Atonement

The rain poured steadily over his head as he peered across the road. The streets were waterlogged as always, so he stuck to the little bit of pavement that was protecting him from the rising water. Even if some deluded adventurer had turned up into that narrow street at that ungodly hour, he'd have walked past him without even blinking. His face was covered in a thick stubble and his head by a worn out felt cap. His drab sodden clothes seemed to blend seamlessly into the background till he became a part of it himself. It was only his eyes that showed any sign of life, but the growing cataracts were robbing him of even that one brief spark of vitality. Gnarled hands wrinkled with age stuck out of his frayed sleeves as he held on tightly to a nearby lamp post, so tight in fact that his knuckles were white with the strain. He was an old man, a tired man, a man who shouldn't have been out there shivering in the incessant downpour; but he was beyond these irritants now. He was beyond everything. Only one thing was left for him to do on this earth and then maybe, just maybe, he might go peacefully into the twilight.

The house across the street remained stoic in its silence, its facade almost completely wreathed in shadows. The exception was the single lit window on the first floor and this was where his eyes were fixated. He longed to shout, scream, do something, anything to attract the attention of the person behind it, but he knew he couldn't. There was just too much pain, too many heartbreaks, too many fights and arguments that separated them. He might as well have been on another planet for whatever good it was doing him standing there in the rain, yet leaving his solitary vigil wasn't even an option. He had gone through too much to get here and he'd be damned if he'd leave without seeing her.

Would she even remember him now, he thought. She was too young when he'd left. He'd probably be a hazy smudge in her impressionable brain that had been painted over with riotous chaotic colours by his wife and relatives. There had been an elder son too, but he'd died two years back in a car accident. He tried to imagine what that must have been like for her, being left alone in this world by the two men she would have wanted to count on most of all, but that just made him sink further into his paroxysm of guilt. His wife would have soldiered on like always, something he still remembered with great affection. She'd been a strong woman, but most of all a good woman, and he cursed that night when he'd left her and his children.

But he was a different man then, secure in his own immortality, supercilious of domesticity. He'd married against his will and resented it fiercely, even after having kids. He had felt cloistered, fettered, a prisoner of circumstances. He had big dreams, places to be, women to meet; instead he was leading a dull boring job while his wife kept the hearth warm. He tried to bottle up his frustrations, but that made them only worse, especially when he started drinking. His wife had borne the marks for days afterwards. Not that he felt any remorse. He was getting back at the world in his own petty way, showing once again how small a man he really was. Of course this was all wisdom in hindsight. He thought himself infallible in those old days. Now he just tossed and turned on his sweat-soaked sheets as the nightmares kept haunting him.

He took a hurried look at his cheap wristwatch and was relieved to find it still working. He could have kept it inside, but then he'd have kept fishing it out again and again to check the time. He'd never ever felt this nervous in his life, not even that night when he'd packed that one suitcase and left everything behind - family, friends, job, everything. He hadn't even lingered to take one last look at his kids. They were encumbrances to him, shackles that were always holding him back, stifling his spirit and ambition. He'd wanted to be a free man, not a responsible one; a famous adventurer, not a drab domesticated drone; a denizen of the world, not the dirty little outpost of civilization that was his home. This was the start of the rest of his life. Not once he'd thought of what would befall his wife and kids in his absence. He just didn't care. This was what he'd always wanted and he'd be damned if anyone stopped him.

Yet here he was now, getting drenched outside his daughter's window and with nothing to show for his defiance. No one remembered him and certainly no one cared about him. He was just a shapeless wraith drifting soundlessly through the streets, an after-image at best in the minds of people that he came across. He'd have been bitter about it once, maybe ranted and raved about it; but now it just washed off him like the other insults and ignominies heaped upon him by the world. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except that lit window and the shadow behind it.

The rain was starting to peter off. A rosy blush across the horizon presaged the arrival of dawn. He looked hopefully towards the window. She should be done with her studies by now. Soon she would come out for her morning jog before turning in to sleep. She would then hop into the call centre cab in the evening and work the night shift till early morning. Today had been her off day, which was why she'd been home studying for her entrances. She didn't seem to have many friends, at least he hadn't seen any as he stood there on his previous vigils. He'd been looking at that lit window for a while now, but had never managed to work up the courage to go and ring the bell. Time and time again he'd made it to the doorstep, but he'd always faltered at the last instant and scurried back like a scalded dog. But he was firm in his resolve today, for he knew now he didn't have much time left. The blood was coming up more and more frequently and already his breath was rattling in his chest. He lived in constant pain, but he bore it stoically. One more penance he had to undergo for his atonement.

His reverie was disturbed by the sound of the door opening. A slim young girl stepped out into the street in jogging clothes, earphones firmly ensconced in her ears. His fingers trembled as he watched her do some light stretching in preparation for her run. His legs seized up and refused to move, but he stiffened his resolve and put a hesitant step forward, then another, and then another. She seemed completely oblivious as he came near her. Before his will could falter again, he hurriedly crossed the last few feet and stood in front of her.

She looked questioningly at him. It felt as if a giant hand was squeezing all the breath out of him. Sweat broke out on his clammy hands as he reached inside to take out something. She took an alarmed step back and raised her hands almost in self-defence, then lowered them quizzically as he took out an envelope and thrust it towards her.

"What is this? Who are you?" 

He tried to say something, anything, beg for forgiveness, tell her that he regretted every single day that he hadn't seen her, implore her to admit him once again into her life, to let things go back to the way they used to be; but the words never came out. His tongue stayed stuck to the roof of his mouth and his hands shook even more.

"Hello? Are you all right?"

His whole body was shaking now. He tried to speak again, but all that came out was an incomprehensible gurgling. He looked imploringly at her, hoping against hope that she could recognize even a smidgen of the emotions welling inside him; but she stared back at him in the same quizzical manner. A single teardrop rolled down his cheek as he looked helplessly at the only person in the world that mattered to him.

"Uncle? Are you ok? Do you need some help?"

Her concerned tone completely broke him. He flung the envelope at her feet and ran away as fast as he could. He could her hear her shouting after him, but he her out as the tears started flowing freely down his face. Never once did he falter. Never once did he think of looking back. He just ran and ran and soon vanished from her sight.

She picked up the envelope at her feet and saw that it addressed to her. She opened it hesitantly, only to be shocked by the fat sheaf of 500 rupee notes staring back at her. Along with that was a letter written in a very hurried hand, as if the writer had too much to say and too little time to say it. The sun broke out from the gloom of the night as she started reading it. 

"Dear Seema. I'm your father..."