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MJR's final journey!!! 

MISTAKES, SADNESS, LIFE AND -------- LOVE!!!

Investigations, recriminations, abominations, suicidal notions, all of these and more, filled Michaels next few days. He stopped after his "loving cousin" Joyce told him what happened. His heart ached for Janice. She refused to talk to him and her family stood by her. He missed his friend Rudy. What had he done? How could he make it all better? The answer was that he couldn’t, at least not now. He had his work. So with nothing to keep him in Royapuram, he decided to go back to Bangalore.

He applied himself to his studies all week and started going out with the lads at weekends. Bangalore was a "Wet State" and Michaels introduction to Booze, was something he would recall to his children and heck, even to his grand children. They started off at the grog (arrack) shop in Russell Market. A couple of shots, each topped up with a fizzy orange drink. The place was jumping. Standing next to him, with a glassful of the stuff, was the vegetable woman from the market. She was having her usual, after work, slug, on her way home. At the entrance, on either side of the door, were two food stalls. On a huge frying pan, around the edges, were boiled duck's eggs, ready to be cut in half and fried up with some masala'ed onions. --- Very popular. There were pieces of meat that were unidentifiable, but oooh they were so tasty. But the best were the kebabs, on a skewer, roasted over a "cigree", served piping hot in a "potlum". (a newspaper cup). From there, they piled into a couple of autos and went to Brigade road and got off opposite Basco's Bar.

Sitting at the front door to the bar, was an old watchman. He was dressed in the brown uniform of a rebel American soldier. With a huge cowboy hat, crossed belts and a holster at his hip and a riding crop stuck in his patent leather riding boots, smoking a long black cheroot.  Michael by now was a bit tipsy, and the two of them locked eyes. "Wa-tcher-lookin'at boy? said the soldier. "You" said Michael, the booze making him brave. "What’s your name uncle? The old man stood up slowly, all six foot three of him and said. "My name is Gunboat Jack, and you'd better behave yourself, because you're drunk." Michael gulped. "Sorry Sir", he said, and snuck in through the door. The bar was dimly lit. The four of them ordered Rum and Coke each and sat in the corner, on some padded chairs. It was too quiet for them.  They finished their drinks and asked the barman, if there was another place they could go to for a drink.

At "Greens Bar" they were served by the owner Mr Naidu.(half blind, with soda water bottle glasses) By now they were really "half cut" and were becoming a bit loud. They were asked to leave and walked down Brigade Road to Breeze hotel, where they had Mutton Bhuna with a couple of Ceylon Paratha each. Feeling good, they crossed the road and went into Rex Cinema to see Cliff Richard in "The Young Ones". The adverts finished, followed by the” News Reel".(all about the unrest on the borders up north) As the cartoons started, Michael felt his stomach heave and broke out in a cold sweat.

Suddenly he Vomited, all over the person sitting in front of him. That guy just went mad, the four of them ran out of the theatre, and were chased up brigade road, by a gang of really angry, very noisy men. They would have got caught, when suddenly as they reached Basco's, they ran into Gunboat Jack, standing on the pavement. He pushed the four of them into the bar and faced the gang chasing them. "Alright, alright, break it up, off you go, hey you, that’s enough I said". Mumbling amongst themselves they walked of back to the cinema. The old boxer smiled to himself "Just like the old days". He thought, as he sat down on his stool.  Michael never left his room the whole of the next day, Saturday. There was only one thought going round and round, in his hung-over brain. "I swear I will never drink again. I swear I will never drink again!"

Back in Madras, Janice threw herself into her job, if she went out at all; it was with her co workers at the British council. Rudy was the one who seemed to suffer most from this whole sad affair. His parents were paying for his masters and although he never had to struggle to study anything, he put in extra work. He needed something to take the place of the emptiness he felt in his being.

India and China had differences and so did India and Pakistan. This was the year that things started hotting up and the armed forces started recruiting, offering "emergency commissions" to young AI men who were educated up to a certain standard. Rudy signed up. He ticked all the boxes, and within a month he was in The Indian Air Force as a Pilot Officer. At Secundrabad Air Force Base, he would be taught how to fly in three months. He was good. The stories of the skill and bravery of the Anglo Indian, fighter pilots, during that dark period in India's history is legend. After three months Rudy qualified as a Pilot and was assigned to fly a MIG, the Russian built fighter.

Michael in Bangalore heard from home, that Rudy had joined up and explored the possibility of joining up also. His bosses told him that if war with China became a serious possibility, with his engineering skills, he would be forced to join up anyway. So he stayed.

Janice's family were thinking about leaving India. Australia was opening up. Her dad was nearing retirement age and would get a huge amount of money from his "Provident Fund". At 53 he was still young enough to find a good job and start a new life. Things were all changing around the community. Young men coming out of school were finding it increasingly hard to get a job. The girls seem to be doing well; after all, they were good looking, reliable, full of life, and fantastic shorthand typists. Their country needed them. But still, the movement gathered momentum. You've never seen a community of people leave a country so fast. People were going to Canada, England (the mother country??) and Australia.

