Timeless

‘What the heck do you think you are doing ?’ a furious Anand raged. ‘Flee or stay till I thrash you into pulp’ he warned.  The neighbourhood bullies scurried away. The scoundrels had resorted to their reprehensible antic of pulling down the dangling trouser of the harebrained Jaga. The target of their mockery stood shell shocked, stuttering hard to mouth the right words. Unlike the brain inside his head, his perfectly normal legs were trembling out of weakness. To his childlike wits, pulling up his pants at that moment seemed as complex as building a spaceship. So his fallen pants remained vanquished at his feet and he began to weep like a toddler. It provided for a perfect dose of laughter for the gathering around him. The customers of the nearby betel shop and grocery store were visibly amused by the sadistic hilarity in Jaga's humiliation. All  laughd in chorus.

Anand rushed to Jaga's aid. He placed his briefcase by his side and bent down to lift the latter’s pants, which sat crumpled on his feet screaming to be restored to its proper position.  Anand never tolerated anyone tormenting or ridiculing Jaga. Nor did he ever reply to the hackneyed question as to why he was so protective of Jaga, causing a pervasive suspicion that he was privy to some covert cause. But the truth simply was that Anand felt so outraged over the disgraceful repetition of such insensitive query that he invariably chose to stay quiet, instead of spitting on their faces the simple answer that as a man it was his rudimentary purpose to prevent undue harassment to another, more so when that poor soul was one who could not tell the difference between sun and moon.

A year ago when Anand had arrived at Sunrise Colony, with a truck load of furniture, surveying the area for the correct address of his soon to be home and to join his first employment, he was quite affable to the people of the locality. At thirty Anand had no intention of getting married and starting a family. He had made up his mind that, unlike his friends, he was going to devote his life to the upliftment of the needy and impoverished, instead of reconciling with the unexciting and commonplace way of life. As a first step he had offered to serve an organisation which had similar goals. They pay was minimal but he didn't care. Money wasn't a problem. He had been bequeathed dizzying amount of wealth from his industrialist grandfather.

In the beginning, Anand was not so acerbic on the tormentors of the social pariah that Jaga was. But soon Anand repeatedly noticed that almost every passerby  somehow considered it his inviolable entitlement to deride Jaga in one manner or another. It wasn't as if he didn't suppress his natural revulsion against the whole affair. However, when he confronted his conscience he held himself equally guilty for not raising his voice in protest.  That moment onwards, Anand dutifully stood between Jaga and anyone who purported to trouble him. He even tried to reason with the incorrigible frolic mongers that it's unkind to treat anyone in their manner, hypothetically putting them and their family members in Jaga’s position. He realized that he was wasting his time.  The only difficulty was that Anand could not remain around Jaga at all times.

Anand was most disturbed upon knowing that, though the plight of Jaga was a household tale of the whole community, none treated him with the love he deserved. Forget love, on the contrary they made him their amusement toy. The priest of their temple, Madhav Babu, had found him as fragile as a sapling, fully wrapped in a thin white linen sheet of cloth, leaving his pink face adorned by his gem like eyes and his pursed lips, hanging to its life by a thin thread. Madhav babu was strolling down the flight of temple stairs to make his customary walk around the deity chanting hymns of dawn puja, when for no apparent reason he felt like peeping inside the small dark chamber just around the corner. The murky cavity which was used as a dump yard for unused material had sheltered a newborn life. The priest forthwith took Jaga in his arms and strolled out under light and checked for signs of life in its tiny form. He was assured of it when he noticed his furtive breathing. He wasted no time in taking him to their community health centre where the Lord Almighty not only restored to him his life but also ensured that the child would have the love of a father. Thence the priest and Jaga lived under the same roof provided by the temple committee where the former became inextricably entwined to his fate of being a devoted father to Jaga, who was given up for dead by his own. As time passed Jaga's frame grew stronger and he looked healthy and fit with no hint of his endangered infancy presenting itself about his appearance. But it didn't take long for his kin to discover that he wasn't mentally able as other children. His mind hadn't kept pace with his age. At fifteen he had the brains of a five year old.

Many blamed it on providence, many on past life sins and many figured that it could be the result of the lack of mother's milk. Madhav babu was unable to cope with this misery. He had invested his dreams of being succeeded by his adopted son but that hope was reduced into a mirage with his son's newfound disability. It was too much for the ageing man and he took ill. A man's old age is perhaps livened by his family and his children's prosperity. That was not to be in the priest's case. Dark imaginings and sorrow took their toll on him. He reduced into a living straw and finally one stormy night he breathed his last. The whole night Jaga sat besides his father rambling to him unsure of what to make of his still lying frame. The next day his body was cremated on the banks of the Mahanadi. Everyone returned except Jaga who sat their for two days clueless as to where his father had vanished from the pyre. When he strolled back, life was not the same for him. The pitiless society blamed him for the priest's demise. They ostracized him. The doors of the temple room were forever closed for him. He was banished, back to nature's lap. He found shelter under the large Peepul tree in the center of the colony where he remained resigned to his dreadful fate, surviving on scraps thrown in by a kind few. Till the powers that rule providence sent Anand as his saviour.

On a bright autumn morning as Jaga lay gaily immersed in his senile delusions , Chintu and his partners in crime hurled a bagful of cow dung at Jaga. The poor chap was startled from his sleep as if earthquake had jolted him. He woke up to find the smelly waste smeared all over his shrunken belly. Anand saw this. Outraged, he threw his handbag where he stood and rolled up his sleeves readying himself to catch hold of the rogues and give them the beating of their lives. But being alien to the geography of the area, he looked helplessly as the scoundrels melted into the myriad lanes and by lanes of the neighbourhood. The next day he ensured that Chintu’s pristinely shining white school uniform was given the same treatment that its wearer had meted out to the innocent Jaga. He waited till Chintu got down his father’s scooter, waved him good bye and sauntered along the pathway towards the school gate. Just when the rogue was about to step inside, Anand took a perfect aim at him and forcefully flinged a polyethene bag brimming with fresh manure at him. It landed exactly where it was supposed to. The dung lay plastered on his spotless shirt, partially dripping down to his feet. The whole gathering around him broke into laughter. Anand emerged from his hiding and strolled towards a stunned Chintu.

The gang was never going to take this insult of their leader, lying down. So they beat Jaga black and blue, a night later. Leaving his arms and face swollen beyond recognition. When Anand saw this he swore then and there that he wasn't going to leave Jaga at the mercy of his tormentors. He took him in, & let him live with him. He held his hands and guided him inside his house. He fed him warm soup and boiled rice. He took a close look at his wounds and applied ointment on them. They stayed together from that day onwards. Anand purchased a set of toys for Jaga to keep him from straying out of his house in his absence. He didn't feel embarrassed at all when he bought those in a large transparent polythene bag for his seventeen year old friend.  Jaga fell in love with the toys. He would play with them for hours when Anand was away. When he came back from work, he would take him out for a stroll under his watch.

