At Parippu Bus Stand, after walking for about half an hour, Chandran came across a rugged tea stall where an old man appeared to be sitting inside with a newspaper. He’d punctured his cycle wheel and he had barely met half the distance to be able to continue the rest on foot. The Kottayam-Parippu road hung onto silence in the afternoons. A green playground remained void of any toil and foot by young boys as they played. Parippu High School remained in its place like a mark.

As he was about to call, another figure emerged from behind the old man. A tall, dark physique, wearing a white shirt and beige pants. His shirt had attained a wet patch near his torso, along with two blotches on the white fabric near his underarms. Small whiskers conjoined his beard, boxed into a untrimmed face. His eyes indicated a steadiness. He wasn’t looking anywhere but at him.

Chandran really had to look up in order to match his gaze but the man was already moving toward him, and crouched on his foot to get a closer look at the wheel. It had to be changed, and he asked him politely to wait a little.

Chandran couldn’t tear apart the image of him even when he went behind the old stall and brought a new wheel to replace the punctured one. The dark undertone of his skin held bright secrets. While he clutched the brake tightly, veins in his palm popped up and his forearm muscles leaped out. He released the brake and loosened the axle nut to remove the wheel. Chandran spotted beads of sweat on the scruff of his neck, as he struggled to install the new wheel. One slipped forward to his throat and hung sneakily. He inserted the wheel back in its place, wiping off the sweat on his forehead and gave Chandran a smile, getting up on his feet. It is fixed.

The sweat drop near his throat slowly trailed down and dissolved in the cloth of his shirt. Chandran noticed it. He noticed him noticing it.

Born as the only child to Vasudev Pillai and Brinda, Chandran was a slim young boy when he started playing for Parippu Football Club Association. It was only after a while he realized he wasn’t made for it. He took part only because his father had been an active member of the football club. After completing school, they found out Chandran’s knack for writing, with the amount of books he read and his desk almost littered with pages, crumpled or torn. An average player in the team, Chandran did not complain about playing for the club. Rather he was content at being able to spend time watching the boys play. Later, he got bored of it, and he brought up the idea to apply for a Master’s outside his hometown. He applied to Delhi University, the sole purpose of which was to get out of his parent’s sight and experience living independently. Of course, it came as a shock, again, but he was able to convince them to let him go.

Chandran was ecstatic when he finally started his classes at a new college. There were so many people – different cultures, a spectrum of diversity, and most importantly, a life waiting for him. The first six months were hard; staying at the boys’ hostel made him feel lonely. They were indifferent to his ideals, either sleeping late or boozing in their rooms. His roommate hung all his sweaty clothes over the small balcony leaving no space for Chandran. Even though he disliked their manners, there wasn’t much he could do about it. The only distraction that was available to him was reading books borrowed from the library.

This nonfamiliarity grew on him. And a few months later, he found himself not complaining. But he wanted to leave behind his loneliness; the grudge he felt in his home, the overtone of his town, closeness of a community; he wanted to break away. But he didn’t know what lay next, the moment he was able to.

A year and a half into the course, Chandran made up his mind to go home, the first time since he came to stay in Delhi. His exams were still a couple of months away, and mentally he had decided upon staying not more than a week. His parents were overjoyed upon hearing of his return and he wondered if he could create a space for himself again back at home.

The familiarity of his house, the sight of his land made him feel nothing. His mother was upset that her son had lost so much weight; she was busy making puris and idlis for him. But, he had missed the shape of his room, which did not smell like sweat as it used to back in his hostel in Delhi. He breathed in the only safe familiarity of his life, where he dreamed of writing stories and escaping into one.

His old cycle remained in his father’s garage. After he left, his father took great care of it, cleaning and mending anything that was damaged, to feel like his son was closeby, right in his home.

When Chandran was young, he rode his cycle for hours with his childhood friend, Raamdatt. Sometimes, they both rode on the same cycle, with Raamdatt sitting behind and crossing his arms around Chandran’s waist. They would travel to the Kodoor river to swim. Chandran enjoyed every dip. Raamdatt did not know how to swim, and preferred sitting on the bank as he read a book. That was how Chandran picked up the habit of reading. Their friendship remained intact till they both passed out from school. Raamdatt had long before decided to leave Kottayam and pursue his studies elsewhere. Chandran believed it to be a joke till it turned serious. That was the first time he experienced loss.