Rudy was posted to the front, straight into active duty. Flying sortees against Pakistani pilots. These were dangerous times, the Indian Pilots were infinitely better and quite a few Pakistanis got shot down. The reputations of the Anglo Indian fighter pilots grew. Honours at the highest level, were bestowed upon them and when on leave they were treated like celebrities, wherever they went. Rudy was having a ball. He really loved flying. Now and then in his quiet moments he thought about Michael and Janice. He loved them and missed them so much.

He was off duty one day  and was in the 'Mess' playing a game of billiards, with one of his colleagues, when a call came out for all pilots, off duty and active, to report to the opps room, for a briefing. There was some very heavy fighting near Kashmir and our Jawans were taking a terrible hiding. They had decided to send in the "Canberra Bombers" and needed the MIGS to escort them. Rudy with five other pilots would go out in the last wave.

He did all his checks, and climbed into the cockpit. This mission promised to be quite busy, and he was really looking forward to it. All six of them taxied out to the end of the runway. Their take-off routine was well rehearsed. They all started together, staggered, three on the left, three on the right. As they became airborne, they performed a spectacular manoeuvre. They rose very sharply and together they peeled away, alternately, to the left and to the right. But something was not right. They were all supposed to level off and shoot off into the sky. But, one plane was not pulling out of the turn, and was plainly in trouble. It was Rudy, desperately fighting the controls. The plane was not responding. His training kicked in "Eject! Eject!" screaming in his brain. He did! Relief as he heard the canopy detach and the noise of the rushing air. He was shot out of the cockpit, and suddenly he was tumbling, through the air. It seemed forever, waiting for the parachute to deploy. Tumbling, tumbling. "Where was that bloody parachute?.

He was still alive when the Medics got to him, but he was mortally broken.  Later, the medic who held Rudy remarked that he was smiling and crying at the same time. Rudy died quickly and peacefully.

OUR LIFE, OUR WORLD.

Michael was on the Madras mail. He was too late to book a sleeper, but gave the attendant a backhander and got a bottom berth in a reserved compartment. He was going back to Royapuram again. This time it was with a heart that was filled with guilt and pain. He rolled out his hold-all, with the intention of getting some sleep. But sleep was going to be very elusive tonight. Without him realising it, tears were streaming down his face. Recriminations, regrets, utter sadness and despair filled his mind and heart. He gave in and broke down, sobbing, big, gut wrenching, sobs.  A pair of comforting arms held him and Michael cried and cried. "Are you alright now?" said a cultured, Indian voice. He opened his tear filled eyes and saw a Brahmin man. He had a half shaven head, with newly applied, bright saffron, white and red caste marks on his forehead. His face was gentle and concerned, with eyes that were kind. His face was young, but his "vitchu kudimi" (Hair, tied at the back of his head) was grey. "Yes Sir, said Michael, Thank you, I'll be fine".

But he wasn’t, and felt he had to explain. "My best friend has died, this came today". He said, and from his pocket he pulled out a black outlined telegram. He gave it to the Brahmin. It read.  "DEAR MICHAEL-stop-I AM SORRY TO TELL YOU -stop-RUDY CRASHED HIS PLANE -stop- DIED OF HIS INJURIES-stop-THE FUNERAL MADA CHURCH 4 PM FRIDAY-stop-PLEASE COME-stop-JANICE."  The Brahmin looked at him closely and said. "There’s more, yes? Do you want to talk about it?” When Michael did not answer, he continued. "My name is Krishna. What’s your name?" He put his hand on Michaels shoulder. "Please tell me your name". Michael turned to face him, and with tear-filled eyes he said. "Michael".

By now the train had reached Bowringpet, and Michael was still telling Krishna his story, about his Friends Janice and Rudy. Krishna let him talk. When he finished, Krishna said," You and I have met for a reason Michael, and now I know what it is.----------- I have a message for you."
No one is to blame for Rudy's death, Michael. He went away and joined the Air Force, because, he had his destiny to fulfil. He had to deal with his own demons.  But you are alive and still have your destiny to fulfil. By dying, Rudy has brought you and Janice together again. You must honour that. Yes, you will miss his existence, you must remember him, but mostly you must thank him. Yes you hurt Janice badly, but she loved you before.  Ask her to forgive you. Your combined grief for the loss of your friend Rudy will be a balm for the damage your mistrust did. Your love for each other will flourish and you will have a good life."

They both lay down on their berths, to get some sleep. Michael slept fitfully, with a dream like awareness of the rocking motion and the clatter-clak, noise of a speeding train. He was an Anglo Indian on a train. No problem was too big, or insurmountable. Slowly his mind and his heart, agreed a plan of action, to win back Janice’s love. After all he had his destiny to fulfil.

The two travellers promised to keep in touch, as they said their goodbyes at Madras Central Station. Krishna to go off to Poonamalee and Michael to Royapuram. Krishna said "Remember my friend. In the end, nothing matters except how you enjoy the magic of life and what you do to help others enjoy it too."