Soon the neighbours stopped troubling Jaga. Word of Anand and Jaga's friendship spread far and wide. People in the locality began to revere Anand. Persons who dismissed Jaga as a madman began inquiring from Anand about his well being. Such was his unadulterated and unpretentious sincerity in caring back for Anand, that the latter claimed he'd found a true friend in Jaga. People started paying visits to Anand's house and many even wanted to say 'Hello' to Jaga. When summoned by Anand, he would come out and offer a perfected namaskar to their doting guests, and quickly amble back into his room. Women prepared special dishes and sent them over for the friends. At times when Jaga remained adamant not to open his mouth for a morsel, Anand would announce that he too wouldn't touch his food and conjure up an act of pain in his stomach. Within moments, Jaga would surrender, assume his favourite lotus position ready to be fed. During idle Sunday noons a relieved Anand would loudly sing songs of friendship and Jaga would incoherently join him.

At times when Jaga would be engrossed arranging and rearranging the plastic puzzles Anand would confide in him about his inner feelings. He would tell him that he understood his destitution as he himself was an orphan. He would often caress Jaga's head when he'd be fidgety and scared for no reason. Jaga would wake him up in the middle of night pulling his hands demanding him to take him for a walk outside. It would take a great deal of explaining and cajoling for Anand to convince him against his wish. Despite many inconveniences and annoying antics of Jaga, Anand never regretted having brought him along. When it would rain with gurgling thunder and blinding flashes of lightning, Jaga would hug Anand tightly and sit close to him. Anand would always quickly return his embrace. With passing time, Anand discovered certain remarkable traits in his friend. He came to know that Jaga was an avid observer and a quick learner. Whenever he had to hurry for his office without performing cleaning chores, he often returned to notice that his bed and other places were pristine, his dishes and sheets put exactly the way he normally kept them. Jaga remembered the names of birds and animals that he'd told him. The two friends would secretly make fun of a few chosen men of their colony and their peculiar funny habits and mannerisms. In the best of his days, Jaga would even mimic the most funny ones, whatever he remembered of it. He often pleasantly surprised Anand with his ability to remember about the latter's most annoying habits. Anand was elated. He couldn't have asked for more.

A year had passed since the day Jaga was ushered into Anand's house And the latter was always curious to know about Jaga's actual date of birth. But he never asked anyone. He'd been toying with the idea of celebrating his pal's birthday and once when the two friends were lost in banter, Anand declared  ' I don't know when exactly you were born, but let's just celebrate the day we began to share this roof over our heads, as your birthday. It'd be a celebration of our friendship too. What do you say ?' Anand wasn't quite sure if his friend understood his message. The latter simply looked out of the window and said "Sky.. Big Sky". 'Yes, that's a big sky my friend just about as big as your heart.'  replied a smirking Anand. He got ready in a jiffy and announced to him that he'd be back in an hour with his favourite cartoon toys from T.V. and ofcourse unputdownably delicious snacks. Jaga was unduly adamant that Sunday evening to accompany Anand. Anand had to speak a few harsh words to quiet him down. Something he regretted all the way he walked to their town's most busy Chinese restaurant. He would make it upto him when he got back, he assured himself.

But the delightful soul that Jaga was, soon forgot his savior's chides and became busy in conducting a fierce talon fight between a rubber dinosaur and a plastic dragon. A few hours later when Jaga was in the loving arms of sleep which had rescued him from boredom, a relentless rapping on the door jostled him out of it's embalming hold. When he opened the door he saw two uniformed policemen posted outside like twin poles. He quickly dropped his toys and raised his left hand to salute them. Realizing his mistake he immediately put down his left hand and raised his right. He'd learnt  about it during the Republic Day parade at the town gallery, where he had accompanied Anand. He remembered how uniformed men like the ones standing before him gave and took salutes. He was a bit perplexed when no salute was returned by them. Even more puzzled were the two gentlemen who received the honour. One of them strolled inside after important queries by him weren't replied with any rational answer by Jaga. His eyes fell on a framed photograph of Anand, which he surveyed it with rapt attention. Then he turned around to show it to his colleague, who took a deep breathe after taking a good look at it.

A police van in an untimely hour in front of the most unlikely house of their peaceful colony had naturally attracted a small crowd. The elderly men of the locality curiously gawked at the Policemen and the women stood far behind them trying to figure what was going on. Why had the Police come to Anand's house ? they wondered and exchanged hisses among themselves. The Officer came outside with Anand's photograph and quickly swapped his glances between it and what looked like a small card sized document and asked the crowd aloud

'Is this man Anand Majhitia ? And does he live in this house ?' 

'Yes..yes' came the half hearted chorus reply.

'Where is his family ?' he continued probing

'He has none Sir' replied the grey bearded man standing just near him.

'And who is this man ?' the officer asked pointing his finger at Jaga.

'That's Jaga Sir. But he's not Anand's relative. They are just fiends, living in one house.' the same man answered gleefully.

'I need to take him to the Police Station' said the officer.

 'He's of no use Sir. He's a lunatic.' someone objected.

The officer took a good look at Jaga and nodded his head as if he now understood where the salute came from.

'' Someone has to come to the Station' he announced with pretentious regret

'But why Sir ? What's he done ?' the same old man asked

'Just come.' the officer blurted dismissively.

The van roared to life as two of Anand's neighbours hopped inside it following the officers. It sped away with the rest of the onlookers trailing it's dwindling form swallowed by smoke and dust. Jaga strolled back inside the house and shut its doors.

At the entrance of the Police Station a white mini van was parked. The men got down from the vehicle and were led to the back of the mini van. A constable rushed and flung it's doors open. The two men who had accompanied the officers hissed and damned and turned their heads away aghast. Anand lay still inside it, on a decrepit stretcher covered with starched white cloth upto his neck. Had it not been for his still chest, one could not have said whether the man was in slumber or asleep for good.

What happened Sir ? asked one of the men in between stutters.

'He was hit by a speeding car. Probably died on spot.'

This time Jaga was inconsolable when he saw his friend being torched. When his adoptive father had left him, death was not an idea that his mind had known then. But today, even for a feeble minded fellow like him, flaring up the body of his friend was beyond his tolerance. How could he stand and watch while they burnt his friend. It took three sturdy men to subdue his relentless attempts at salvaging his friend's blazing body. Only when it had been fully devoured by the insanely dancing flames and the bits of his flesh and bone had been reduced to smoking ash, Jaga was let off. He howled for an hour, sure of his loss. Like an infant deserted by his mother, thrown into the dark confines of nothingness, with no light to guide him, with no hand to caress him during hopelessness, no gentle voice to reassure him and no one to shelter him from his fears, forsaken and forlorn he cried and cried till the source of his tears dried up. Someone saw him lying unconscious and brought him to his residence. People feared that miseries would return swiftly to Jaga's life, when he would open his eyes, now that his friend, his liberator had abandoned him, once again leaving his survival to the mercy of the cruel. But Anand didn't abandon his friend. To even think of such a thing was to disgrace the great soul that he was.

