Serendipity: a preordained dream.

It was a hot and humid day. He had slogged since early morning and looked forward to the much-needed break around noon  with the same degree of enthusiasm every day. 

Wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, as his palms were heavily callused, he leaned against the hillock and sighed. This was a dicey job, as a part of the hill was being culled a little, to create an artificial overhang: a kind of cliff projecting out to accommodate a restaurant below it.

This had been a routine for the past one year, ever since he had taken on the job of a labourer at an upcoming tourist complex site on an island. His days of dressing for work seemed to be embedded in a long-lost past. A past he had let go of: or had he?

His fellow workers were not aware that he was an educated, highly placed engineer and that  till about six years ago he was in a plum job; it was indeed hard to guess as he did the same amount of work as anyone else around there, ate the same frugal meals and some days even went without one, as he unlike the others lived completely alone and preferred to stay in a ramshackle,  makeshift shed on the island rather than commute by ferry twice a day like most of the other labourers who had families back home.

But their bonhomie was absolutely infectious and rare was the day he would have to go hungry as someone or the other would offer to share their humble meal.

The complex was being built in collaboration with a a foreign company from Thailand and state of the art technology was being employed on site, but the work was back breaking all the same.

There was nothing more that he could have asked for, he thought to himself as he went for a swim in the pristine water at the farthest end of the island, facing west; where he would often try to head to, after work to watch the setting sun. He’d sit there an hour or so more, contemplating on life in general and the one he had left behind.

The quietude of this idyllic haven also gave him enough time to write. Well yes literally write, old school, instead of tapping away at a laptop. He had some savings from which he could afford to buy one and hide it from the others as he didn’t want them to think he was any different from them; but the writing helped to soothe his aching nerves. The rough physical work during the day till about 4 pm gave him ample time to write at night.

He was pretty good at putting up a facade and no one had been able to gather anything about his past and the slight duality he indulged in after work. Except…

Rahul was in his early twenties and had taken a year off from work to rough it out and this for him was a place that proved to be a refuge of sorts too. The island was inhabited by very few locals, but they lived on the other side of the construction site almost five kilometres on foot and not as the crow flies. No motorized vehicles were used on the island out of choice as the village was very small, with a population of only three hundred, as per the last census. He had stumbled on the opportunity to work as an assistant site supervisor and it was almost a godsend. He used to commute every day and was usually glued to his phone when not working even though the signal on the island was not very good. In fact, in some parts it was pretty bad.

However, one fine day he decided to stay back on the island and since Vivek was quite reticent and technically fell in the category of a labourer he thought it apt to request for a spartan room in a hut in the village, where he could stay once everyone had left. He had also brought along his bicycle on the last trip to town.

Everything seemed to be going well for Vivek too and he was more than content with the way his book was shaping up. Everything was in his head and writing for him was a nuanced vent some days and a deep catharsis on others. A way of disconnecting yet staying connected to himself. His characters romped in front of his eyes in the early morning light and argued at dusk. Seeing his hard work and honesty the company decided to make him in charge of the new wing of the project where his physical labour was a tad reduced, as he was the only one who passed the test to use and maneuver the new heavy rock and stone cutting machine. He wasn’t to keen to switch jobs but the architect and structural engineer convinced him.

One-night Rahul just couldn’t sleep, so on a whim he thought of riding to Vivek’s side of the island to have a chat with him. It was a bright moonlit night, the breeze felt cool on his brow as he leisurely peddled away from the village to the site center. Some lights were deliberately left on at night and it seemed like a tiny space craft from afar, its shape being semi-circular: being built as a conference stadium with all amenities one could think of. He dropped the bicycle at the corner of the turn and walked down the bushy path to Vivek’s shed, where he saw him bent over something, almost unmoving. Till he came closer and realized he was writing…

Vivek was startled and taken by complete surprise, but did not try to hide what he was doing. “Hey, what are you doing here...so late? Vivek managed to mutter. Rahul equally stunned said, well I couldn’t sleep so thought of riding across and saw your light on, so stopped by.” Vivek unfolded the whole tale, about why he was doing what he was and why he was doing it in a certain way.  Rahul about ten years younger was extremely impressed and retorted after a while, “But why take up such a hard-laborious job by day and then write in solitude at night, with no access to the world through any medium?” I’m certain there is more to it than what you have shared, “Are you by an chance running away from someone or something?

Vivek just smiled and said: "It is a long tale buddy, but will certainly tell you if you tell me what a millionaire’s son is doing as a site supervisor?"…Rahul was taken aback, "how do you know he stuttered?" 

Vivek turned around and picked up a thick wad of pages, neatly hand written and titled, Serendipity:  a preordained dream.

Rahul held the first page in his hands and was completely mesmerized, the opening lines were dedicated to Samina with a quote from Hugh Prather’s book, ‘The Little Book of letting go’, where he wrote: ‘There is a place within us where we can touch the changeless and beautiful, a place where our real life is experienced in peace. This self does not have to be periodically vented, defragmented, or even defined.  In the gentleness and ease it is clearly seen and everything about it is familiar—because it is consistently familiar.’

Samina was Rahul’s step sister and he was vaguely aware of some fiasco in her life, but he was too young back then to remember the details. They looked at each other across the decrepit shed and all Rahul could do was let the tears roll…he recalled the fateful day almost twelve years ago to the date when Samina had come home and had a showdown with his father. His mother, the new wife of his millionaire father, couldn’t do much back then to support Samina. Samina was married off to a business partner of his father against her wishes.

Vivek looked radiant and a man at complete peace with himself in that moment, all he said to Rahul was, “I was a young fresh engineer like you and had a pretty decent job, but it wasn’t enough for your father, Samina was too gullible to fight him and so…

“Let’s keep our little secret between ourselves, I will be back tomorrow and tell you my story too, perhaps you could write another book.

Postscript 1: Exactly a year from the day they discussed their little secret, Vivek’s book was top of the charts across three countries, but he continued to toil by day as a common man and wrote by night. A recluse now he certainly believed in love but kept is aside in his life for another lifetime. In this lifetime though he could and would have just one muse. 

Postscript 2: Rahul and he are inseparable now and work in tandem, with Rahul becoming his publishing agent as well as the one who protected his privacy completely. A picture of the author or his real name never saw the light of day…

Postscript 3: Rahul convinced Vivek to sign a copy, with his pen name neatly etched in his handwriting and sent it across to Samina.  She knew that her name in the dedication couldn’t be just a coincidence, when she received the book. Rahul refused to divulge anything to her other than that the name on the first page attracted his attention whilst he was at a bookstore browsing through the latest bestsellers. She smiled as tears clouded her vision as she looked into the distance the book clutched close to her heart. 

© Copyright Suverchala Kashyap