The Revelation

THE REVELATION

By

VIKRAM KARVE

 

 

Jayashree had entered my life the moment I saw her photograph on Sanjay’s desk. I had never wanted anything, belonging to anyone else, until that moment.

 

“My wife”, Sanjay said, getting up form the swivel-chair. He picked up the framed photograph. What a stunning creature! Never before had the mere sight of a woman aroused the sleeping dog in me to this extent.

 

Sanjay was talking something, but it didn’t register. I hastily said, “Cute,” for I believe that thoughts can transmit themselves if they are strong enough!

 

I thought Sanjay seemed just a trifle taken aback, but he smiled and pulled out a photo-album from the drawer. He began showing me the photograph and started describing his home, his family, his wedding, his honeymoon – the wonderful days they had spent together in Goa. I took the album from him and looked at a photograph of Jayashree in a bathing suit which was so revealing that the might as well have worn nothing, but she conveyed such innocence that it was obvious that she had no inkling of this. She looked ravishing. Her breasts were boldly outlined under the flimsy fabric and she radiated a tantalizing sensuousness of such a degree that I could not take my eyes off her. “Cute,” I said; it was the wrong word, but Sanjay didn’t seem to mind; he didn’t even seem to be listening.

 

My name is Vijay. Vijay Gupta. At the time of this story I was the master of a merchant ship – an oil tanker. Sanjay was my chief officer. My second-in-command. He had joined recently – it was our first sailing together. I had not met  him earlier, but in due course he proved to be a good deputy. He was young, just thirty. He ran the ship efficiently and I liked him for his good qualities. But there was something in his eyes that I could not fathom. I shut my mind to it. It’s extraordinary how close you can be to a man and still know nothing about him. Sometimes I wondered whether he was much more naïve or a lot more shrewd than I though.

 

“Why didn’t you get married, Captain? “Sanjay asked me with childlike candor, one evening. It was the first time we had gone ashore.

 

I sipped my drink and smiled, “I don’t really know. Maybe I am not marriage-material.” I felt depressed. I looked around the restaurant. The atmosphere was gloomy-dark and quiet. It was late; almost midnight.

 

Sanjay offered me a cigarette. His hands were unsteady. He seemed to be quite drunk. As we smoked, he lapsed into silence – his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, I observed a strange metamorphosis in his expression. He looked crestfallen; close to tears. Suddenly, he blurted out, “I wish I had never got married.”

 

With those few words, Sanjay had bared the secret of his marriage. As I attempted to smoothen my startled look into a grin, I was ashamed to find that inwardly, I was glad to hear of his misfortune. Did I really desire Jayashree that much?

 

We sailed from Madras next morning, headed for Singapore. It was the monsoon season and the sea was rough. As the voyage progressed, the weather swiftly deteriorated. The ship rolled and pitched feverishly, tossed about by the angry waves. As we neared the Strait of Malacca, I began to experience a queer sensation – a strange foreboding. Though I was molded in a profession where intellect habitually meets danger, I felt restless and apprehensive. I had felt and fought occasional fear before, but this was different – a premonition – a nameless type of fright; a strange feeling of dread and uneasiness. I tried my best to dispel my fear, thrust away the strange feelings. But all my efforts failed. The nagging uneasiness persisted and soon took charge of me. It was so dark that I couldn’t even see our ship’s forecastle. The incessant rain and treacherous sea created an eerie atmosphere. I was close to panic as we negotiated the difficult waters of the Strait.

 

As I stared into the pitch blackness which shrouded the hour before the dawn, a strange warning began sounding in my brain – a warning I could not fathom. The ship was pitching violently. I felt sick with fear and stood gasping for air, clutching the telegraph. I had to get outside, into the fresh air, or I’d suffocate. As I groped my way along the rail in the bridge-wing, I heard a shrill voice behind me, “Don’t go away. I can’t handle it alone. I can’t. Please, Sir,” It was Sanjay. He looked at me with horror.

 

It penetrated to me in flash of revelation what I’d done. I had transmitted my own fear into my crew. Sanjay was the Chief Officer. For him, to confess in front of the crew, that he could not handle it, brought home to me the fact of how desperate he was. I had to take control at once.” You are not supposed to handle it as long as I’m about,” I shouted. “Go down to your cabin and catch up on your sleep. I don’t want passengers on the bridge.”