Anand had made his friend the nominee for receiving twenty five lakh rupees of his insurance policy. But confident of the fact the he'd be swindled, he had put all of it in a trust constituted in Jaga's favour and made its trustee his mentor cum boss Mr. Bimal Mishra, the man who also ran "Sharan', a philanthropic organization for the care and upliftment of abandoned and forsaken children. The fifteen paged 'Trust Deed' stipulated that the money could only be spent on his treatment, education and if need be other of his necessary expenses. So that he could attain the best flight to his destination with  dignity. Anand had never disclosed that he'd purchased the house where they lived and that he had made a will whereby it now stood tranfserred in Jaga's name, also protected by the trust, in case Anand's allies turned against him. At no cost he could have gone without ensuring a roof over his beloved friend's head.

A week later Mr. Bimal won over Jaga and convinced him to come with him to 'Sharan'. Jaga now resides there in a cozy quarter allotted to him. How soon time flies. Jaga has managed to find his laughter. He is adored by all his mates at 'Sharan', as much for his affability as for the fact that he was the great Anand's friend. After all Anand had been Bimal babu's most hardworking deputee in building 'Sharan' from scratch to what it is today. He deeply connected with all the teenagers living under 'Sharan's roof.  Though many times Bimal babu asked him to bring Jaga there, Anand had respectfully denied saying that he needed his personal care, concealing within himself the truth that he too needed Jaga's company.

When Anand is reminisced at 'Sharan', Jaga keenly listens to the tales of his dear departed friend and smiles over whatever he understands of it.  They also ask him about their friendship. He is unable to answer, yet. Many have spotted him staring infinitely at the garlanded portrait of his friend, put up on the wall of the auditorium. As if the two are engrossed in a clandestine communication.  Memories of his friend are not hard for him to recall. They are the only good memories he has in his life. They are immortally etched in his mind just as the eternal sun and stars painted on the heavenly canvass.

He has recently begun his lessons on English alphabets and he enjoys it to the core. It's fast sharpening his mind. Someday he'll find smartness. He has abundant good wishes pushing him ahead to that goal. He loves being at 'Sharan' but misses his home where countless memories lie bundled. They await for him to return to them. He plans the same.




**   ' Timeless ' is a work of fiction.and any resemblance in it with any person, place or incident is purely coincidental. 

Angel Eyes

Pranab frequented 'Sip' more than he consciously wanted to. His desperation to indulge in romance puppeteered his volition in arduous and often unabashed pursuance of that ambition. Pranab's visits had earned him the glorious distinction of a 'Royal Guest' in an eatery where perhaps one would only rarely find a second visitor of his age group. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the vibrant and juvenile gathering. But for the fact that waiters always kept hovering around Pranab, the guests would have found out his motives. Most passed him off as someone related to the business of that eatery. It's a good thing that a clandestine scheme had been devised between Pranab and the floor manager of 'Sip' owing to his apparent customer loyalty. The waiters had been instructed to keep the table at the southern end of the lounge always available for the man. He was never to be returned for the lack of accommodation. That was the instruction.  Also the waiters of 'Sip' memorized Pranab's choices in the menu card like their bed time prayers. Ofcourse it had more to do with an edict of their immediate boss and a habitual repetition of the same servings, than any truth about the analogy 'Customer Is God'. In those countless times Pranab ordered the 'cappuccino', 'apple's ale' or 'grilled chicken sandwich', the waiters broke into hiss hiss disgusted by his repetition of the same old treat for his tongue every day, day after day.

"Sip" had bagged itself the niche of being the most visited frolic zone for youngsters of the near and far corners of the city. The distinction was not however equally welcome among elders of the town. All kind of foolhardy indulgences were heard of being encouraged inside the place. Be that as it may it held its pride for being an addiction among the adolescents of the town. It was often remarked by it's most avid admirers that one must personally visit the place and spend some moments there to get a real sense of why the place is such an incredible rage among teenagers. Pranab never cared about or met with those reasons. He had his own reasons. It was in many ways the most fundamental of all. He looked out for meeting some girl and befriending her, with no dubious intentions whatsoever. He considered himself purged of all evil motives, especially ones with which those boys in the darker parts of the eatery pecked away at the necks of their female companions.

The eatery had two distinct zones tailored to cater to the desires of its two 'most visiting' categories of guests. The bedazzling lighting buttressed by vibrant upholstery and airy spacing among the tables in the eastern part of the cafeteria, just around the entrance, made it the 'look -no-further' preference of the friendly gangs. They flocked there, treating it like some extension of their living rooms, with their legs mostly not on the ground and their words mostly heard by even those to whom they were not spoken. Everyone moved beyond their personal grudges and remorse in the embrace of the enveloping aroma of the bakery. Much unlike the farther part of it where the lighting was near dark and the whole zone was cut off from the rest of the place by a huge wall of translucent glass, allowing partial imagery from the other side, just ample to tease one's imagination. The glass separation allowed it all the exclusivity that would suffice to entice pubescent hormones. They said that the ambience beyond it was euphoric forever. Glimpses of the alluring ecstasy stole its way out, the maddeningly loud decibels escaping everytime someone opened the glass doors. It'd gradually die down with the gradual closing of it. It was amazing how the two spots, sharing the same roof over their heads (not the ceilings for they were strikingly distinguishable from each other) shared nothing when it come to their purpose and their occupants.  

Pranab walked into 'Sip' on a Thursday morning, something which he never did. His homemade brunch was his favourite. He wore a fade proof smile. He drifted to his designated couch, simultaneously eyeing for promising tables. He noticed none. His grin left him like a disgruntled ally as he settled down. He closed his eyes and thought of his dream of dawn. He sat on the exact same chair where he was seated, staring  away at someone. Everytime he tried to make out who he was looking at, a power cut would ensure that everything turned to blinding dark. Power would resume the moment he would turn his head somewhere else. This went on for an uncomfortably long time before he saw two people walk out hand in hand. By the moment he was summoned by his senses to the real world he had managed to discern a beaded bracelet on the girl's slender wrist which had the words ANGEL EYES embedded on it. The climax of his dream was the cause of his chivalrous smile. He'd been led by it to expect that it was a sign of soon to be found romance. The smile had of course faded when he'd noticed that 'Sip' was teeming with couples that day. He hadn't noticed carefully.

The table fork slipped out of his fidgety fingers and met the granite floor with head turning levels of clink clank, jumping on its four pointed tips and turning over its head and musically tossing itself around before it was finally disciplined by Pranab. When he resumed his seat he discovered that his fork had distracted many eyes. He quickly nodded his head gesturing at all of them, his wordless apology. As he was steadily shifting his pleading eyes from one table to another, unlike the usual fleeting glimpse he affords himself, that he saw her.

