“At last I am home”, sighed Ryka happily, on that fateful Sunday morning, still tired to the bones after past week’s marathon shifting. After all being the owner of flat in the bustling metro of Delhi, was no mean task. As she looked around the now-furnished flat, Ryka gratefully thanked God for her helpful and understanding parents who gave her both monetary and moral support. A park-facing, posh apartment complex was an expensive proposition in South Delhi even if the flat was only 800square feet big.
Most of the big pieces and furniture were in place, including her favourite bookcase which she had got so lovingly built from her carpenter. Looking at it now with pride, the only thing missing was a nice, decorative urn to sit in the large middle space surrounded by shelves. Ryka called up her friend – Anupam – who had a small antique store in Gurgaon and asked if he kept any nice, antique urns at his shop. Unfortunately, Anupam could not recall a single piece at the moment but promised to keep a look-out for one. Disappointed but not ready to give up on the vision of a beautiful antique urn adorning the bookcase, Ryka got dressed and decided to visit the Tibetan market on the Yamuna riverbed.
After a long, traffic-filled journey, the taxi finally halted in front of the Tibetan market gates and Ryka instructed the driver to wait for her. She was soon lost in the bustling market filled with exotic pieces and narrow-eyed sellers wanting her to buy from their shop. Though she visited more than ten shops, nothing seemed to capture her interest and eye instinctively. Disappointed yet again, she started to turn back towards the gate, when a small boy came running and grabbed her hand. Trying to shake him off, Ryka gestured that she had no food to give but realised that he was trying to pull her into a tiny corner shop that she had missed.
The shop was quaint...a triangular piece of land that was filled almost till the ceiling with antique pieces. Walking around slowly, she at last came upon the most divine perfect urn that she had ever set her eyes on. A combination of brown and rust colours, it had a huge engraved pale yellow flower in the middle, surrounded by beautifully shaped leaves in deep green. The urn even had a charming, small leaf -shaped lid. The urn was sealed shut but the elderly shopkeeper assured her in broken Hindi that the seal could be torn open by any sharp instrument if needed. However, Ryka thought the piece looked better with a lid and bought it instantly, satisfied with her magnificent purchase.
Once home and placed at its position of pride on the shelf, curiosity overcame Ryka and she opened the seal to see how the urn looked from inside. Peering into the dark interiors, Ryka was surprised to see that there was something inside, something like a mix of grey dust and mud. She took some out in her hand and realised to her amazement that these were ashes! “Someone must have done some puja and put the fire’s ashes into this urn...maybe its holy, guess it would be better to just leave it there. No point messing with the Gods”, thought Ryka.
“The bookcase looks so imperial with this urn, almost like it belongs to the kings”, remarked Anupam when he came home that evening. “Yes, it seems like I was fated to receive it, almost looks like it did indeed belong to the kings and of course now to the noble Ryka”, Ryka replied jokingly. Very soon the urn became a part of Ryka’s morning ‘must-see’ sights, along with her limited potted plants in the balcony and the immensely funny sight of the neighbourhood obese aunty doing her aerobics in the adjacent balcony. “Funny, how my mornings always seem better when I look at this urn”, thought Ryka absentmindedly as she carried out her morning ablutions. She was almost not surprised when her long-awaited promotion finally came through a week later with a much needed raise. Good things started happening to her – better work, more cordial colleagues, and handsome office hunks giving her a second-look. “It is all because of this urn, it has brought special moments into my life, I will never let it go”, thought Ryka hugging it gleefully.
So went on life till that fateful chilly winter evening in the middle of December. Trudging home from the metro station, huddled up against the cool breeze in her shawl, Ryka was longing for her cup of evening tea. Opening the lock of the door, Ryka stepped inside and instantly knew that something was amiss. The lock had opened far too easily and the statutory string of thread that she hung from the door to a nail on the wall was missing. Common sense said that she should just walk away and call the Police or at least her friend – Anupam, living nearby, but Ryka was no coward. Squaring her shoulders, she silently crept inside the drawing room hall and walked into each room, cautiously opening doors as she went. Not a soul, no disturbances and nothing seemed amiss. Puzzled, Ryka put on the lights and then saw what was missing – the Urn! So somebody had come in after all.
Discussing the missing urn over hot cups of tea, Ryka and Anupam decided not to involve the Police or worry her parents; after all it was just one piece, and someone really desperate to want the urn had made the efforts to trace it to Ryka’s house. Only one person knew the whereabouts of the urn – the Tibetan shopkeeper. The very next day, Anupam and Ryka went back to the Tibetan market, hunting for the corner shop. To their astonishment, it was like the shop never existed...there were no signs, physical or otherwise, of the shop being around. Looking around wondering whom to ask, Ryka spotted the boy who had pulled her towards the shop. The boy saw Ryka and started running away from her. “Come on”, shouted Ryka to Anupam, pulling him along as she chased the boy.
Anupam tackled the boy, both falling on the hard ground with a loud thud. “Why were you running away, where has the shop gone, where is the urn, why did someone take it away”, questioned Anupam rapidly, pinning him to the ground. “I don’t know where the shop has gone, please release me, you are hurting me”, pleaded the scared boy. Anupam and Ryka soon learnt that the boy was the one who had stolen the urn from Ryka’s house on the orders of the elderly shopkeeper and the latter had disappeared the very next day after paying the boy for his efforts, with the urn. “Who will know where he went, tell me otherwise I will turn you to the Police”, demanded Ryka. The frightened boy thought hard for several seconds and finally said, “I know a distant relative of his, let’s go and ask him”.
The threat of Police did the trick once again and the relative reluctantly gave the address of the elderly shopkeeper, pleading ignorance of events. Tugging the boy along, Anupam and Ryka drove down to the shopkeeper’s house. They were both tired but determined to get to the bottom of things.
It was surprisingly easy after that...the elderly shopkeeper greeted them at the door and said, “I was waiting for you, I knew you would come, you don’t look the type who would rest till you get your answers”, smiling gently at Ryka. The story was remarkable...the elderly Tibetan confirmed Ryka’s suspicions that the dust inside the urn was indeed ashes. But not ashes of a puja but the ashes of a dead body burnt at the pyre. “Ugggghhh”, shuddered Ryka, “I was carrying ashes of a dead body in my house all this while, not very charming”. “No, no you must not think like that...you should be happy, you have been blessed by our Holy teacher – Dudome Lama”, the shopkeeper hastened to inform Ryka. “We didn’t realise that this urn was special and had been kept in the monastery with the Lama’s ashes by the monks. It got mixed up with the urns the monks make to sell them at markets like this and inadvertently got transported to Delhi,” the shopkeeper continued. “Then why didn’t you just ask for it, why have it stolen?” asked Ryka puzzled. “We were not sure if you would agree, you had your heart set on it, and I could see that in your eyes when you bought it, “admitted the shopkeeper. “We had no choice but to steal it and send it back to the monastery. Like other Delhites, maybe I hoped you would dismiss it as a random stealing but I think somewhere I knew you were different”, he continued.
“In that case I am indeed blessed and you are right, the urn was special. It somehow made my day, my mood and my life brighter and happier, I will miss it a lot”, rued Ryka. “Can I please offer to give you a very similar urn in return, just as beautiful, free of cost”, offered the shopkeeper. “No, I will rather live with the memory of a special urn than replace it, don’t worry I am sure something equally special will come along for my bookcase and in my life”, replied Ryka gently. Shaking their heads at the story of the fateful urn which had found its way into Ryka’s heart and home, the two headed home, sad but satisfied at solving the mystery.
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