THE STORY OF THE KESHAVANS'

Many years ago, a boy was born in a village deep in the lush hills of Kerala. They named him ‘Keshavan’, meaning ‘A person who everyone adored.’ 

Some people say, that’s why the trouble began. Because of what they named him. Growing up, he was constantly compared to another man, also went by the same name, who lived and died before him. Whenever something big (and sometimes, even little things) happened in Keshavan’s life, they told him, that was exactly what went down with the other Keshavan, his mirror image from another time. 

Both the Keshavans’ broke their arm jumping from a mango tree at age 5, and they would be able to swim a full lap around the lake by age 6. The were both pranksters, chasing the neighbours chickens off to the forest every opportunity they got. 

At first, it amused him, even excited him. This person, unknown to him but just like him. It was like discovering a secret twin who lived before you. Sometimes, it gave him solace and comfort. When things got confusing, he would lay under the night sky, grappling at the uncertainty of life and whisper to himself ‘’So Keshava, this is not a great situation. What should we do?’’ 

He tried to find out more about Keshavan, but sadly no one could give him any information of significance. They seemed to remember the similarity to Keshavan life only after something had happened in his. So it lay like this secret book that was written earlier but was writing itself again. 

As the years go by, he gets older, and things start to take a different turn. The comparison starts to get to him. It seems like anything he does, Keshavan had done the same. 

He did not want to go do farm work, he wanted to study. Keshavan too. 

Would walk for hours to clear his head when things were tough, yes Keshavan too. 

Confessed his love for his childhood sweetheart at 22? yup, same. His childhood sweetheart left him at 26 and ran away with somebody from the next village? Also Keshavan. 

Took a few extra years off from his studies because of his responsibilities at home when his mother got sick? You guessed it, Keshavan did the same. 

By the time he was 28, he couldn’t take it anymore. His life was at the lowest it had been. He had lost his love, all those years caring for his mother in favour of completing his education on time, now he had lost his mother as well as his motivation to study further. The farm was no longer an option, not after all he had learned. Yet he couldn’t get himself to leave home and pursue his studies either. It was too soon. 

Every time he turned to anybody hoping for some kind of peace, some direction…Keshavan was all he was reminded of. It angered him. It was like they were convinced it had to be the same for him. He did not feel close to Keshavan anymore. 

Slowly, Keshavan stepped into the shoes of a recluse. Days. Months. Even a few years passed like this. He would still go on his walks. But towards the forests where he couldn’t hear the hushed voices of the people whispering, “See! Keshavan, the recluse. The past has become the present.’’

Then one day, he could not take it anymore. It was too much. Life, his fate, this unbreakable link to Keshavan. The more he analysed how it unconsciously had affected his choices at each stage in his life, the more it consumed him He couldn’t live this way anymore. So one night, when the whole village was asleep, Keshavan decided to end his misery. 

He jumped into the well and drowned. He left no note.

The villagers found him the next day. Shocked at his sudden demise, they huddled around the well and his body was pulled up. Bloated, disfigured, blue, Keshavan did not come out of the well a pleasant sight. 

And the villagers? What did they have to say? ‘’Oh my, even Keshavan killed himself exactly like this. At the same age too. Such a coincidence. What a pity.’’

*This story evolved from an abridged version of a story my mother used to narrate to me as a child.

Sam enjoys looking for wonder in the synchronised dance between inward and outward experiences of life. She weaves stories about how that which is termed as ‘the other’ or the ‘outward experience’ seamlessly comes to merge with that which is termed as ‘the self” or the ‘inward experience’