He was fairly surprised on having missed her the first time around when he'd surveyed the tables and their claimants. No one could miss noticing her even in the most congested throng swarming with distracting faces. Pranab was seated at about ten feet away from her just in the mid of her right and her north. She didn't seem to have noticed Pranab, much less his toddler gaze fixed on her. Pranab savoured the glimpse and sat stunned under her spell. He didn't mind. It wasn't easy to penetrate beyond the reflecting surface of the goggles she'd worn. Somehow he caught her as she blinked her dreamy eyes behind the transparent glares and with each blink something inside Pranab succumbed to her allure. She looked lost in some distant by gone land of fairies. Her gleaming hair cascaded on to her perfectly broad shoulders and lay collapsed like benevolent admirers swooning about her angelic face. When she closed her eyes momentarily, everything priceless turned worthless. He was fixated on her visages like a infant glued to the plastic spinning merry go round, suspended right on the top of his cradle He had no doubt that her face was the most unblemished formation of the Lord's hands. Her faultlessly carved nose ran for just the adequate length, before silently surrendering it's feet to the depths of her face. Her moist lips reminded him of unplucked fresh red berries in dew drenched gardens. For a moment he felt something gentle flutter inside him and challenge the calm of his heart. It made him weak.

Pranab guessed she must be averagely built, may even be petite. Her fingers seemed like unbloomed lotus petals, supple and fragile. Her nails were prominently polished in magenta and portruded non menacingly from her fingers, a feature he hadn't seen about many girls. As his eyes roved along her contours and were on their way to her heaving bosom, they were distracted instead, by glimpse of a  open book on her table, besides the other usual lady stuff. She kept reading its pages and looking at the glass walls over at the entrance in alternate turns. She did it in infinite pattern. Pranab was amused. He wondered. What precisely was she doing ? May be she was learning by heart something for her exams, or memorizing vereses of her favourite poem. She did it in such kiddish fashion that Pranab found himself giggling, something he was not accustomed to doing in 'Sip'. She put her index fingers pin pointedly at the words and glided it across the page row by row,every page. Pranab was rapt by her elementary mannerism. He had been lured to inadvertently break out of his self imposed grave disposition, A smile had long dropped by and remained hung to his lips. Pleasantly startling the staff of 'Sip' who had concluded that their place of employment and Pranab ji's joys were mutually exclusive naturally doubtful therefore of his intentions behind his unusually recurring visits to their restaurant.

His eyes were keenly anticipating her next move. The palpable curiosity in them, was like that of a twelve year old. God knows what she read. A glittering smile consumed her face which in turn infused in Pranab such ethereal bliss that he was transported heavens apart in a moment and in the next, pulled back by her magnetism. Pranab sat charmed just like he'd figured he would be, on his first encounter with the fairy from his treasured fable, one whom he secretly planned to marry and make his beloved wife. The waiter in maroon costume brought her a glass of fizzy carbonated liquid teeming with restless bubbles, eager to swim up to the brim and find their freedom. The waiter didn't stop to take her gratitude but simply turned and marched away. The girl slowly moved her hands in the direction where the glass had been placed without taking her left hand off the pages she seemed to be engrossed in. All along she kept her eyes shut and chanted something. It all seemed weird.

Her cellphone began to buzz aloud. Thrice, four times, six times. She didn't pick it. The ring died. It rang again within seconds. Her hands didn't leave the surface of the pages. Pranab was getting restless. A waiter passed by and Pranab caught hold of him and commanded pointing his finger at the girl 'Could you please tell the lady over there that her phone is ringing ? The man resumed his erect posture and exclaimed with spotless politeness 'Sorry Sir, Can't do that...can't disturb her like that.

'Can't you see, she is not picking up her phone.

 I think Sir, maybe she doesn't want to take the call.'

'What ? Are you kidding me ? She's in a restaurant, chilling out, why wouldn't she take a simple call ? ' Pranab shot back in purposeful tone.

'I wouldn't know why Sir'  exclaimed the poor waiter

'Well then just go tell her and we'll find out'

'Sorry Sir. I don't think I can do that'

'Alright I get it' Pranab remarked with a half grin and reached for his wallet. He forked out a twenty and pushed it right into the hand of the waiter, whose palm had by now fully blossomed for receiving the nourishment it sought.

After offering a bow of obligation, the man went straight to the table where the unsuspecting lady was lost in her own world of words, and spoke to her. She didn't budge. She was simply seen making some serious facial expressions followed by some rapid movement of lips. The waiter was struck with nervousness and scampered away, not to be seen anymore. Poor Pranab could not even know what was happening. She wasn't raising her head from the 'God Knows What' book she was drowned in, she wouldn't take her calls and even won't look at the glass when she drank the blue liquid inside it. Pranab decided to himself unravel the mystery. He got up and began walking towards the washroom. She was settled on a table en route to the loo. He planned to steal a swift glance at the book. He had a good twelve feet to cover before he crossed her table. Just when Pranab had reached midway, she shut her eyes again letting out a steady gasp right from the depths of her lungs and began sinking back in the chair, her spinal frame falling towards the wooden support. In a lateral movement of hand she flipped the hardbound cover of the book and closed it in one go.

'Damn', a frustrated Pranab murmured to himself as he crossed her seat exasperated. He caught her fragile musk laden fragrance. It spread in his veins like a rising ecstasy. He strolled away hastily on his path.

Fiercely committing himself to the task of starting a conversation with her, Pranab strode out of the washroom. He'd spent a good fifteen minutes before the mirror in there, choosing and picking from the innumerable introductory expressions that he knew of. Nothing had changed about the lady. She sat embraced by the same enticing aura about her.

Pranab summoned one of the attendants and instructed him to serve the lady with a glass of their best mocktail. He specially instructed him to make it visually enticing. He thought of the colorful glass of whatever she was having a little while ago. He also tutored him to politely point at him and hand over the piece of paper to the lady if she wanted to know who bought her the drink.

Off went the waiter. He was trembling. It was his first day on job and to add to that this tricky deal. In five minutes he returned with a frosty glass of orange colored fluid with tits and pieces of yellow solids floating on the brim besides a diced lemon eating the rim of the glass. A rainbow like straw bobbed up and down the mocktail as the waiter lifted it off the tray and courteously placed it for being savoured.

There was no response. The waiter stood dumbfounded waiting for his cue. He could not decide whether to stay or leave after saying 'Enjoy your drink'. How about giving away the piece of paper anyway ? ' he thought. How would it alter the scheme of things ? he feared and stopped.

What's this ? the lady asked without even opening her eyes.

'That's your drink Ma'm. Sent over by the gentleman over there' came the waiter's reply as he turned around to slightly raise his finger towards Pranab.

Pranab's fingers were restless to gesture a 'Hi'. That would happen as soon as she would turn about, under the guidance of the attendant. That moment never came. The waiter stole a glance at him and sought his order regarding the scrap of paper. Pranab signaled at him and he placed the neatly folded piece on the table and walked away. Pranab looked on, as she neither touched the condensing walls of the glass nor inched her fingers towards the note which was fluttering in the breeze waiting to elope with it from under her ignorance to some place better. Pranab was flabbergasted at the inexplicable non chalance of a seemingly decent lady who'd just been shown a gesture of interest by a man. He would have considered himself fortunate if she would have responded invitingly, but admittedly he was expecting  resentment, some resistance, at least. She didn't even care to read the note which he'd sent along. Pranab decided that he must approach her personally. May be she doesn't believe in indirect propositions, he convinced himself before hand pressing his tousled hair and rectifying creases on his shirt. He got up nervously.

