🧱 A Pilgrim’s Silence

Written in 2006 – Idea seeded by a friend, re-written with Copilot

I. The Worker

Anil was a manual worker in Bombay, employed by a construction company. In his early 40s, life had been rough. His days were spent hauling cement, bricks, and laboring under the scorching sun. He had a family—a wife, Lakshmi, and a ten-year-old daughter—whom he hadn’t seen in six months.

This time, his journey home was different. A month ago, Anil had learned he was HIV positive. He didn’t know how it happened. He had been with other women—fellow laborers—during his long absences from home. “It’s not news to have sex with other women when you meet your family only twice a year,” he told himself after each encounter. Then he’d light a beedi and stare into the night.

But now, he carried an infectious virus. He couldn’t tell Lakshmi. What if she asked for sex? He had never used protection with her. If he did now, she might suspect. He was afraid.

II. The Idea

The general compartment was overcrowded and stifling. Somewhere on that train ride, an idea struck him—Sabarimala.

He had a month of leave. He could claim he was observing austerities for the pilgrimage. That would explain the beard, the abstinence, the silence. “Maybe I’ll get some grace from God,” he thought.

Kerala is a land of temples. Sabarimala, nestled in the Sahyadri Mountains, is one of its holiest. Legend says Parasurama Maharshi installed the idol of Lord Ayyappa there. Pilgrimage season runs from November to January. Devotees observe 41 days of strict austerities—no meat, no pleasure, no indulgence.

III. The Homecoming

On a Saturday, Anil reached Thrissur. He caught a bus and arrived home. Lakshmi greeted him—bathed, jasmine flowers in her hair, the house spotless. Their daughter waited eagerly for the gifts he’d bring. He had brought her two new dresses.

“How was the trip?” Lakshmi asked.
“Extremely tiresome,” he replied.
“Why so much beard? You haven’t shaved.”
“I intend to go to Sabarimala,” he said, brushing his fingers over his face.
“Oh… so you’re observing austerities?” she asked, a little disappointed.

She had cooked non-vegetarian food to celebrate. That also meant no sex—not that she was eager. But still, the silence between them grew.

IV. The Emergency

Twenty days into his austerities, tragedy struck. Their daughter was in an accident. The school bus collided with another. Casualties were high. She was rushed to the hospital—critical. She needed blood. Her type was rare. Anil had it.

“Anil, they want your blood,” Lakshmi said.
“Our child is critical.”
“Why don’t you speak?”

V. The Silence

How could he tell her?

That he was HIV positive. That he had been unfaithful. That he couldn’t give blood to his own daughter.

He stood there, helpless.