Holy Love

“You are what your profession is. Your primary duty is what your profession demands.”

Joseph was stunned. His principal, Rev Fr Lawrence D’Souza, bluntly refused to grant him leave from job for a couple of days. Okay, more than a couple by three days. Round off and fuck off. Five days. And a Sunday in between. He was entitled to that much by all the laws in the world. A week. A week, man, is gonna make no difference to anyone in the college or anywhere.

Except to God. God can make a whole world in a week.

“This is the examinations time and how does your conscience permit you to take leave now when you should be preparing your students in their final moments?” Rev Fr Lawrence was relentless, indomitable… Joseph wished he knew more adjectives. In spite of being a lecturer in English in the premier institute of higher education in the city.  Town, not city, man. He reminded himself.

His wife’s pregnancy had gone into the eighth month and doctors suggested some rest and much care for her. It was her first pregnancy and Joseph was evidently not experienced with pregnancies and their demands. In his home state women took three months of precaution before the delivery. It was a tradition as old as Noah’s Ark. The tribal women of the hills around his workplace had no problem with their pregnancies and the deliveries. They got pregnant and they delivered without medical interventions and without too many leaves. Work till the evening, deliver the baby in the night, take a couple of days’ leave, and return to work with folded arms. “Jai Jeesu.” And all reverend fathers would reciprocate the greeting in the same words and with the same emotional warmth.

Joseph had the heat of passion. Not just some warmth. “I have to go,” he told his principal, Rev Fr Lawrence D’Souza. “I have to take her to her home. I’ll bring the medical certificate required.”

“Anybody can take her home, na?” Rev Fr asked. “Anybody cannot prepare your students for the exams.”

“I booked flight tickets, Father, so that I can come back as early as possible. I’ll manage the students and their exam preparations, I assure you.” Joseph’s brow wiped his sweat-drenched brow. He looked at the air-conditioner in the Reverend’s office. It showed 17 degrees Celsius.

“I’m sorry we won’t discuss this any further. Your choice is between your profession and your domestic affairs.” Rev Fr D’Souza went into the adjoining washroom.

Pilates have a way of washing off their hands, Joseph thought.

“Every child is a divine gift,” Rev Fr D’Souza preached from the parish church’s pulpit the next morning, a pleasant Sunday morning. “The Church is ashamed of those parents who decide to have only one child or two. Children are the greatest blessings of God. The Church is ready to reduce the school fees of those children who are the third or fourth of their parents. Have children, dear parents. Have God’s blessings in abundance and the Church is with you…”

Joseph’s stomach churned. He walked out of the church. And he vomited. Into the flower pot of Rev Fr D’Souza’s most beloved plant. He did not want to vomit on the sacred ground.