Lost in scheming Pranab didn't notice that a man, about his age, had come up to her. He bent over her table and began picking up her articles. Pranab saw him plant a gentle kiss on her head and take her hand in his. Pranab froze. They began slowly walking out of the restaurant. A speechless Pranab followed their leaving figures like a statue with roving eyes. The moment they stepped out, Pranab noticed that the woman slipped her hand out of the man's grip and pulled out a pair of dark glasses and put it over her eyes replacing the transparent goggles. A moment later she took out a steel rod and stretched it to full length. She began walking beating the rod on the path, partly announcing her movement and partly making out her way forward. Every time the man would extend his hand to guide her, she'd gently shove it away, claiming her independence despite her torment, though unable to make him give up. Ultimately, the man began to walk by her side, step by step, like a silent shadow, eagerly guarding her from any hardship that might fall on her way. Colour faded from Pranab's face

One of the senior attendants, who had been witnessing the whole event, walked up to Pranab and interrupted his thoughts

'Sir, She can't see.'

'What ?' Pranab broke out of his contemplation. 'Yeah'

'Her name is Kamla. The man is her fiance'.

A startled Pranab gaped at the waiter.

'Amazing. Isn't it ? They met at this place a year ago. Matters moved fast. They do when feelings are mutual, don't they ? Mr. Shantanu proposed to marry her exactly a month ago. She lost her eye  in a fire that broke out in her office. She surely lost quite a few things with her eyes. Love wasn't one of them.'

They have been coming since a year. Why the heck didn't I ever see them ? probed an aghast Pranab.

Your schedules never met, till today. replied the attendant.

Why the transparent goggles ? I mean why not the ones which she put on outside. Pranab queried out of perplexity.

Oh. That, Well, I had that figured out before anyone on the staff. 
It's because she doesn't want anybody to know about her handicap. She obviously doesn't want anyone's pity. She wants to live as normally as she can.. She doesn't want those unsuspecting vigorous noises around her to die out of sympathy for her.. Hence the normal goggles. the attendant explained with a warm smile

Someone yelled the waiter's name and he rushed off with the untouched glass of mocktail after shoving the small unopened note back into it's author's hand. Pranab unfolded it slowly. A smirk found its way to his lips as he read the words he'd scribbled for her.

It read 'Till this very moment I thought I knew who had the most beautiful eyes   :) '.



                                                                                       *************


"Angel Eyes" is a work of fiction and any resemblance in it, to any person (alive or dead), place or incident etc. if any, is only coincidental.

Nests

Before Prateik could slip back into the tranquil embrace of residual sleep after unloading his bladder, he heard a faint flapping noise coming from beyond one of the windows, the exactness of which he could not specify due to his numbed brain functioning. The repeated 'pphudd pphudd' - 'pphudd pphudd'  was a stranger among all the commonplace sounds and jingles that his ears were accustomed to at that time of the day. He tried to ignore them as figments of his fading reverie till they continued to occur in definite intervals, and grew from being 'slight' to  'loud' and 'communicative'.  With his dwindling dreams interrupted, Prateik lay on his bed neither fully asleep nor completely awake, his mind struggling in the pudding of misty glimpses of month old and recent occurrences. Nothing was definite and shapely except the distinct beating of what sounded like wings. In his residual capacity of reasoning, Prateik didn't fight his foggy mind as he considered it natural to fare badly at distinguishing the real from trance in the twilight of his senses. But all this thinking and weighing had long caused him awake.  He sat red eyed, grumbling and sulking on his ruffled bed sheet, with his back couched, his hair all tousled from  unfriendly treatment. He picked up a pillow and slammed it against another in sheer resentment of having to get up and go. Just then he heard it again. Only this time it was so prominent and ominous that it could have kicked anybody out of his slumber. He hastily slipped out of the quilt and treaded through his dark room to check out its source.

Prateik's room was one of the three large bedrooms of their house. His father had purchased the flat with financial assistance from his company, a couple of years ago. On the southern facade of 'Skyline Towers', it remained sandwiched between the four floors above and the five below it. Besides boasting of spacious interior and well aired bed rooms it came with an exceptionally large living room and the usual two bathroom - kitchen - balcony combination. The balcony attached to Prateik's bedroom opened into the western end of their city where not far from their apartment, a large mangrove spanned the town's limits. It housed the nests of all birds known to their bustling town. For a grove, where no human dwelled anywhere withing a one kilometer radius, it was an awfully busy place with birds of all shapes and sizes and colour flying in and out of it all the time. It remained drowned in a perpetual ambience of a local fair-ground.  It was often remarked by persons who walked by the mangrove during dusk that one had to literally yell to make himself heard to another because of the intervening cacophony of bird conversation, that emerged from the uncountable trees at the grove, that could put to shame their local Sunday morning fish market. But for strange causes, the pigeon families of their town, it would seem,  invariably chose man made terraces and rooftops to build their nests despite the availability of a natural, communal alternative.

When Prateik flung open the door to the balcony, the unadulterated dawn air, a rarity of his times, filled his breathe with optimism. It drifted him away from the inevitable morning gloom. Howsoever challenging and dreary a night may be, he thought to himself, the breeze born of the dawn rekindles all hopes and rejuvenates one to embrace the day ahead, displacing all fear and doubts instilled through the reticent darkness. Prateik stood hypnotized for a while breathing in the freshness to his contentment, treating the air like some abstract enrichment, tightly shutting his eyes and slowly letting his smile return to his face. The magic of mornings. He recalled his grandfather's sermon 'My child, practice waking up early in the morning, possibly before sunrise and see the magic'. At that very instance, Prateik couldn't agree more with his dear departed grandpa. It was a good thing that chivalry had returned to his mood. He recalled the task at hand and walked up to the edge of the balcony

He craned his neck over the parapet. After a few failed attempts he finally caught sight of the nest of pigeons. As soon as his eyes met with that of one its dweller, the flapping stopped. There was another one ducking its head just below it. The latter was caught alarmed by Prateik's peeping face. It stood frozen, with its wings spread, semi flapped, and stunned. It cautiously folded back its wings and started bobbing its head with unusually grave eyes as if probing Prateik for his rudeness of having invaded upon their privacy. It suddenly took to its wings. One look at Prateik's harmless eyes, and it must have dismissed Prateik's presence as being inconsequential. The other sat where it was. It stood up and began to move in circles besides making its characteristic brooding sound and springing its head back and forth like a seasoned break dancer. Its eye was fixated on Prateik, blinking at steady intervals. Prateik figured that he must get a good view of the nest. So he pulled himself back and went around the room to the other window to allow himself a proper view of the aerial abode. When he pushed open the window, he was amazed by what he witnessed. There it lay. A near perfectly constructed nest, with minutely chosen constituents, not too big nor too small, precisely tailored to fit into the structure. The innumerable twigs and leaves were stacked and arrayed under such calculation that it vouched for an enviable architectural brilliance of its builders. They were fitted against each other in perfect balance and they ended up leaving just the right amount of space and depth in the middle of the nest for ensuring the comfort of the family that was supposed to find it there.