Raamdatt had tried convincing him to come along. “People know too much here,” he had said. “Let’s not get involved with that.”

But Chandran found it difficult. How could he leave behind his parents?

Raamdatt gave a reply that cracked their friendship. “They’ll leave us too, someday. What will you do then?”

He was angry at him for uttering such a phrase. Now, he understood the meaning. They lost touch because of their views, but his habit of reading stayed unlike Raamdatt.

The only thing from the past that remained with him was the cycle. So he took it out, to feel the old days along with the breeze on his skin. That was when he encountered the stranger who almost took away his breath.

Chandran’s mother invited his aunt, her children and his grandfather home that same day. The house was beaming with sudden laughter and chit chat that echoed through every room. When he parked his cycle outside and walked towards the door, his aunt’s children came running and jumped in his lap. He was surprised, yet felt an affection fill his heart as he adored them. Not much about the presence of his aunt or anyone else mattered to him. But the children brought him absolute joy. A smile remained glued on his beardless cheeks.

“Chandu!” His aunt came forward and pulled him into an embrace. “You’ve grown sooo thin! Now that you are with your mother, try eating more. Must be hard to get idlis there, right? You miss home everyday, isn’t it?”

So many questions at once. Maybe staying in the hostel wasn’t that bad after all. “Not really, there are several food joints that serve South Indian platter. Sometimes it tastes as good as home.”

“But not very healthy, it seems.” His aunt chimed in.

Her self contentment is more annoying than her questions, he thought. “I did not know you were coming till now.” Why did his parents invite them without asking him once? His gaze landed on the table across the living room, filled with all kinds of delicacies that he loved. He silently wished to sit down and eat peacefully.

“Have you completed your studies?” His grandfather asked during dinner. “Are you writing stories anymore?”

He nodded. “I hope I can write a novel one day.”

“One day? Why not now?”

The old man remained the same, he noted.

His father sat across the table and added to the conversation. “He will, don’t worry. He will write, then do a job and finally get married.” He laughed loudly as if he had cracked a brilliant joke. Chandran lost his interest in the delightful food served in front of him. Words affected his sense of smell and taste. They made everything taste bitter.

At night, in his room, he found his typewriter lying inside his cupboard. A nostalgic rush descended upon him as he brought it out and blew off the dust. It was a gift from his grandfather, the only person who was proud of his writing. He had received it before he had joined college for his Bachelor’s.

Placing it on his desk, he remembered his encounter with the man again. Did he live here, in Kottayam? Was he a visitor or neighbour? But Chandran had never seen that man before. He was only away for almost two years. Anyone who left this town never came back, those who did not leave never thought of going out. Then who was he?

He let his fingers run over the keys – something he did repeatedly to gauge if a story was close enough to his fingers to type. And there was one that day.

Chandran retained a memory that spun along with him each time he went out. The new wheel. Running along with him. With an image of the man in white shirt. Sweat patches. His beard. His gaze. But for a while, as his eyes kept looking for heads which, when turned around, did not reveal the person he kept looking for, it was quite long before he caught sight of him again.

Kodoor river was the old trading route between Alappuzha and Kottayam. Chandran had visited those banks with his father when he was small. But now he visits them alone, like he did when he was in school with Raamdatt. Walking along with his cycle, a solitude came upon him. Far away, little boys were fishing and swimming in the water. The river remained subtly beautiful.

In a streak of sunlight basking over the entire river, a man seemed to cross the road and go straight towards the children who were fishing. He picked up one of them and placed him on his lap. His smile was radiant. And recognizable.

Chandran walked with his cycle towards the narrow laid down path; some boys were lying over the grass, some went closer to the bank to fish. And the man had his head turned towards the water. As he approached him, he slowly looked back.

In a minute, he was up on his feet. As he walked towards Chandran, he glanced at his cycle and gave a small smile.

“I hope it has not troubled you again.”

