The Inheritance

Short story on a strange inheritance

“Courier for you,” my maid intoned. I thought nothing of it. Like any other household, we thrived on online commerce and packages flowed in daily.

I went back to my laptop but a minute later, she called again saying my signature is needed. I grumbled as I had to get down three flights of stairs.

The Fedex guy handed over a large packet. I scanned it to make sure it was for me. I frowned at the sender’s information. Who was Ramana Iyengar? An unfamiliar address in a rural part of the state intrigued me.

Inside was a large brown cardboard box. It must be a mistake, I thought to myself. What was this?

The box contained a bunch of official looking documents. There was a will of some sort. I was convinced now that this wasn’t meant for me but I was wrong. The will had details of my father, mother and even my grandparents along with my date and place of birth.

Legal documents are never my forte so I called up my lawyer friend. He asked me to bring the documents to his firm the next day.

I called my dad.

“Who is Ramana Iyengar?” I asked.

There was the slightest of hesitation.

“He’s my younger brother. How did you find out about him?”

“Some documents came to me from him. Why would he send them to me?”

My dad seemed confused. “Hold on, I’ll come over.”

He lived a few miles away so he was home in short time.

There was no preamble. “Let me see the documents.”

I handed the sheaf of papers over.

“Did you read the will?”

“No, I only saw my name and details and called you.”

A few minutes of silence ensued as he read through the six pages of the will. I was dying of curiosity as his study was broken solely by a few grunts and tongue clicks.
Finally, he was done.

If anything, he looked more bemused than when he started going through the will.

“Ramana left home when he was twenty-one. He only told me where he was going and why.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?”

Again, the pause.

“He left because his wife died at childbirth.” My dad was evidently uncomfortable.

“Dad!” I was exasperated. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You are that child,” he stated.

“What are you saying?”

My ex-father’s eyes refused to meet my eyes. “Yes, your mother and I had been married a few years and we couldn’t have children of our own so Ramana left you with me.”

No words formed. My entire childhood flashed through my head. It was all a lie.

“You will always be our son,” he continued in a valiant attempt at soothing me.

“He made me promise that I should never tell you.”

My mouth formed a single syllable. “Why?”

“Ramana was different from all of us. He had a spiritual calling that only I understood.”

My dad continued, trying to deflect the main point of contention. He went back to the will.

“He has left you a school in Raipura. It’s a small village in the interior of the state. It says in the will that as his sole heir, you inherit the school”

I was incredulous. “A school?”

“Yes. It’s best you go and visit”

This was getting a bit much. First, I discovered that my father was not one and then he was asking me to go to some village to see a school.

“What’s wrong with you dad? I’m not going to some village to see a school!”

His voice was calm. “You should go. I will come with you. I want to pay my respects to my brother.”

Something in his voice had changed. It was gentle but firm and I squirmed.

“We leave tomorrow,” his voice remained even.

“Yyes…,” was all I could muster.

It was a six-hour drive and we were both exhausted when we got to Raipura. It was surprisingly modern and had electricity and well laid streets.

Hunger overtook us and we went into a small restaurant where the owner personally served us delicious South Indian fare. He enquired about us and when my father told him why we had come, the proprietor’s eyes glistened.

“A great man…a great man,” he mumbled. “Honor to meet you sir.”

My dad solemnly shook his hand and asked “Where is the school?”

“I will take you sir,” the proprietor was eager. “Very special school!”

We walked a few hundred yards on the main street and took a turn into a smaller lane.

Ahead of us and to the right stood a white building inside a large compound. The afternoon sun bore down upon us in all its fury and I squinted at the bright building.

There was no one at the gate and the restaurant owner beckoned us towards a section of the building on the left.

The door read ‘Principal’s Office.’

He would go no further and stood back. My father knocked on wooden door.

“Come in,” a voice came from within.

A tall bald gentleman stood up as we entered. He was not all bald as he had a small pony tail springing out of his head.

His voice was deep and calming as he looked into my eyes. “We have been waiting for you Bharath.”

Everything was moving too fast.

He smiled again. “Your father has bequeathed a unique legacy. This is like no other school in the world.”

I turned to my father who had the same serene smile.

“The children here are Devas, celestial beings sent to this earth to help us through the difficult times our world will go through.”

My brain was in overload. “Dad?” was all I said.

As if to reinforce the Principal’s words, a shining light emerged from the center of his office. A little child materialized out of nowhere.

He bowed in deference.

“Welcome Guru.”