The other pigeon returned in the mean time.  Prateik saw it drop something off its beak. It was then that he noticed that the nest was home to their full fledged family with even three tiny ones, tucked safely besides their mother, chirping away incessantly, hungrily eyeing the food that had just been hunted for them. The mother lowered the food into their beaks, who swallowed it instantaneously. Prateik  relished their antics for some time before retreating to his chores. This went on for a few days, before Prateik found himself nurturing a certain fondness for the family of pigeons. He even contemplated building a better shelter for them inside the coziness of the balcony, unexposed to the fury of nature.  On a rainy evening, Prateik joyfully discovered that at the first sight of danger, the family forthwith flew into the confines of his room. As they alighted at the corner of the highest shelf, their flapping reverberated through the tranquil of his home. Prateik was relieved to know that the pigeons knew where to fly in trouble. So he simply made sure that the shelf which they chose was ample with their necessities. Needless to say the simple headed birds were full of gratitude for Prateik's magnanimity. The mutual admiration they shared was impossible to escape one's eyes.

The images of the pigeons forever pulsated inside Prateik's head. He was even reprimanded once for his absent mindedness during lecture. As soon as the professor turned to face the white board, Prateik grinned with 'almost' pride, like a lover relishing the pain of his love. He couldn't wait to return home to his new found friends. He resorted to "google'' to know more about pigeons, their habitat, food and life cycle etc. He would travel kilometers to find particular kinds of seeds to feed the pigeon family. He fed them cooked rice, peas, carrot pieces, uncooked barley, cracked corn,and variety of other pigeon seed mixes. He read somewhere that garlic is very healthy for them. So Prateik stuffed small pieces of garlic in their food bowl once every week. He would pester his mother to separately prepare mixtures of specific seeds. She didn't complain.

Prateik cherished the transition of the three hoppers from squabs who squealed and squeaked for food all the while to grandly grown pigeons who displayed their utter fondness to spread their nouve' grown wings.  None of them wore any hesitation to hop into Prateik's affectionate grip. They seemed to relish the sliding of hands on their feathery backs and the planting of kisses on their beaks. Prateik even indulged in light hearted banter with the pigeons, especially when one of them would be busy searching for balance on his shoulder. Their civic sense had startled everyone. They never soiled the place arbitrarily. They had chosen the most unvisited corner of the terrace to empty themselves. Instances of continuous droppings gave the spot a uniquely patterned appearance, painted with white, black and grey. So much so that from the highest point of their building nobody could say that it was a place where pigeons dropped their dirt and not some artist's abstract manifestation.

One day it rained so heavily that the pigeons swiftly switched to their safety refuge on the top shelf inside Prateik's bedroom. Prateik saw the restless frames of his beaked buddies. They were probably dealing with anxiety, he thought to himself. All throughout the night, Prateik, heard their wings flapping, their beaks brushing against their own fidgety feathers. On other days when the sun was not particularly kind in its task, the pigeons would come hopping near to the pitcher full of water, that Prateik would have kept for them, and dip their beaks numerous times before flying satiated. Sometimes they brought along friends. Just like Prateik did. He didn't mind as long as his friends were content. He also kept a warm gunny bag on the shelf for times when they flew in to evade extreme weather.

Prateik's friends were always afforded the exquisite honour of being introduced to his winged buddies. As he described the behaviour, likes and dislikes of each, the birds would stare at the guests in absolute oblivion of the purpose of their meeting. If any of the two legged made advances, the pigeons were prompt to communicate their utter disinclination for socializing with humans, except of course with their host. It would then take a purposeful intensity filled cajoling and caressing for Prateik to make them somewhat affable.

Haldar the brat of their neighbourhood took upon himself the inexplicable task of uprooting the pigeon's nest from its place. He would indulge in stone pelting from the ground, aiming high at the nest as its inmates gazed in sheer wonder at the solid objects flying past them, sometimes dangerously close. Haldar never took into account the risk of hitting Prateik's window pane and smashing it. That was exactly what had happened on a Thursday morning. Prateik ensured that the scoundrel got a solid treatment from his stern father. The pelting stopped thereafter and life returned to normalcy inside the nest. There had come to exist a deep wordless bond between Prateik and the pigeons. He stared at them for hours without exhaustion or boredom. He made an effort to befriend them and won their trust. They felt no danger from him and moved about freely in his presence.

A month later Prateik's customary, week long, vacation - visit to his maternal grandfather's house far away in another state became due. That meant a week without the pigeons. A part inside him yearned to take the birds along. But he knew that wouldn't happen. On the day before he was to leave for the excursion, he and the birds brooded together for several unending moments. There were deep and profound messages being exchanged. Out of the blue, one of the pigeons hopped close to Prateik and stayed near his hands which he had rested on the railing of the balcony. Prateik lifted it up and slowly let it be on his shoulder where it cautiously budged near to his head and stayed their for what seemed till eternity. The moment Prateik would try to hold her to bring her down, it would start to vigorously beat its wings in a show of protest. To an eye unfamiliar with the development of their rapport, that would make no difference but to Prateik it was a crystal gesture of deep bonding and affection that he and the pigeons had together come to cherish. The next morning he was tucked in their "Omni' van and was gone.

He had kept three wide pitchers full of water. He had replaced the dirty old gunny with a brand new one which smelt of fresh jute. He even kept two shallow jugs brimming with water on the shelf,  as a temporary alternative, in case they couldn't fly out to quench themselves.

A week later, early in the morning, Prateik returned from Hyderabad full of share worthy reminiscence and he ran up the stairs as if he brought life changing news for his pigeons. Gasping for stale air of their long shut rooms, he plunged himself through the curtains and doors to unlock his bedroom. He could almost hear them making welcome sounds beyond it. As he pushed the door open he was greeted by an unmoved silence. It seemed unresponsive to his craving. Not like before, when upon his return from world's battlefield the whole ambience coordinated an act of warm welcoming full of breezes intruding through the gaping windows and the joyous vocals of his airborne pals. The silence was scary. Nothing  broke it.  Neither the characteristic pphudd pphudd  of wings nor the distinctive suppressed vocal booms. In what seemed like a panic move, Prateik made a dash to the balcony and peeped out just the way he had that dawn. He saw the nest and heaved with relief. He didn't find the pigeons there or on the shelf in his room. They must be out for food, he thought to himself.

