Fading Dreams of Raka Falls: A Journey of Love & Loss

In this story, Amita recalls a mysterious waterfall, Raka Falls, and the connection to her grandmother. What did her later journey to Munnar reveal? Find out, exclusively for Different Truths.

A waterfall plunged down the hills, a roaring mass of cascading water.

“What’s the name of this waterfall?” I asked my thammi (grandmother) pointing my tiny finger at it. I was ensconced on her lap, my parents beside us in a jeep, which took us around Munnar and its outskirts for sightseeing.

My thammi who did her homework diligently before setting out on any trip said, “Attukal Falls.” She said this with utmost ease and nonchalance as she had when asked the names of the other falls.

I don’t quite recollect my reaction to the wondrous sight I beheld being a mere five-year-old kid. But its echo resonates and it comes alive in the pictures captured through my father’s lens as I turn over the pages of a frayed album even now.

Looking around I found another shred of water trickling down the slope of the hill beside the torrential cataract.

“And what is the name of that waterfall?” I enquired pointing at it, my curiosity kindled.

Instantly she said, “Raka falls”

I felt exalted and clapped my hands in glee on learning that the falls bore my name. After all, thammi’s words were like the undeniable scriptures of the Vedas to me! Moreover, I was too young to move outside the periphery of innocence and barge into the world of rational interrogations.

“Why is it so small thammi?”

“Well, why are you so small dear? Everything needs to grow just as you are growing up. And one day after many years if you visit this place again, you will spot Raka Falls as a splashing, plunging body of water rolling down. That day snuggling on my grandmother’s lap, my comfort zone I went on prattling and asking questions about falls. At last, I fell asleep and dreamt about my namesake.

*******

The memory of my trip to Munnar gradually faded though not effaced from my mind. At times my grandmother would turn the pages of the album and draw me near. I could remember the names of the things and places I had seen vaguely years back. I could instantly recognise Attukal Falls due to its hypnotic grandeur in the photo. As an ensuing question, I would unfailingly utter, “Thammi, is Raka Falls still there? Is it growing up like me?”

A beaming face of thammi and that unmistakable twinkle in her eyes was the answer to my question. It was a non-verbal response in the affirmative, which she occasionally chose to employ. My grandmother used to teach in a college. She was to me a rock of faith, my role model who guided me not only in my studies but was my partner in crime too. Therefore, at times my mother, though exasperated with my pranks and mischief, could not utter a word of rebuke. Thammi would either be a partaker of it or come to my rescue.

Years passed by and I stepped into High school. One day returning from school, I saw a congregation of neighbours, thammi’s colleagues and students in front of our house. All of them looked sad and spoke in whispers. Befuddled, I entered my house and ran to thammi’s room as usual without even taking off the school bag from my shoulder. The ambience inside was sombre and subdued. My grandmother was lying supine on her bed and seemed to be sleeping. My mother was sitting near her feet wiping her eyes with the end of her sari. My father stood like a stoic, a statue near her head looking down at her. Oh! What had happened? I tried to make a wild guess. Did she suddenly fall ill? When I approached her and called out “THAMMI” in a loud voice, there was no reply. I held her hand, and shook her; she did not stir. My mother drew me near and said, “Raka, your thammi will not respond. She has left us for her heavenly abode. She had a heart attack in the afternoon.”

Though a child I was old enough to understand the significance of my mother’s circumlocution. So, my grandmother was dead! How could this happen to such a dynamic lady full of zest for life? I saw ‘death’ at close quarters for the first time that day. I had this puerile notion that my family was well fortified with love and that death could never invade a close-knit family. I was dumbfounded and shed copious tears until my eyes were swollen. My deep love and admiration for her had prompted me to think of her as immortal and I could never imagine that such a misfortune would befall me.

But as time is generous and leisurely heals leaving a scar, I reconciled to my lot. The increasing pressure of studies, my dance classes and storybooks kept me engaged for a greater part of the day. My mother, a homemaker, did her best to spend as much time as possible with me. Both my parents understood how devastated I felt due to her absence. I missed my confidant, especially during nights when the fragrance of jui flowers wafted through the open window. It was evocative of the sweet breath of my thammi. I used to cuddle beside her at bedtime flowers to be serenaded by songs until I drifted into sleep.