Chandran’s eyes shone. His voice sounded like an antidote for people who were heart sick. I am heart sick, he thought. At the same time, a familiarity lingered in his phrase.

Chandran shrugged off his thoughts in an instant and went ahead. “No, it has learned to tackle and resist more since then.”

He wore a dark grey kurta. The top two buttons were undone. And the Kottayam heat made him sweat. Almost deliberately.

“What is your name?” Chandran felt the inside of his mouth go dry.

“Kumar.”

“You come here every day?”

“Not in the day. At night mostly,” he paused. “And you are?”

“Chandran.”

“Chandran,” his name on Kumar’s lips sounded like a note from a melody. “Do you come here often?” he asked it lightly for he was aware of the close knittedness people shared here.

“I haven’t been around for a while.” He responded as he put down the kickstand of his cycle. Kumar nodded with a smile.

“Where did you go?”

“Delhi. For college.”

“Good for you. It is hard to escape such a small town, everyone knows everybody.” Kumar looked towards the river. The boys made a little cheer as they caught a few fish. They gestured Kumar to come.

“One minute,” he mumbled politely and ran towards them. He mumbled something to them in  Malayalam that sounded even sweeter. Chandran kept staring at him, watching him being childish with them, when Kumar looked at him and asked him to join. The sun had just begun to set and their shadows fell on grass, blended together.

On their way back, walking side by side along with the cycle, Kumar remarked. “I am surprised we never crossed paths,” he began. “Considering the closeness of this town.”

Chandran glanced and smiled at him. “I left for college only two years back. Because of this very reason.”

Kumar asked. “And now you are back?”

“I will leave again in some time.”

“I see.” Kumar nodded in approval and Chandran stared at his neck.

“You said you go to the river every night. Why not in the day?”

Kumar let out a small laugh at which a thrill ran down Chandran’s ears. Every small action of this man tickled his senses somehow.

“I go swimming at night. That is when it feels the most peaceful, you know. When the water is still and you are the first one to break. Would you like to come?”

Chandran felt his heartbeat rise to his ears. He had not gone swimming in a long time, probably after Raamdatt left. But this new found man who swam in the waters at night had a shroud of mystery around him.

***

“Help me with the clothes!” Chandran’s mother shouted from the terrace. The clouds were about to break anytime, accompanied by thunder. Afternoon sky quickly turned into a dark grey peril. While he had dozed off in his bed,  hearing his mother shout, he quickly shot up and ran up the stairs. A drizzle had already started.

“Hurry, hurry,” his mother took off a few clothes, while Chandran took off the ones hanging on the other. A few of them fell on the concrete, and his mother shouted again as they both struggled to pick up the clothes. “What are you doing?! Ehh, look, look!” This expression of hers made him laugh.

“Where are you lost, Chandu? You look distracted nowadays.”

“I am writing a new story,” Chandran replied with a smile. “I am thinking about that only.”

He brought his hand on my chest, tracing the wet skin slowly. The touch sent shivers down my spine. I breathed heavily while his hand went down from my stomach to the pelvis. I noticed him gulp as his hand came into contact with my warm erection. I gasped and he hungrily kissed me on the lips. I imagined myself at the seashore, the waves splashing against me, making me wet.

When he played with water, its droplets reflected crystal clear upon his palms. Chandran knew, he had little time, between the dissolving sunset and a full moon night. Their legs dipped in the cold current ascended a new sensation in his body. This side of the river was bare; the other, surrounded by lush, acting as a screen to be shared by lovers. Kumar admired him when he played with water with his finger tips; eyes glazzing as he took in his naked look. Chandran let his eyes travel from his neck to his bare chest, covered in water droplets, and followed how slowly those drops came down near his navel and disappeared in his wet shorts.

Kumar splashed some water on his distracted face. He laughed like an old man with a look of wild youth. I am heartsick, his mind and body echoed.

On their second night, they lay down on the bank after swimming for about fifteen minutes. There was no moon in the sky, few faded stars scattered here and there in the atmosphere.

“It feels like you came out of a story,” Chandran voiced his mind and turned his head to look at Kumar.

