AMBROSIA

There was a couple sitting at the café when I walked in. As the light was low, I didn’t know who they were until the woman turned around, and I saw it was my wife.

…Hi! Arin, she waved at me

…come over and join us!

…meet Dr. Bramhadutt, the assistant director of our lab.

A gust of whining icy wind was forced out as I shut the door behind me. As I walked over to their table, and stood beside Mila, my wife, I was checking out, the latest addition to about a dozen members of the Indian community here in this remote town of Tromso, in Norway.

The man who was standing across the table, stood out, because of his height. He barely reached Mila’s shoulders, had a rounded paunch, but the feature that stayed with me, were his eyes, which were so rich and brown that swiss chocolateers would be vying for them.

…Dr. Bramhadutt, this is my husband, Arindam Sinha…Mila declared, as the stranger stretched his hand towards mine.

…Arin is a geologist at the offshore oil and natural gas rig at the Barents Sea, near Tromso Harbour, Mila added.

…you must be a proud husband, Dr. Sinha…your wife Sharmila is an asset of our Molecular Biology Department at the University of Tromso…she is assisting me in a very vital project, Dr. Brahmadutt smiled and quipped.

For the past two and a half years, Sharmila my wife and I were staying at Tromso, Norway. We were married for the past three years, and just after our marriage we had relocated to Tromso. I was here in my capacity as a geologist as part of a collaboration project between Norway and India. Sharmila was a post-doc fellow at the department of Radio-Molecular Biology, and she was working on a project in Gerontology, the branch of science dealing with longevity.

The town of Tromso, was located on the island of Tromsoya, about three hundred and fifty kilometres north of the Arctic Circle. Tromso to me was like a dream setting. Despite being at the heart of seemingly harsh weather conditions, it nevertheless offered a plateful of its own unique beauty. The warming effects of the Gulf Stream allowed for a much milder climate than elsewhere within the same latitude. Despite its very high latitude, the place was splendidly green in its short summer months. The avenue that ran alongside the Tromso Cathedral, down to where the main wharf was, was lined with Polar Willows and Birch trees. The yellowing birch leaves formed a crunchy carpet below the straight-lined white barked birch trees. The wind passing through them, made a whistling noise at times, a companion to the lonely traveler, on the deserted road. The road crossed a park, loaded with colors of children, in their afternoon bests as it winded down to the main wharf area, which was beside the boarding area for the helicopter, which carried me on a weekly basis to the oil rig.

Every Friday evening, I trudged back on this road to the town center, to my home. And every Monday morning, I made my way back through the same road, lined with pretty, cosy wooden cottages, to where I boarded the helicopter.

From Mila’s descriptions, I gathered that Dr. Brahmadutt must have rented one of those cottages near the farmer’s market.

Back home, the next Friday, I returned home to Mila, busy poring over some papers, with her laptop open next to her on the bed…get your cuppa coffee, Arin, it is still hot…

She looked flushed and flustered…some docs are missing from the bunch, sweetie, I need to find them…she looked up toward me with bloodshot eyes.

…Hey Mila, you don’t look too good…are you running a temperature, dear?...

I asked Mila, as I touched her forehead with my upturned palm. Her forehead was warmer than normal and she was perspiring. She did not seem to understand me and stared back with a blank look, while murmuring to herself that she needed to find those papers immediately.

I brought over two cups of coffees from the coffee maker, set them on the table, on the balcony and gently removed her documents from her hand…come Mila, it has been ages that we have sat down to a cup of coffee, together… But I need to find the papers, first, Arin…she kept muttering...You will be better equipped after a cup of hot coffee with me, and a paracetamol, later…I urged her. There was still a lot of sunlight left around nine in the evening in June, in Tromso. The weather was balmy. The wild flowers were blooming in our backyard, and its aroma was heady. The swishing of the leaves in the woods behind our cottage was lending a sense of tranquility, of being at home, of belonging. I was savoring the taste of peace, with Mila’s hand in my grip, when, Mila suddenly uttered…It was the cat!..

What?...I exclaimed!

…It was the tabby at Dr. Brahmadutt’s cottage, the other day…she showed me the scratch marks on her left wrist.

…did you visit him?...I asked her, mildly surprised, as Mila was not a person with exceptional social skills. And to visit somebody, who was barely known to her was a rarity indeed.

…Yeah! Dr. Brahmadutt had left behind a few analytics in his P.C. which was required the next day…he invited me over to his home in the evening and offered me coffee and cakes…I was taking out printouts and that is when the tabby jumped at me, unprovoked…

…Dr. Brahmadutt was totally apologetic and abashed and administered to me the first dose of anti-rabies regimen…so nothing to worry about on that ground…the next dose is scheduled for next Wednesday, in a row of another four, she added.

…He is a bachelor, Arin…quite lonely…He, his tabby, and his books, heaps of them…she mused…oh, and a very interesting collection of miniature dolls from all across the globe…she livened up when she shared this piece of information.

…You must check out his miniature doll collection, Arin…it is truly incredible…

I was worried for her health, as her temperature was not subsiding even after she had taken a paracetamol tablet. She barely touched dinner that night, but by the next morning, she seemed fitter. After breakfast, we decided to drive down to the farmer’s market to stock up on our weekly veggies and poultry. Between the cackle of poultry and conversation of farmers peddling their fare, we discovered a farmer’s wife, selling fresh homemade lemon meringue cheesecake, beneath a big colorful umbrella.

