“Those 3 stars in the same line are mine” The 8 year old girl said, pointing her fingers into the summer star studded sky.”And mom, there goes your collection in the spoon shape. Today your lonely star is not visible. So, for now I’ll give you one from mine” She kissed her 5 year old brother in his forehead as she continued dividing the fair share of stars to her mom and brother. She did not mention her father’s lot because she believed the whole sky blanket belonged to him. She was lying in the cot with her dad, mom and brother in the terrace of the rented government quarters. To her right was her bro hugging ‘his tender’ mom and to her left ‘her mighty’ father. The little girl always enjoyed listening to her mom’s extempore ghost stories. And that day too went with a ghost story, as she got into its groove, bro clasped his mom tight. The story ended with a sudden roar by mom to make it realistic and was echoed by the scream of her little bro. She hugged her father tight and slowly got on top of him, her soft cheek on his hairy chest, hands on either side. Finding her father not moved by the story she asked ‘Dad are you not afraid of ghosts?’ ‘No’ a candid reply. ‘Why???’ the obvious question posed out of curiosity.
"When I first joined the company as an apprentice trainee, my stipend was Rs 400 a month. I was staying with your grandparents in Kollengode, 30 kms from the company .In general shifts, the private bus plies till the railway gate near our house. But, when I work night shifts, the last bus then stops near the bridge. From there if I take the normal road, I had to walk 5 kms to reach home. On the other hand, if I take the road below the bridge that saves me 2 kms. But then it goes through a cemetery. So I used to go by the longer route out of fear of cemetery. “5 km walk in the night? Why didn’t you hire an auto rickshaw then?” The girl asked; her eyes still closed. “He would charge me Rs.15 which is more than my daily stipend. So I could not afford it” He continued. “One day I had slipped off from crane lift in the company and it wounded my leg badly. I went to my supervisor and he said ‘Enna pa..technicianikku ratham puthusa ?’(‘is blood anything new for a technician’ in Tamil? ) rubbing his inch long index finger which he had lost while working on a lathe few years back. So I continued working. By the time my shift was over I was barely able to walk. As usual the last bus stopped near the bridge. Walking 5 kms seemed mammoth task and so I decided to go by the bridge route via cemetery. Initially, after every step I was pulled back by fear of cemetery but the pain in my leg pushed me. The ankle had swelled so much that I had to sit down after every furlong. I walked for about a kilometer and I had unknowingly started to forget the fear. As I moved further, the pain in the ankle had overcome the fear so much that I felt elated when I reached cemetery because house was hardly a kilometer from there. And I fearlessly sat on couple of tombs in the cemetery to take rest. Smoke was coming out from few places and few stray dogs barking – none to my attention. At last when I reached home, I felt heaven and slept peacefully. Then on, every day I took the cemetery route for about 3 years and till date did not see a single ghost. Isn’t it fair that I don’t fear the ghost in your mom’s unrealistic stories?” The girl opened her eyes kissed her father and found another reason to proclaim that her father is ‘mighty’.
Two decades hence, the solitude in the upper berth during a weekend train journey spread the real life incident as a blog post– yet another mirrored thought…‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but the realization that there is something more important than fear.’
