waking me up so early today?”

“Yes, but you get to office early these two days and finish your work, so that you don’t have any excuse to offer when we have to go.

“Yes madam"

--

On the way back from office, I went to my regular cabbie and booked a taxi for the next day to go to the church. As I reached my apartment’s gate, my mobile rang. It was Nazeer bhai. I could feel the quiver in his voice.

“Noor suddenly complained of pain, and we brought her to the hospital.”

I cut him off. “I’m on my way.” I called up Vimala and asked her to meet me at the hospital gate.

--

There were many empty seats in the corridor outside the operation theatre, but Nazeer bhai and his wife were standing.

I could see the same dried eyes, which said it all. Lacking the courage to ask questions, I also joined them, standing there, waiting for someone to come through that ominous-looking door.

After an hour or so, the doctor came out. His demeanor spoke volumes, more than any word he could speak.

“That miracle is over. I am sorry.”

Again, I didn’t have the courage to look at Nazeer bahi. As much as Noor’s parting, Nazeer bhai’s life ahead too was worrying.

--

No one spoke on the way back from the cemetery. Vimala kept her hand on mine, which I found more comforting than anything she could say.

Nazeer bhai broke the overpowering silence. “On our way to hospital, she kept on saying that she hadn’t yet made bhaiya’s portrait.

My thoughts were rambling … sometimes in life, some promises don’t get fulfilled, not that architect of a promise does not want it to. Maybe God’s way of ensuring we don’t forget the promise or the architect…

Vimala’s hand tightened on mine. She was the lone comfort in this moment of torment.

--

The taxi came as scheduled, at 6am sharp. I hadn’t slept much, but was ready by then. Climbing in, I gave the driver the direction to Vimala’s hostel. She was waiting for us at the gate, camera in one hand and laptop in the other.

“You could have got us something to eat, instead of this laptop,” I wheedled her. “The battery won’t last anyway!”

“Relax, boss!” She opened her backpack for me. It was packed. “Don’t I know you well?”

We reached the church gate in a couple of hours. On passing the gate, the church became visible. Something stirred inside me. I looked intently at the tall church building. A rather large banyan tree towered over the church nave, almost as tall as the spire.

When we stepped out of the car, a nice breeze was blowing, as if to welcome us. The driver went off to park. I turned and looked at the church again. I was getting a sense of déjà vu. I had definitely seen this church before this...

Vimala was briefing me about how she was going to shoot and all, but my mind was elsewhere, in search mode. Where could I have seen this church before? I was coming here for the first time.

Then?

Vimala kept on talking, saying that this was her dream project and that she would take any pain to do it well.

Suddenly it hit me, like a winding punch in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I had seen this church! In some forgotten hour of the night, in some vague folds of my sleepy memories … in my dreams … yes, I had seen this church in many of my recent dreams!

I had read somewhere that our dreams show us the unseen, the future. My dreams were pointers to a future moment … to this moment! I realized with a shudder.

Vimala was walking to the church door, and I went in tow, my eyes reflecting the dazzle my mind was in. Soon, I could, however, sense some measure of calm setting in. I was finding my feet again.

The priest welcomed us. After breakfast, Vimala changed to professional mode, arranging for the shoot. She found a nice place near the banyan tree.

“Here is the camera. All settings made. Just point and shoot. Remember, this is professional stuff.” Her eyes held a twinkle as she passed me the camcorder.

I shot this and that, and then focused on Vimala’s interview of the priest. Vimala’s questions were a fair reflection of her genuine curiosity, and I was beginning to think we were doing pretty well. Professional shooting and all that. The priest seemed extremely happy with all the sudden attention his setup was about to receive.

“So, father, when was the last time you got a kid for the orphanage,” Vimala asked.

“Just two days back. It was raining heavily, and we heard the bell ring at around midnight. When we opened the door, we saw that a newborn child had been deposited at our door.”

I took my eyes off from the video display and looked at priest directly.

“We caught a fleeting glimpse of someone running out of the gate. Of course, no one here thought of giving pursuit. We take every child as His gift.” The cleric raised his hands toward the cross atop the church.

I couldn’t resist. “How old is the baby, father?”

“Maybe a day or or two. Or maybe she was born earlier that day. It is difficult to tell.”

Vimala had first looked at me with exasperation at being interrupted, but the strangeness in my voice arrested her words.

“It is a girl...” I whispered. Vimala was looking into my eyes.

Our eyes spoke.

“Father, can we see the baby girl?”

“Of course. Come, follow me.”

He took us inside, walking along the tall corridors.

The baby was sleeping. I took her into my arms. She seemed peaceful enough.

We walked slowly to the prayer hall. Vimala walked behind me, stroking the baby’s tiny fist, and trying to kiss it.

I looked up at the figure of Jesus Christ, arms stretched to embrace the world, all its kindness and all its vice. “Now I know why I was dreaming of this church.” I said in my mind.

Vimala stood next to me, continuing her ministrations. She then leaned forward and whispered,

“Noor.”

Noor was right. She hadn’t gone anywhere. She was with us, and would be.

Always…