A journey not made (728 words)

 

Amrita had long cherished a wish to visit the Sri Krishna temple at Guruvayur. She had a vow to fulfil and had often heard her friends speak of the enchanting idol and the serene atmosphere of devotion that filled the shrine. After much delay, she finally booked tickets for the whole family two weeks in advance. They had not taken a vacation in over two years, and she even hoped they could visit a few scenic spots before returning to Bangalore.

Her husband, Ananth, though buried in work, yielded to her earnest pleas and managed to secure three days of leave. The children were ecstatic. Amrita, too, was brimming with anticipation as she carefully packed traditional clothes for everyone, mindful of the dress code at Kerala temples.

The day before their departure arrived. Their flight to Cochin was scheduled for 8 a.m. the next morning. At around 11 a.m., the telephone rang. It was Ananth, his voice hurried and flustered.

“Amrit, I just got a call from the senior home where Chinna thatha, my grandfather’s brother, stays. He’s fallen seriously ill and has been admitted to a hospital in Vellore. They contacted me since I’m listed as his nearest kin. He expressed a wish to see me. I’ll leave by car after lunch and keep you updated once I reach.”

Amrita froze, her excitement giving way to anxiety. “Oh no! What about our trip tomorrow? Everything’s packed, and the flight is at 8 a.m. Will you be back by evening?”

“I’ll call once I meet the doctors,” Ananth replied. “He has no children or close relatives, only us. Let’s pray he stabilises. Please wait for my call.”

Frustration surged within her. “After two years of pleading, you finally agreed to this trip, and now this happens. I understand you have to see him, but why can’t you at least assure me you’ll be back tonight?”

“Don’t be unreasonable, Amrit. How can I promise that without knowing how serious he is?”

“What difference does your presence make after you’ve seen him? He’s under medical care, and he has the means for the best treatment. If needed, we can always visit later. I just want us to leave for Guruvayur as planned tomorrow. Promise me you’ll be back tonight.”

“You’re not being fair. Wouldn’t you do the same if it were your grandfather? Let me first meet the doctors. Please, just pray and wait for my call,” he said, and abruptly hung up.

The children were heartbroken. Amrita, too, could neither console them nor quell her own disappointment. As night fell, she clung to the hope that Ananth would return by 10 p.m. Instead, the phone rang at 10:30.

“Amrit,” Ananth said heavily, “grandfather is in the ICU. The doctors are not optimistic, and they’ve asked me to stay overnight. I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel the tickets. I’ll call again in the morning.”

 Tears of anger welled in Amrita’s eyes. “I knew this would happen. Stay there as long as you like,” she snapped, slamming the receiver down. When the phone rang again, she let it ring unanswered.

At 8 a.m. the next day, Ananth called once more. “By God’s grace, Chinna thatha is stable now. I’ll leave for Bangalore after speaking with the senior doctor. I’m sure you’ve cancelled the tickets. God willing, we can reschedule the trip next week.”

Her voice was cold. “I knew you’d say that. I’m making no more plans. Do whatever you want.” She ended the call.

A little later, as she watched television, breaking news flashed across the screen: A Bangalore–Cochin morning flight had crashed. Authorities fear heavy casualties.

Amrita’s heart skipped a beat. It was the very flight they were meant to take. Shocked and trembling, she dialed Ananth.

Her voice broke as she said, “I’m sorry for being harsh last night. It was Lord Krishna’s grace that kept us from this tragedy. His ways are mysterious—He showed His mercy through  Chinna Thatha’s illness. If you’re going to Vellore tomorrow, I want to come with you. Our grandpa, in a way, saved us today.”

“…Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence,

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.”

 William Cowper