…This surely needs to tasted, Mila grinned…her sweet tooth was an issue of an occasional friendly banter between us. I was only too happy to see Mila, in her elements and settled down on the wooden bench with her. We looked around the market, as we waited to be served. It was a pleasant summer day and the warmth of the people around, in a place, where we barely get to see another person, lifted my spirits. As I was biting into my cheesecake, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to the beaming rotund face of Prof. Brahmadutt.

…look, Mila, who’s here…Mila turned around and asked Dr. Brahmadutt to join us. He sat down beside Mila and in between short conversations of the political status back home, he kept peering uncomfortably into Mila’s face minutely.

…you see Dr. Sinha, he addressed me…I believe that, there will be doers and there will be the talkers, and I would like to associate myself with the former group…he laughed aloud.

…that makes two of us…I said!

…I am so embarrassed about what happened at my house, last Wednesday…you see…Dona is so fiercely possessive about me…

…Dona? I asked quizzically

…my cat, Dona…he answered…I smiled back…that was just an accident, not intended…I reassured him.

…Is Sharmila, better now?...He peered into Mila’s face again, too close for comfort.

This man was sort of encroaching into my space, I was not feeling comfortable in his company, though I was not sure, exactly why.

…Soon it will be time for a riot of colors in the sky, the northern lights…nature’s magic…Prof. Brahmadutt…A spectacle, worth waiting for, a lifetime…I offered.

…yes, yes! Waiting eagerly for that…he smiled remotely.

…You should join the bi-annual meet of the Indian Community, in Tromso, next month…we are a closely bonded community here…I tried to be nice again. But Prof Brahmadutt was openly staring at Mila. I was feeling annoyed and impatient now.

…Oh no, thank you for the invitation, Dr. Sinha, but I covet my loneliness…he smiled a smile, which did not touch his eyes. It was almost sinister. I was queasy now and cut Mila’s meal short by curtly saying…we need to be going back home now, Prof…see you later…

…that man sure is a weirdo…I told Mila…maintain a safe distance from him…I warned her…

…maybe so, but he is a name to reckon with in the field of gerontology and to top it all, he is my guide, in my post-doc thesis…I can barely avoid him…

On my next visit home, the next weekend, Mila was again down with fever, this time she could barely sit up. I made some soup for her which she scarcely touched. She was delirious and kept muttering about shadows and statues. I called the hospital emergency service and shifted her to the hospital. Over the weekend, her fever subsided, and since there were no findings, she was discharged with a few medications.

Mila was sleeping like a baby on the couch, she seemed thin and shriveled up. I felt a sense of unconditional love for her, as I sat by her and gazed at her face. I had taken a week off from work, and tried to be by Mila’s side all the time.

Dr. Brahmadutt came calling the next day and said that Mila needed to be administered the third dose of the anti-rabies injection, which he had brought over with him, which he injected into Sharmila’s arms. After he left, a query arose in my mind. In Norway, over the counter drugs or medications were not available. The very next day, I paid a visit to the Prof’s lab.

…Oh Hi, there, Dr. Sinha, how is Sharmila doing now? … he seemed concerned.

…I am curious about one thing, Prof. Brahmadutt, how did you procure the anti-rabies, injection without a medical doctor’s prescription?..

…Oh, that?!... he seemed amused…I keep a stock of that, because of Dona…as I said, she is fiercely possessive about me, and this is not the first time that she has lashed out at my visitors…

…Then perhaps you should keep her in leash, or not invite people over to your place…His casual approach and air of nonchalance irritated me further.

…I have come to apply for a week’s leave on Sharmila’s behalf…I said.

…Please don’t worry about that…he assured me.

Mila was not keeping well and she had stopped taking any food. She seemed so small, almost like a little girl now, all shriveled up. Whenever she was awake, her big eyes followed me. I applied for another week’s leave, but my leave was cancelled as some unnatural seismic activity was detected near the oil rig.

I had to be present at the rig for three more days, before the unnatural seismic activity ceased to be. I kept calling Mila, but every time I called her, her voice seemed more and more feeble. On Wednesday, all my calls went unanswered, I started getting ominous vibes. I was air lifted on Thursday early morning, and as I rushed back home, the last stretch seemed unending. Mila was not at home.

…where was she, in such a physical condition?... I was sick with worry.

I rushed to her lab. Neither Mila, nor Dr. Brahmadutt were present at the lab. I obtained the Prof’s address and took a cab to his place.

It was afternoon when I arrived at his cottage. The front door was slightly ajar.'

…welcome to my den, Dr. Sinha…A voice sounded in front of me, as my eyes tried to adjust to the relative darkness of his living room.

…a pleasure to have you here, with us…

…have you met, Mila, yesterday, or today?... I asked him…I was panting, out of breath, scared to death.

…oh, Sharmila! she is right here…

I followed him to an even more dimly lit room. Show cases lined each wall of that room. The cabinets had multiple alcoves fitted into them. In each of the alcoves, there were miniature statues of humans from all over the world. Each of them was so convincing, so realistic and so detailed and precise, that I gasped.

…There is your Mila, Dr. Sinha…the Prof. pointed out at one of the alcoves. A miniature, Mila, about a foot in height, her body still, but her eyes moving and silently crying out for help was standing in one of the alcoves.

…Just the right temperature for preservation, Dr. Sinha…Here is your Mila…yours for life…Immortal!...I heard, the Prof. saying before darkness engulfed me.  

Author: Jayeeta Sen Roy