The Girl on the Windowsill

By Subha Tharuvai Nilakantan

The hustle bustle of the little marketplace, the noises of the vehicles passing through the narrow streets, the honking of the horns, the odd young bikers full of spirit and daring, swishing by, scaring everybody with the loud “Vroom”, the hawkers calling out to the locals, the occasional cow’s “moo”, the stray mongrel barking at every other person, the laughter of children running here and there, hands holding berries, or fruits, the mixed sound of the birds were all part of the little town nestling in the midst of five hills, on the western edge of the Dhauladhar mountain range of the Himalayas, the little but much sought after town of Dalhousie, surrounded by snow-capped peaks. Tourists flowed in and out of this place, seeking the mountains, the sunsets, the glowing summits, so majestic. Those who had not seen the Himalayas in person, would surely consider these mountains as most intimidating, solid, strong, protective, and enticing. The slopes lined with deodar trees, so beautifully placed by nature that if anyone said it is a natural formation, no one would believe them. All the way down to Khajjiar, the scenic beauty was simply mind-blowing.

Amidst all the din, came floating the melody of a flute, wafting in the breeze, the mild notes audible only to the ears waiting for the lilting music which flowed like silk from the instrument. The little figure, petite and slender, came running on light feet to her favourite perch on the windowsill. How she had missed this! She had been so addicted to the notes of the flute and the endearing face of the flautist, that she had been upset when he had not turned up for the past one week. “Where was he? Why hadn’t he come? What could have happened?” her mind was tossing these questions round and round, so much so, she had even lost her sleep due to panic attacks. Her ears were so tuned towards the distant music, that her senses muted all the other sounds swirling around her. She listened with her eyes closed, blind to the beauty of her surroundings. People who came from far and wide just to enjoy a few days of scenic beauty would have been surprised to see this little face with closed eyes. The yearning for the melodious notes was clearly visible on the expressive countenance. “Sakshi!” her mother’s voice came from the kitchen. “Finish your breakfast!”. Her mother stopped in her tracks when she realised the reason for Sakshi’s disappearance. She knew that Sakshi had no ears to spare for anything else except the melody of the flute. As the notes drew closer and closer, Sakshi ran to her mother pulling at her dress. Sakshi’s mother knew that Sakshi would not let go of her skirt unless she offered food to the flautist.

It was a daily routine now, she cooked extra breakfast just so that she could feed him. “I have filled the plate Sakshi! Let him come! But before that, I want you to finish what is on your plate!” Sakshi’s mother led her to the table. Sakshi ate what was left on her plate, washed, and ran to her perch on the windowsill on the second floor of their beautiful three storied house sprawling over the not-so-gentle slope of the mountain. There were two trees that ran through the house, or rather the house was built around them instead of felling them to build. Her brother, Swapnil loved them a lot “our older sisters” he used to tell Sakshi. The window was just adjacent to the portion of the tree trunk that passed through their room. Sakshi would sit on the windowsill, her back resting on the trunk, knees pulled up to her chin, head slightly turned, so as to look outside and down with ease and watch as her mother offered breakfast to the flautist. A boy, not more than fourteen or fifteen years at the most. After he finished he would bow to her mother, look up at the window on the second floor to see the faint silhouette of the girl on the windowsill and wave out to her, join his hands in prayer, close his eyes for a minute and leave, to return the next morning. This had been going on for some months now. The past one week had been so harrowing that Sakshi was overwhelmed when she heard the music and saw the flautist appear again. It was cold and misty today as she looked down from her perch, and her face unconsciously pressed against the glass for more visibility. Her face lit up when she saw him eating hungrily.

That he returned today and not any other day was really amazing as far as Sakshi was concerned, because today was a day marked in black in Sakshi’s calendar. Not only her’s but her parents’ too. It was this day, two years ago that she had lost her only brother in an accident. They were walking back from school, she, and Swapnil, along with a group of children residing in the area. Swapnil was three years elder to Sakshi. It was a long and tough walk on the road winding along the mountainside. Usually, they walked to the right as they would be visible to the approaching vehicles. There was a stretch where walking on the right meant, walking on that side of the road which dropped steeply down into the ravine. Children they were, and playful. It had been raining and the roads were wet. The children, set out from school on their regular route. As they were walking through this part of the road, a tourist van, returning from Kala top, came speeding down. As it turned into this part of the road, the driver could not control the vehicle. He frantically applied the brakes, hopelessly steered the vehicle towards the mountain wall side of the road, trying his best to avoid the children. The children had nowhere to run, they were already pushed towards the edge of the road, shocked to statues, eyes wide with fear, screaming but rooted to the spot, searching for respite, all happening in a fraction of a second. The vehicle coming from the opposite direction screeched to a halt, the driver and the co passengers bolting out of the car pulled the children away towards the gap, but the van came so fast, that it could not avoid hitting the safety wall on the outer edge of the road. It bounced from the impact and hit Swapnil who was leading the group as he was the eldest among all of them. Swapnil was thrown in the air and deep into the ravines. The children were shocked out of their senses and Sakshi, screaming incessantly, passed out in the hands of the tourist. The others were ushered into the car and were rushed to the hospital. The parents were informed by the locals and the whole tragedy went down into the archives, but the wounds had not healed. Ever since she woke up from her deep coma which lasted for more than six months, Sakshi had lost her ability to speak. She was lost in her own world and would not go to school. “Don’t compel her, she will come round slowly” the doctor had advised Sakshi’s father. “But..” Sakshi’s father started, trying to voice his concern, “she will miss a year!”. “Yes, she may miss a couple of years of school, but her health is of top priority! Don’t push her to do something she is not yet ready for, her memories are still raw” so saying, the doctor had hushed Sakshi’s father.

Sitting on the windowsill, she saw the flautist playing on his flute, slowly moving away. Her mother was standing at the gate, looking up at her. Usually, he would walk along the road, and disappear into the crowded marketplace near Gandhi chowk, but today Sakshi saw him walk in the opposite direction. “No! she thought! It was too steep and it led to the open side with the fall to the ravine. Why was he going that way?” Sakshi saw him turn and look up at her again and again, but he continued to play on the flute, his fingers moving gently over the holes, mesmerizing her with his music. He was again playing the familiar tune, the “raag Pahadi Dhun” in a beautiful melody, so soulful that something in her seemed to give way. She looked at him, willing him to turn back. Her mouth was moving, words forming, her hands flaying frantically here and there, willing him to come down. “Don’t go up there” her mind screamed; her face pressed against the glass windowpane. She did not observe her parents looking up at her from near the gate. She was oblivious to the sounds of her environment, she just stood on the windowsill, calling out “Swapnil! Swapnil! Don’t go up there! Don’t go up there”. They heard her voice! The boy was smiling, looking up at the girl on the windowsill. “Sakshi! My Sakshi! I will always be there for you!” his eyes seemed to say. He slowly walked back towards the marketplace and disappeared into the crowd. “Sakshi! My baby! you can talk again!” Sakshi stood petrified on the windowsill looking at the disappearing figure. She slowly lowered her gaze and turned hearing her mother’s voice. Sakshi looked at her mother who had rushed up to her, her eyes filled with tears. “Ma!” she whispered, “Swapnil is fine ma! Nothing will happen to him” she smiled through the tears running down her cheeks. Sakshi ran back to the window her eyes searching all around, but something inside her told her that she would never hear that melody of the flute again, but her heart was light.

By Subha Tharuvai Nilakantan