"O
Susana O don’t you cry for me, I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee.”
The
music played on as a crowd of children, about the same age, flocked to the
marble dance floor. In a white dancing frock, teamed with a bow on her wavy
hair, a child, about three, yawned at the crowd of guests in the hall of her
mansion. She did not like dressing up for such parties. Except on her birthdays, when all the attention was on her. Today, her little sister was being
introduced, flooded with gifts, and being doted on by everyone, and nobody
noticed her sneak out of the place quietly and run to the empty back lawn.
Soaking in the sunshine, she did not care much about her laces getting dirty as
she sat down on the green grass, stretching out her white ballerina shoes,
swaying her feet in perfect rhythm to the sound of “O Susana” playing in the
hall. Then she noticed him. He was hiding behind the bush, his eyes on the
stranger. Frowning, she asked, “Who is there?”
The
boy made a dash for the stables. She gathered her dress up and quickly
followed. He had stopped upon a stack of hay, sitting in a posture fitted for a
king. He was wearing a very old-looking red shirt over a pair of black
trousers.
“Why
did you run?” She asked, frowning at him.
“My
wish.” He had shrugged at her carelessly, making a face that he was not
interested.
“But...
I am not scary like that.” She snapped.
“I
know. I don’t like talking to strangers.” He did not move an inch from his
place.
He
looked older than her, perhaps by a year or two. A little taller than she was.
“Then
what are you doing here?” She frowned.
“My
father works here. All these horses,” He waved his left hand like a display, “Are my friends.”
“That
is so cool.” Her eyes suddenly lit up.”I have a horsy too. Daddy got it for me
on my birthday!”
“Oh, Really?” He smiled, “Where is he?”
“Stable
No.9." She ran towards it as he ran after her.
Proudly
displaying her new horse, she grinned from ear to ear. Her grin faded in his
laughter soon.
“What’s
so funny?” She asked.
“This
is not a horse! This is a Mule!” He held his stomach for a laugh as she fumed
red in anger.
“No, it is not!” Her firm words made him stop and stare as she narrowed her eyes and
said, “He is a small horse. Daddy said he will grow up with me and we can be
best friends.”
“Okay!
But do you know how to ride?” He smirked.
“No," She shook her head. “Daddy said I am too small. And when I grow up, I will
learn...”
“I
know how to.” Her eyes twinkled at his words as he flashed a proud smile, “My
Daata taught me.”
“Can
you teach me too?” She smiled.
“Here?
...” He sulked, looking around the area.
“No! I
know a place where no one will find us.” She smiled, “We can ride him ...and
play!”
“I
will ride him, you can sit in front and direct where to go, and then when you
are comfortable enough with him, you can ride too.” He said like he knew all
about horse riding, but the truth was that this boy, barely five, managed to
ride all by himself only under his father’s supervision. But he was confident
that he could.
“Yes,
there is a meadow just outside the old temple. I sometimes go there to play in
the afternoons when no one is watching.”
“You
do?” He asked, surprised, mounting the pony with ease. It neighed.
“When
a horse neighs like he is agitated, hold the reins.” He showed her. “Like
this.”
He
patted its soft white skin and frowned at a chain on his neck.
“What’s
this?” He asked, “You chained him?”
“No!
This is a token of our friendship. See, I have the same one too!” She showed him
her locket. “Now help me up.”
His
soft little palms firmly held her softer ones, and he pulled her up in front of
him. Then they rode away from the stable.
“I am sure this means something.” The
psychiatrist was holding a very old and torn drawing book, which belonged to a
child, in his hand, narrowing his brows, in waves towards his nose at these firm
words. He then put it down, carefully removing his glasses and stared at the
distraught figure sitting in front of him. “Are you sure you remember nothing?”
“I am.” Her voice was firm and urgent. “I
found this in a box a week back when my grandfather passed away, and I was
throwing away stuff from the attic. It just grabbed my attention. I am telling
you, Doc,” She had banged her fist on the table in a reflex, in a rather
ungraceful manner. “How can I draw the exact same thing again and again? It
haunts me.”
“You see. Judging from these drawings...”
He narrowed his eyes again, “...the sense of lines and colours tells me you
were around two or three barely and even if that is the case...” He had tried
to bring out his voice of reason, but her stare stopped him, “...I mean, this can
just be your imagination. Sometimes children tend to draw a particular drawing
because they like it, or it is easy, or someone appreciated it.”
“But...” she sighed, “I don’t know.” She
stared at the copy and back at him, “It all looks so real.”
“Tell me.” He had studied her face
carefully. “Why does this bother you?”
She was a woman in her early twenties, her
skin radiant and glowing, her black semi-curled locks coloured with a
highlight of brownish blonde, her doe eyes complemented with a hint of Kajal,
and her brownish black eyeballs were restless. Her pedicure nails were well done in
beige, and he was also sure that her outfit was chosen by someone else as well. Who
else wore a grey polo dress to a psychiatrist appointment?
“Isn’t
this place wonderful?” She twirled, making him smile as he tied the pony to a
tree. “Come, let me show you my secret hiding place.” She pulled his shirt, and
he frowned “If it is secret, then why are you telling me?”
“Because
we are friends now!” She smiled.
“We
are?” He smiled back. She dragged him by his hand to the bushes nearby and
found a gap between two bushes. A little walk from there led to an old banyan
tree, its trunk covered with red threads.
“Maasa
says this tree is a thousand years old.” She smiled. “And these threads are of
promises.”
“Promises?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, at weddings.” She said matter-of-factly. “Hush. Listen. See that branch. It has
my birdy friend. She is singing!”
“What
is a wedding?” He asked, trying to spot the bird in vain.
“I
don’t know.” She shrugged. “Oh, wait, my Maasi just had one. I remember some of
it.”
“What
is it?” He asked.
“Well,
if I tell you what I will get in return?” Her words made him think hard. He had
nothing to give her.
“I
don’t know. Umm... I can make you a swing on that branch. Will that do?”
“Really?
Can You?” She smiled, clapping her hands in excitement.
“Yes,
I will take a day, though.” He figured that there was some ply he had
seen lying around the stable that he could use.
“Fine.
You do that, and I will meet you here the day after tomorrow in the afternoon. And I
will tell you about weddings. And we can play!” She smiled.
“Okay.
Let us go back now, my father can look for me, I will land up in trouble for
you.” He looked restless as she giggled, “Oh, you are so scared!”
“No, I
am not!” He shook his head.
“Yes, you are!” She giggled, and it annoyed him.
“I mean, we all have such imagination as
children... and you could just be overthinking.” The Psychiatrist tried to
reason.
“I... don’t know.” He studied her hands,
rubbing against each other like she was feeling cold. “But ...it feels like it has been true in the
past...And since I remember nothing...” Her eyes followed his gaze to the
drawings. The torn-out drawing book had several drawings of a rough outline and
pastel colour filled abruptly in a hurry on what looked like a white horse and
a boy, standing in a meadow, all green.
“Perhaps you saw a white horse back home?”
He insisted, “Maybe you should talk to your parents about it?”
“No.” Her answer was firm. “I don’t wish to
involve my parents.”
“As you wish, but if I were you, I would go
back to Surajgarh once at least.” She had stared at the man by this name. He
obviously knew who she was. There was only one Ajabdeh Punwar in Udaipur’s high
society circle. She was the Princess of Surajgarh.
“Thank you, Doc.” She had gathered the torn-out drawings, carefully putting them back in her expensive designer leather satchel
and left, her heels making a piece of perfect music on the marble floor of the office.