Everybody came to say goodbye to one of Royapuram's favourite sons. The Air Force was well represented by a squad of Airmen, and a clutch of senior Anglo Indian Officers. The Mada church choir was joined by the famous St Martin's school boy choir, and the small church resounded, proudly to beautiful, harmonious sounds. Fr Wilkenny, would take the service and deliver the eulogy.

But as always, at funerals, it is not only about the dead, is it?  It’s the living that makes Death bearable, acceptable. Evidence of that was all around, in that small church. Hungry babies in their mothers arms crying to be fed. A toddler, right in the front, trying to mimic every word that Fr. Wilkenny spoke, with everybody trying to hide their amusement, at his obvious annoyance. Two ten year old boy’s arm wrestling, unable to contain all that young energy. A gaggle of teenage girls, whispering and giggling at a greasy haired, pimply faced, teenage boy, who definitely wanted to be somewhere else, (poor sod). 

Mrs Seraphina Gonsalves,( who when she heard that the service was at 3PM said "But that’s the time the Judge and I have our afternoon nap") was fast asleep, using her daughter Philomena's shoulder as a pillow. Her husband, Franklin, (she calls him Judge, because everybody called him Judge, because He was a Judge, now retired) his head in his chest, was fast asleep also. His snoring, with its whistling, 'PWeeeeeeePutt', sound, punctuated Fr Wilkenny's eulogy. Anybody who dared to wake him ran the risk of being decapitated with his walking stick. Through all of this, ran a feeling of sadness and a respectful solemnity, at the loss of a young man.

At the cemetery, ceremonial arms were presented and reversed by the Airmen, as Rudy's coffin was lowered into the ground. Michael searched out Janice, and locked onto her tear stained face. He knew she was aware of his gaze. "God! how he loved her". As everybody drifted away after the blessing, Michael and Janice stayed. Then he went to her, "Janice, he said. Janice I Love you and need you and I'm sorry for not trusting you." "And Rudy" she said. "And Rudy", he repeated. She took his hand, and as the workmen began to fill the grave, she said in a barely audible whisper. "Time to let Rudy go".

THE END.

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Comments

Thanks. Written by Ernest on 2007-07-22 05:54:44 Thanks Rob and Kitty. Glad you enjoyed MJR, and thank you too for your wishes, re my next gig. I cant wait.Lots of love. Speak soon. Ern

Gone but not forgotten. Written by iggi on 2007-07-22 05:23:28 So sorry to see the end of MJR now I can rest easy that all's well in the MJR families.Break a leg in your next GiG Ern.Domestic engineer if you mix Pepperwater with a teaspoonful of Yoghurt (CURDS)it is better than Butter Milk.

A pleasure! Written by domestic engineer on 2007-07-19 19:40:41 Will definitely miss M,J,& R. And about that pepperwater...I like to drink mine from my plate!   I wonder if there is a plate with a built in straw! LOL Yeah I know thats why there's such a thing called the "spoon" but its no fun that way right?!!!

Bye Bye Dear Friends. Written by ernest on 2007-07-19 15:59:21 Damn!! Suddenly its all over. I really dont know how I feel. Its seems like a long journey, well its nearly a year since I wrote MJR.A big  Thank you to all of you who 'commented'.Charlotte you were there for every episode. Thank you.   I have the outlines for a few more stories and when I have finished my present commitment, I'll get cracking on them.  I must thank Pepperwater.com for giving me a chance, and encouraging me to write.Thank you Conrad.Abraham. and lately Gavin.  Oh! By the way I can't eat pepperwater and rice, I prefer it 'on the side' in a mug. So there! how do you like yours? Love and God Bless Ernie.

Beautiful Written by shirlrap on 2007-07-16 20:32:07 That was absolutely fantastic reading. . The last bit about Rudy joining the Air Force was awesome, brought back some great childhood memories from the Airforce base.

It cant be the end Written by jagged edge on 2007-07-16 10:33:24 Whatever happened to the walk on the beach and walk into the sunset.....etc etc

Oh Nooooo!!!!!!! Written by littlemiss on 2007-07-15 21:38:47 Oh dear how sad was that?It can't be over already?That was a great story and the end made me cry!What a brave young man that Rudy was?BTW echoing one of the last person's comments..was this story based on actual events?Can't wait for your next piece.

Amazing end! Written by domestic engineer on 2007-07-15 09:03:02 What an explosive end to a beautiful story! Pardon the pun but explosive meaning heart wrenching, tear jerking for me with enlightenment from a wise old man on the train! We all need a Krishna in our lives to remind us of our destiny and set us back on the right path!     Brilliant writing Ernest! Can't wait to buy your book!     Charlotte

Excuse the spelling error Written by nora on 2007-07-15 03:46:10 Ernest,    The word narrted should actually read - narrated    Cheers!  Nora

What a tearful ending! Written by nora on 2007-07-15 03:41:01 A really good story for anybody to read - young or old; and beautifully narrted. And yes, sometimes not all that's well will end well, you've got to lose something in order to gain something else. It did bring a tear to my eye     Ernest, I'm just curious to know whether this really happened?

oh this is so sad!!!! Written by mfrench on 2007-07-15 02:22:42 I was hoping for a much more happier note to this story but this is just so sad.

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