I also missed her when I was at my study table. One day when I was reading a chapter on water bodies, I came across a paragraph on waterfalls. It rang a nostalgic chime and at once I was transported to that gorgeous waterfall in Munnar. I had my first lesson on the subject lodged on thammi’s secure lap. I could also recall my namesake, the frail trail of water trickling down nearby. Tears again flooded my eyes as memories of my grandmother gushed forth inundating the profound space of her absence. I kept on wondering whether the wee waterfall was actually called Raka!

Nevertheless, the name ‘Raka Falls’ passed down to me became a figment of my imagination and lived within me as I grew old. In college, I had taken up honours in Geography and as such dug into a lot of books. Raka Falls became a name nurtured and nourished in the deep recess of my mind which only my grandmother could gain access to, an ethereal link between me and her.

*******

But the name came out in the open one day. After doing my post-graduation I got settled in a High School as a Geography teacher.

“Sid, do you know that there is a waterfall named Raka Falls?”

Siddhartha (Sid) was in a corporate job. I met him at an event and we became good friends.

“Oh! You and your Geography! As far as my knowledge in the subject is concerned the less said the better.” He said with an impish smile.

“Don’t be so rude, it bears my name and my name is sheer poetry meaning full moon.” I declared with a conceited air.

“Well, that part of it I love but not ‘falls’. Falling in love is okay though” He smirked.

Days passed by; I tied the knot with Siddhartha. We were planning our honeymoon at a favourable time and place when both of us could take leave. We agreed to spend the cash we had received as a gift in our wedding for the honeymoon.

“Where should we go…. Goa, Kashmir, Darjeeling or Sundarban?” Siddhartha initiated the conversation.

“What an anti-climax! Kashmir and Sundarban! You only can be so ridiculous.”

“Well, then I leave it to your Highness to suggest.”

Raka Falls had been deeply rooted in my thoughts, a sort of obsession. My grandmother had hinted that if ever I could visit the place in future I would find it in its full-grown splendour. What better opportunity could I think of!

“Can’t we visit Munnar, Sid?” It is an ideal place for honeymoon couples.”

“Err…was it written in your Geography book?” Siddhartha said in air of persiflage.

Peeved, I hurled the word “Incorrigible” on him and strutted out of the room.

The next day in the evening there was a pleasant surprise awaiting me. Siddhartha returned from the office, flung himself on the sofa and handed over two air tickets to Kochi and back. From there we would drive straight to Munnar.

*******

My grandmother had prophesied that the falls would grow in magnitude with the years just like me. Excitement soared high as I landed in Munnar after a span of two decades. I wanted to skim the magnificence with my own eyes if ever it had. Though a student of Geography I couldn’t negate what she had said since I reposed utmost faith in her. The dictates of logic and theories of landform which I had studied always took a backseat regarding this matter.

Smouldering grief once again filled me to the brim as I narrated to my husband how precious my grandmother was to me and will always remain so. For the first time, I disclosed to him that ‘Raka’ Falls was an imaginary name. It was attributed to a wee trickling fall years back by my grandmother when I as a kid had accompanied her here in the vicinity of Munnar. I also added my grandmother’s prophecy that the falls would grow big just like me.

“I see…so it was not in your Geography book! But it will soon be on the map.” The urge to pull my legs was irresistible in him. But the next moment he looked solemn and said, “Tomorrow we will get ready early in the morning and set out for Raka Falls.

The next morning with bated breath I waited for my encounter with my namesake; it seemed to be a tryst with a lover I missed for years. Munnar is a land of waterfalls. It was the month of July and monsoon brought out the exuberant sheen on the voluptuous cascading waterfalls. The roaring sound of Attukal Falls could be heard from a distance as we approached it. Siddhartha was bewildered at its splendour and gazed at it. But my eyes yearned for a glimpse of my dear falls as I looked around. I was a mere kid when I first came here. But the fact that the falls was just a little distance away from Attukal towards the left was perennially registered in my mind. My eyes glided over the slopes but not a trickle of water met my eyes! There were only a few furrowed trails etched down the gradient.

My eyes moistened. Siddhartha, realising the gravitas of my disappointment held my hand lovingly, as torrents of tears like a waterfall gushed down my cheeks, inundating the undulations of my body.

Siddhartha gently said, “I now realise what your thammi had meant…. Raka Falls lives in you… your eyes, in your grandmother’s absence. It doesn’t need to have a geographical location.”

Picture design by Anumita Roy