Once after his shower, and thrice between his breakfast and lunch, Prateik rushed back and forth, on to his balcony and made quick trips to the terrace. He couldn't get a trace of his pigeons. Dusk came and with it returned even the most nomadic bird. It was when his pigeons didn't come after sunset, it occurred for the first time to Prateik that his friends might have gone away for good. But the most convincing of logics often lay vanquished in their battle with faiths of heart. Especially in matters where man is sentimentally invested. There was no chance in heaven that Prateik wouldn't have spend atleast a painful and agonizingly long week, toying with the hope of their homecoming. Through those difficult days he sat facing the sun and the perplexed stares of neighbours, trying to identify his pals in the several flocks that would tantalize him by taking multiple flights around his vicinity. One such evening when he sat inside his room pointlessly staring at the world beyond his curtains, bemused at the turn of events, the sound of doorbell, knocked him out of his trance. His mother answered it. In a moment he found Haldar standing before his eyes.

For a couple of minutes, Prateik stood speechless, lost in the maze of guessing and counter guessing the purpose of the rogue's visit. Not a month ago this nincompoop was bent to raze the home of his  beloved friends and yet today he stood before him, looking him in the eye, filling him with misdirected rage for the loss of his pigeons. Then for a brief moment he was filled with humiliation thinking that, those for whom he had got this boy punished, had now abandoned him. And this fellow has probably come to spit his taunts on him.

What ? Prateik spat at Haldar.

'Prateik bhaiya, I've got to tell you something'

I hope its not one of your stupid jokes because I'm in no mood for it.

No no. Its about your pigeons.

What about them ?

Well, a couple of days after you left for Hyderabad a terrible storm lashed this place. And...

'And...?'

"..I only saw two of them desperately beating themselves against your room's closed windows before my mother pulled me inside.'

Prateik was devastated. A pang of guilt stung his heart and brimmed him with terrible remorse.  His own callousness was too much for him to take. He clenched his fists in sheer hatred for his own self. He swallowed a rising scream. He wondered over and over, How could he be so naive to have shut the windows of his room and leave his pigeons helpless.

 'Oh !! how the poor birds must have struggled to fly inside to safety from that gale. Oh !! How shocked and cheated they must have felt  then. They deserve better than me, he thought to himself and  reconciled to the consequence of his negligence.

Sinking back in his chair, he thanked Haldar for the information, dismissed him and closed his eyes. The picture of the anguished & hapless family of pigeons flying scared in that stormy evening tormented him for days. He could not stop imagining all their miseries in the storm and their clueless eyes perplexed at their unannounced abandonment.  It must have been such distress for them. Prateik was drowned in the layers of his shame for days.

One spring evening later, as Prateik was reluctantly unlocking his room on his return from his customary trip to  Hyderabad, he was filled with unabated guilt which had taken shelter in his soul. He was choked with flashes from that afternoon and the anxious days that followed. His heart sank again. He hated the feeling and wanted to get over it quickly. He didn't walk over to see the forsaken nest. He no more was in the habit of peeping out of the parapet of his balcony to check on it. It was unnecessary and pointless. Nobody lived there and the last time he checked it (accidentally) while he was watering the plants on his terrace, he saw it in tatters bereft of any signs of life about it. He threw himself on his bed after he turned on his antique ceiling fan which swung to life in its characteristic creaky fashion. Just when he was about to succeed in moving his mind beyond the pigeons, something familiar struck his ears. At first his mind rejected the urge for guessing anything about that sound that symbolized lost bonds. But then its familiarity was too obvious to be passed off uninquired.

With long lost vigour, Prateik ran towards the balcony, stumbling upon chairs and table legs en route to the parapet. His heart raced as he strained his neck and slowly pushed his head forward peeping over the parapet. Suddenly he reconsidered for a better view and ran around.

It was from the other window that he saw it.

Not only the original nest stood rebuilt, two new ones, constructed  in characteristic perfection, now hung in its company. Two lushly feathered pigeons cuddled in each of them. There were eggs too. It didn't take him long to spot on their legs the threads which he had tied on the legs of the three kid pigeons  Two more came and alighted just near his hands near the window grill. A wide grin adorned Prateik's already beaming face. He ran out to the balcony and so flew both. One of them nibbled at his palm. He picked it up and put it on his shoulder where it budged near to his head and brushed its tiny soft head against his neck. The message was impossible to miss. Prateik whispered back ' I promise I would never ever do it again'. With his wet eyes reflecting the somber sunset, he felt the weight of age upon him in the company of his aged buddies, even though he was only twenty one. Just then the excited young pigeons fluttered out of the nest in a team.

They would return soon, the three of them reckoned, as they saw the flying pigeons' soaring frames dwindle away into the sunset


                                                                                                      ***********

"Nests" is a work of fiction and any resemblance in it, to any person (alive or dead), place or incident etc. if any, is only coincidental.

Residue

I confess - I blundered
I own up - I shuddered
I give my frolic for all your pain
Forgiveness isn't 
What I wish to gain

Something comatose
Something frozen since long
Fluttered when it sensed 
You around its confines fenced

See where I have walked
You may pity on a soul dead
Lured by the deceptive 
Gave up a hand, for me which stayed

There isn't anything I wouldn't do
To travel past clock's will
And say Yes for all the Nos
To shred the list of the Dos and Don'ts

If brave a little more
If hopeful a little more
Had I been not in rush,
And not the eternal cautious 

I blurt out what I shouldn't say
I confess what I should keep at bay
In the pain of ending up alone
In the fear of dying a soul forlorn

Soulful - A Short Story

Rajesh arrived at the accorded spot an hour before the decided time. Days of the preceding week had seen the reign of incessant pouring and this Monday was no different. Rajesh closed his umbrella as he walked under the closed restaurant's entrance sheltering himself from the tireless drizzle. The sun remained captive behind the monsoon clouds emitting an occasional halo reminding dependent mortals of its subdued existence. Such unending downpour had cast a gloomy spell on the otherwise bustling streets of Rajesh's hometown. The ambiance had become synonymous to a sorrowful dream where tears and raindrops had blended beyond distinction. What would wake up the dreamer was the only question filling the minds of the fraught seekers of sun's rays. Rajesh kept gazing hopefully at the genesis of the boulevard, filtering out several dissuading figures and shadows that seemed to crave for his attention. His mind was heavy with expectation of one particular face. He kept looking out for that person for timeless eternity and he appeared as if he could melt away bearing that look on his face.

People came and went hurriedly along the lane, now teeming with rain drops. They seemed to run towards an obstinate purpose, which they wouldn't trade, even with the exotic sensation of having million raindrops splash on their faces. To reprieve him from the restiveness, Rajesh's senses drifted along with the trickling water that merrily springed their way to the sewers, though they had been just disowned by the high heavens and banished to a lesser world. He wondered as to how could the water discover pleasure in such banishment. It didn't take him long to fathom that it was their home that the water flowed back so joyously to. The heavens, howsoever exotic they might be, didn't stand a chance against the sewers, for the sewers were where the water are born and groomed through countless conflicts and flows. The ostensible bliss of being in sewers couldn't be replaced by anything at all, not even the much craved heavens. Rajesh drifted again, momentarily, this time to an imminent remembrance of his home that he has now left forever. He had forsaken his home without a second thought, as the first thought was caused by a matter so significantly life altering, that Rajesh believed that there was no alternative to such regretful abandonment. He re assured himself out of the looming guilt for having deserted his loved ones, who had stood with him all these days. He had told himself that had he found any alternative to the present recourse, he would have gladly adopted it, but given the hostile ciscumstances, this path had seemed inevitable. Despite his self lauded logic, he didn't feel completely out of guilt. He knew he never would.