“Really? And are you the author?”

“Do you want me to be?” His eyes brightened as he gazed at Kumar.

There was silence for a while before Kumar spoke again. “A long time ago, my grandmother told me a story of a man. A tall man swam across a river at night, under the stars and among the dark wilderness. Some called him lonely, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. But each time he took a dip in water, he came out as a different person.”

He turned towards Chandran. “That story stayed with me somehow. And each day, even after my grandmother passed away, I grew curious and obsessed about this man till acchan broke my whim. Then much later, one day, I told myself, ‘If I can’t find him, I can become like him.’ That was when I actually learned how to swim. And I had to go with acchan to the rivers daily so I was able to practice well.”

“So, do you think, you have become that man?”

When Kumar gave a smile this time, Chandran swore he could see his eyes smile too.

“I don’t know. But one thing is for sure. I have become myself.”

Kumar gazed up at the half lit stars again. Chandran scooted a little closer, so that their shoulders were touching. Kumar did not look at him, as if it all of it was natural. He brought his face closer to his shoulder, smelling the natural odour of his firm body. While he inhaled, his aroma painted the cells inside his brain.

“I think, I will become myself, one day, if I finish writing a novel.”

At this, Kumar brought down his gaze and turned fully towards Chandran. “Why are you already drawing a finish line?”

Chandran noticed the seriousness on his face.

“Because you feel like you are stuck?”

“Maybe.”

A slight smirk became visible on his face. “What makes you think you will make it to the finish line? You may not live the next moment.”

Surprise quickly struck Chandran’s face as he heard those words. But Kumar’s smile only grew wider.

“Come, lets go to swim.”

Kumar made the jump, leaving Chandran behind. In his utter confusion, he felt afraid of jumping in. Kumar floated to the surface to see him looking bewildered.

Then lying on his back, as he swam across, he shouted, “Don’t think Chandran, just write. We are no one to draw the finish line. Start drawing your story now!”

Chandran was only home for a week. This unexpected encounter and bonding with Kumar made him stay back in Kottayam. Most days he did not come out of his room. He told his parents he was writing seriously and would not like to be disturbed. He ate his breakfast, lunch, dinner in his room. The only time he stepped out was for a bath. In three days, he was able to write a brief about what his narrative was about. And with a little hope in his heart, he showed them only to Kumar.

They met twice in a day now; during daylight as Kumar studied through the words written by Chandran and at night when they made love speaking a language of their own.

On one such night, while swimming, Kumar felt a little weak. “Must be because I am hungry, for you.” He winked at Chandran as he got up from the water and sat down at the bank. Chandran bit his lip and remained in the water, floating and looking at the sky. He heard Kumar coughing softly, and slowly closed his eyes to enjoy the water. Each time he tried to concentrate, Kumar’s light cough came to his ears and it made him smile. But then, the coughing didn’t stop. It kept going on and on and it tugged at Chandran’s heart.

He quickly swam to the bank and saw Kumar, lying on the ground, crooked through his continuous coughing. As he coughed, he kept one hand on his chest for the pain to subside. Chandran quickly sat on his foot beside him and began to rub his bare back, in hopes of comfort. But the next thing he saw made him stiffen at his place. As he coughed, he spat out blood in his palm.

As he calmed down, Chandran brought him up on his feet and helped him to his house. He had never been there before. But all he wanted was for him to rest, and the blood stains stuck in his eyes like nails hit with a hammer.

For a while, none of them spoke. Concern spread all over Chandran’s face, unable to express. Kumar read his face at a glance.

“It happens once in a while,” Kumar’s voice was weak. “I am okay.”

“I saw blood in your hand.”

Kumar stopped talking.

Monsoon hit Kottayam in the coming few days. Rains took over the drainage canals, overflowing them. Streets were empty and flooded due to continuous overpouring from day till night. That was the first time Kottayam ever faced such a gloomy cloud over in the recent years. The situation worsened so much that the officials reported locals to stay inside houses and be precautious. The alleys and ponds filled up entirely.

Near the window, Chandran sat with his typewriter, unaware of the weather outside.

