Ignorance Is Not Bliss
Manarth Prasad

Naresh Prasad lived on a farm just outside Lautoka. He lived in relative peace with his wife (Priya), son (Raj-13), daughter (Lata-5), mother (Premila) and elder brother Salesh.  His eldest son, Vijay (21) was in Australia. He had received a scholarship to study medicine at Monash University two years ago. Naresh had worked on the farm that his father, Ramesh had inherited from his sonless father-in-law Hari Shanker, who had come to Fiji under the indentured labour system in 1881. One hundred years on, Naresh had bought the property, off his other siblings and a squabbling maternal grand-aunt. Now five years later their farm consisted of a large block of sugar cane that surrounded the concrete house, behind which lay a small shed for the three dogs - Fatty, Max and Rexy - who served their purpose as guards in case thieves managed to slip past the solid iron wire fence that surrounded the entire property. To add to his growing prosperity he drove a taxi during the day in the Sugar city. It served two purposes; he was able to take the children to school in the mornings and they made their way back by bus as he picked up passengers during the busy after office hours in the city.

During hurricane Bebe, in 1972, his vegetable farmer brother Salesh had lost everything, to the fury of nature. Naresh took pity on his brother, and welcomed him into his house. He had felt sorry for his normally boisterous sibling who was now withdrawn and silent, his bright eyes unfocused and blood-shot.  Naresh wished he could let go off his family’s death, but Salesh repeatedly blamed his lack of building skills as the cause of the tragedy. Naresh knew that this wasn’t the cause of their death. Their house had been built next to the Sigatoka River, which due to the torrential downpour had flooded the entire town. Barely anyone had survived. Had Salesh not been in Nadi at the time, he would also have perished with his family.  Salesh led his solitary life mulling over the events of 1972 like a tattered yellow newspaper cutting floating in his head. He told his brother that one day you will understand what he was going through. Naresh had the farm on his mind and his growing influence among local farmers and looked on his older brother with a mixture of pity and annoyance. Salesh looked after the everyday chores that never end on a farm and was a capable farmer in his own right. Only he was without the ambition and drive of his younger brother now.

Naresh sighed and turned over. All this thinking about the farm the and the local growers councils elections had made him tired… he let the dark clutches of sleep grab him. He found himself in a dream where the mud was engulfing the sugar cane, but there was no rain. The trees were still and no sounds were to be heard. Naresh was stumbling through the mud yelling “Priya! Ma! Raj! Help karo please! Somebody HELP!!” but no one answered. He kept running. Suddenly he found himself back in his house. He ignored this and kept running until out of the corner of his eye he saw something…

“Daddy! Get up daddy! Papa hum e school jai ke hai! I have to go to school Papa! I feel so good.” Naresh woke with a start. He saw Lata jumping around. He knew why she was so excited. This was Lata’s first day of school. His wife was humming as she made roti for the children’s lunch. The rain was still rapping harmlessly on the windows. He could hear his mother talking to herself in the next room. He saw Raj stumble out of the bathroom. Lazy boy he though probably still half sleep. He could not understand teenagers. Not this boy anyway. He was sallow faced and seemed to be stumble over everything. In the past week he seemed to be even quieter and spent more time setting up prawn traps with empty potato bags cut into a square and crossed diagonally with bamboo. At the back of a farm was some tidal water that came into the mangroves. It was near the sewerage treatment plant that on hot dry days sent a strangling pong over the farm. Everything was not okay with that place. He meant to take up the matter once he got elected. It was a done deal and he looked forward to his days in public office.

Naresh slid into his taxi and turned the key to take the children to the school, on the way into the city the motor began to sputter. The radio announcer crackled out a warning about some mysterious disease that came after the rains and had to do with raw sewerage and animals. He ignored this because something was wrong with his engine. He decided to drive on and have it checked in the afternoon. It was a good day as he picked up passengers at will throughout the day. The car ran smoothly for a while and just as his hopes lifted the newly painted Toyota Crown would give a sign that the problem had not gone away. Soon it was well after 5pm and the sun was settling into its resting place on the horizon. His car’s whining had gotten worse.

He suspected he was having problems with his spark plugs because the motor was feeling rough. He was trying to prevent the inevitable. The car wasn’t going to run on hope anymore. He pulled in to the nearest petrol station and filled up with five dollars worth for the run back home. When he turned the key the motor whirred and caught again. He still needed to get it fixed properly but it would do for now. As long as he made it back home. The meeting was at 7pm at the local primary school and he might have to take lift with his neighbour Ballu Khan. Naresh sighed, and started on the short run to the farm just outside the city.

He urged the car along silently praying that he would make it home. It did not. It came to a stop among the row of rain trees a couple of kilometers from the farm. He tried once more and urged the car into the bus garage on the side of the road. He knew the watchman and together they coaxed into a safe place. He walked the rest of the way to the farm and past the road to the sewerage plant adjoining his farm he heard wailing. He guessed it must have been from his neighbours, an elderly Muslim couple their Sugar Company Engineer son Ballu his wife and their grandchildren. Mrs. Khan was a sickly woman who had diabetes and often could be seen slumped in an old sofa on the front porch. He peered over their chicken wire fence to see all three of them on their porch, looking curiously over to another house. His house.

He ran over to his house and burst through the front door, only to find his wife weeping over Raj’s limp body. Premila’s weak voice rang out, “Collapsed… at the junction on the way back from school… Lata ran back but it was too late…”  His ignorance burnt through him… feelings rushed into him … And then there were none. He saw Salesh twiddling his thumb a knowing look in his sad face that for a moment brightened up in triumph.

Manarth Prasad is a high school student at Indian College and this is his first published work.