 

I instantly regretted what I had said; but it was too late now. Sanjay was close to tears. He quietly left the bridge and went down to his cabin.

 

Suddenly, a searchlight was switched on, dead ahead. Instinctively I shouted an order to the quartermaster to swing the ship across the ship across to starboard. I crossed my fingers, desperately praying to avoid a collision. It was a near-miss, but the searchlight kept following our sheer to starboard. I was angry now. I stopped the engines, picked up the loudhailer, rushed out the bridge-wing, leaned over, and shouted, “You stupid fools. Are you crazy? What the hell do you think you are doing?”

 

“We are in distress,” a voice answered. “Throw us a rope.” I called the boatswain and told him to throw over the monkey-ladder. “Be careful, and report quickly,” I told him.

 

Ten minutes must have passed but there was no report. The silence was prickling. I decided to go to the deck. Before I could move, four men entered the bridge. They were wearing hoods. As I started at the nozzle of a carbine pointed at me, comprehensive dawned on me pretty fast. This was piracy on the high seas. Incredible, but true. Undecided as to my next move, I stood there feeling far from heroic. There was no question of resistance. After all, this was a merchant ship, not a man-o’-war. Saving the lives of the crew was of paramount importance. The man pointing the carbine at me said softly, “Captain, we are taking over. Don’t try anything foolish. Tell the crew.”

 

Suddenly, there was deep shuddering sound followed by a deafening roar. The ship rose on top of a steep quivering hill and slithered down its slope. There was a responding thud followed by screeching vibrations. We had run aground. The ship lurched wildly, throwing everyone off-balance. Sanjay suddenly appeared out of nowhere, made a running dive and grabbed the carbine from the pirate. It happened too quickly, and so unexpectedly that I was totally dumbstruck. Everyone seemed to have opened fire. Bullets wildly started the bridge. There was pandemonium, as crew members joined the melee, grappling with the pirates. I hit the deck, And froze.

 

I don’t know who pulled me up, but by then everything was calm and quit. “The  pirates have been overpowered,” said the boatswain. “But the Chief Officer ……….” I followed his gaze. Sanjay lay on the deck, in a pool of blood. I knelt down beside him. His face was vacant, but he tried to focus his eyes on me, whimpering, “Jayashree…….” He tried to get up, but slumped back – dead!

 

I knocked on the door. There was long wait. Then Jayashree opened the door. Her face took my breath away. She was even more beautiful than her photographs. Dressed in white sari, she looked so proud in her grief that I felt embarrassed. I had myself not yet recovered from the shock of Sanjay’s sudden death.

 

I said, awkwardly, “I am Captain Gupta.”

 

She looked directly into my eyes and said, “So I see.” Her dark eyes were hostile.

 

“I am sorry about what happened. Sanjay was a brave man, and we are all proud to have known him.” My words sounded insincere and I felt acutely uncomfortable.

 

“Proud!” she exclaimed, her magnificent eyes flashing. “Some people might feel grateful, especially those whose life he saved.”

 

I was stunned by the sting of her bitterness. Never had I felt such a burning shame; the shame of being held responsible for someone’s death. I looked at Jayashree helplessly pleading innocence, but it was of no use. It was hopeless now to try and explain. The hurt was deep, and I had to let it go in silence.

 

Jayashree excused herself and went inside. It was then that I remembered the reason for my visit. To hand over what remained of Sanjay’s personal effects; an unfinished letter, a dairy, a framed photograph. I decided to wait till she read the letter. Probably then she would understand the real reason for Sanjay’s reckless bravery, his suicidal heroics; his desperate concern about proving his masculinity.

 

When Jayashree returned, she was composed. I gave her Sanjay’s unfinished letter. As she silently read on, I saw tears brim in her eyes.

 

I do not know whether I did the right thing. Probably it would have been wiser to destroy the letter and the dairy. Leaving things unspoken and unhealed. But I had decided it would have been wiser to destroy the letter and the dairy. Leaving things unspoken and unhealed. But I had decided it would be better to exorcise the sense of guilt and shame. Better for me. Better for Jayashree, too. It was not easy, but we both had to come to terms with ourselves.

 

 

 

VIKRAM KARVE

 

vikramkarve@sify.com