Caught in the storm of regret and guilt, he noticed a lady carrying her son, sheltering him and herself from the rain with an inconveniently held umbrella.  Rajesh saw the boy playfully take his mother's scarf, wipe her face, and bury his tired frame in her comforting hold. As he followed their dwindling figures, the antics of a father son - duo relishing the rains to the core, caught his eyes. The young son paddled the ragged trolley as his drunk father rolled over it & sang aloud some obscure folk song of his far away native land. Neither of them appeared to nurture any intention to shirk away from the blinding downpour. Rajesh couldn't help admiring the duo's blatant embrace of what others were escaping from. His attention floated off to yester - years when his father used to carry him back home from his school as he indulged in innocent fantasies all along the way. He was filled with a sense of powerlessness as he realized that no matter how earnestly he tried, he could never relive those moments. He thought of his mother, who had so diligently taken care of his desires only to be abandoned by him at a time when she must have expected him to respect her senility. He felt melancholy grow within him. The very thought of him having so brutally disregarded his family's wishes for a selfish ambition deeply churned his heart. He thought about it again and again and the more he thought about it, the more he found himself getting sucked into woeful dimensions. A loud crack of lightning followed by a roar of thunder snapped him out of the vicious cycle of regretful musings.

Rajesh shifted back to his present dilemma. He recalled the promise and the accord that had followed. He knew, he had reached early. But then the fixed time had already come and gone. He carefully revisited each words uttered during the making of the pledge. He could not etch out anything abnormal or deviant at that time. Then what must have hindered its fulfillment, he thought restlessly. He was on a leash and his time was limited. After much praying and pleading, he had earned additional limits of his time in this world. That had made him very happy as even the Gods had reiterated the solemness of his emotions. It grew darker as more and more grey clouds rallied together dirtying the vast stretches of the skies. Flashes of lightning and thunderous snarls were becoming more & more frequent indicating the relentless rains still to come. As he shut his eyes in prayer and hope, he felt a warm hand caress his right shoulder.

He turned back and saw the same angel who had acted as the Samaritan to carry his prayers to the Gods for his extended time on earth. A faint smile had titivated her face. She spoke with the mysticism characteristic to the children of the heaven. The dazzle in her eyes was capable of fixating the most nomadic of souls to her instructions. Her feet did not touch the ground indicating her subtle detachment from this world. She soberly informed him that his allotted time was nearing its end and that she has been commanded by her masters to fetch him to their disposal. Rajesh felt tears welling up inside him but he could not find them in his eyes. He sensed a profound misery engulf him but could not speak a word to express himself. The angel was about to utter something in consolation, but before she could mouth anything, Rajesh made his last plea. Leaving this world without meeting, for the last time, his dear beloved Smitha was beyond his tolerance. So he made a request to the angel to take him to Smitha on their way to the heavens. As they levitated, Rajesh wondered pitifully as to what might have caused Smitha to break her promise. Smitha's house wore a deserted appearance. He pulled the angel desperately inside the confines of Smitha's home. He saw their help Shanti, informing somebody over phone to immediately go to the city hospital. Not wasting a second further, the angel along with Rajesh swam swiftly through the dense rain to the precincts of Maheswari Devi Public Hospital. Rajesh didn't require any guidance from the reception counter to find out Smitha. He was a spirit now, salvaged beyond the constraints of humans. In no time he entered the Emergency Ward and embarked near Bed No. 15. Smitha lay there, partially blue, pale and listless. Her loved ones huddled around her as the doctor slipped a tube down her esophagus for pumping out the toxins consumed by her. She moved inadequately, faintly disturbed by the pain of the tube gliding down her delicate body. She appeared no less oblivious to the surroundings as she did to the pain writhing within her. 

Time was running out. Rajesh had wanted Smitha to join him in his heavenly abode. That was their last resort when every attempt to convince their relations had failed. They had pleaded with all they could, before each and every far and near relative, relevant - irrelevant, to let them marry each other. But Smitha's extremist family members gave a fig to her pleas. They were not supposed to, in an era where inter caste marriages were dealt with the most severe retribution from the community of men. Overnight they had arranged for her marriage with Pawan Kumar, the son of the wealthy neighborhood merchant Sri Kamal Gupta. The latter had been eyeing since long, to make Smitha her son's bride. So matters were moved with unbelievable velocity and soon the day of her wedding stood only seventy two hours away. Broken in spirit and resolve, the dedicated couple had hopelessly decided to relinquish their wretched lives which now purported to fix a permanent chasm between them. Spending sleepless nights in dejection and self pity, had caused both to forget their existences. They had found the prospect of imminent separation so unbearable that taking away their own lives seemed to be an easier alternative. They had given in. At the exact moment of dawn, over telephone, both professed love, for the last time through their mortal senses and gulped down a handful of  Restoril capsules. They chatted for some time thereafter, inducing strength and offering mutual reassurance. Before slipping into unconsciousness, Smitha promised in a feeble tone that she'll soon be with him, and that their union shall attain freedom from the constricted worldly boundaries. As Rajesh began to fade, he reminded Smitha, that he would wait for her at Gupta Bakery, the lone eatery within the the eastern limits of 12' Esfert Road,  where they had first seen each other, from where they shall embark themselves on their voyage beyond the clouds. Pinned under the dizzying effect of the anti insomnia pills & bereft of residual realism such a proposition had seemed perfectly rational and conceivable to the hapless lovers.The accord had been thus sealed with their last breaths. 

Now that Rajesh witnessed Smitha in her present condition, he no more wished for her company. The angel moved closer to Rajesh and whispered "Her time hasn't come". Before Rajesh could fathom the purport of her words, he heard the doctor reassure Smitha's father saying "The worst is over. She'll live." Rajesh shot up an obligatory glance towards the clouds offering his gratitude to the Gods. He knew, this is the last of Smitha, he would see before he was commanded to take up some other life in some alien lap or before he got lucky and was afforded salvation from that cycle. He would be stripped of her memories and the remnants of his nostalgia of a by gone tragedy. Smitha would live though. Maybe she would marry Pawan, or may be good sense will prevail over her creators to allow her healing time. Eventually she will discover bliss in someone else's arms, they way she once did in his. She ought to, for time heals everything. Especially those wounds, to heal which, time has the voluntary aid of her loved ones who didn't want the wound in the first place. Rajesh began to feel a pull, the source of which he could now guess. He quickly rushed over to Smitha and planted an unplantable kiss on her temple. She didn't respond and he didn't turn back, as he was guided out of the wards by the kind angel. As he soared out to the entrance of the hospital, servile to the upward gravity, he saw his still, lifeless body being wheeled towards the post mortem cabin on a stretcher and his father consoling his inconsolable mother. 

                                                              *******************




( "Soulful" is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person (alive or dead), place or incident is coincidental.)