He is too good to be true. He is too good to be true. He is too good to be true.

But the next moment, he pulled the paper out and crumbled it before throwing it at the corner of his room. Several pieces of paper lay on the floor, here and there. But nothing he wrote gave him satisfaction.

He remembered the moments with Kumar, the first time he touched his skin, the first time his hands lingered around his chest, unaware of what came to pass. In those days, when he did not see him, a dull anxiety lingered in his heart. It was impossible to go for a swim then as well as to even go out and meet him.

One morning, around five o’clock, the rains obtained a control over its downpour, although the streets remained flooded from the previous days. Chandran, carrying an umbrella and a torch, folding his pants above his knees, made his way through water. His heart signalled he would find Kumar awake at this hour. Crossing the flood rage, he stepped on a stair to his door, and without thinking, knocked on it twice.

The door opened, and Chandran saw Kumar, standing in a pair of shorts and a gamcha on his bare shoulder. Chandran was unable to smile at him. Kumar let out a sigh as he let him in.

Upon closing the door, Kumar hugged him from behind and whispered in his ears.

“I am happy that you came.” Chandran felt shy and looked down.

“Let’s go,” he came around, pressing his hand on Chandran’s shoulder, stroking his skin with his thumb. “Care for a swim?”

Chandran looked at him in disbelief. He squinted his eyebrows.

“I don’t think its right to go out.”

“Why? Swimming in rain is the best, I promise you that.”

“You should take care of yourself. Your health is not okay.”

“I am alright. Can’t you see that? I am fit and fine!”

“Stop lying to me.” Chandran almost said in a hiss. “The other night, I saw blood in your hands. These sudden coughs overpower you. Please tell me what is going on.”

Kumar blinked a few times. “I am fine,” as he repeated the same thing, Chandran lost his cool.

“You are sick!”

Kumar’s eyes expanded at the sudden outburst. Tears formed in Chandran’s eyes and Kumar’s hands involuntarily found his face, pulling him close. He slouched on the floor whispering, “Don’t go, please. Don’t go for swimming. It will affect you more. Please, stay at home-”

Kumar removed the hands from his face that carried concern and affection for him. He got up and sat on the corner of his bed.

“You are asking me to do something impossible. You are asking me to stop breathing.”

“If anything happens, what will I do? What will I do without you?”

“You will go back to your life and finish what you have started. Your novel perhaps. Don’t prioritize me over your art.”

“You are mad. You are going to kill yourself.”

“Maybe. And I guess it’s better to die doing what you love than staying away from it.”

Chandran remained seated on the floor. Perhaps he was trying to process the hardness of the words that have been spoken to him. The tears stopped forming. His eyes remained puffy.

Kumar understood the pang in his heart; he came and sat next to him, rubbing his back.

“I do care about you. All I am asking for, is do what defines you. Don’t make it hard on yourself.”

“Did you go to the river in these last few days?”

Kumar slowly nodded. Chandran said nothing. He felt a bob in his throat and swallowed hard to make sense of what was said and what is to be done. Whether to hold everything in his heart or nothing at all.

He had an unfinished life in Delhi. His hometown had now challenged the loneliness which drove him out of there. As if the universe was giving him a choice to pick out which loneliness he wants to suffer from. There was no way to feel better. He could do a lot of things to be better but not feel the same. The problem was that he could change his exterior– his environment, the people around him, things he disliked. But in the matters of heart, none of those would change anything from within.

When Kumar passed away, nothing could hit him hard or shake him up from the emotional layer that coiled him. Before that, nights appeared scary to him. He never looked up to gaze at the stars or the moon. He made himself discrete as if to appear small and unimportant to everyone in his town. He did not want them to know too much about what he did. But a lot changed under the fading light of the stars, in the darkness of a new moon phase. Yet the water remains still. In the darkest hours, it lures Chandran to visit the banks everyday. When he did, he imagined whether the river wept at it’s master’s demise. He splits the water with his jump every night, fearing no death, fearing no one around. He manages to go deep, within the hollow, yet the waters push him back to the surface, as if it is not over yet. As if someone needs him. He floats, remembering his lover. The man at the river calls him mad.