Hijr: Letter Three

To the one, to whom my soul belongs,

You are missing from me, as is warmth from the sunset, palpability from the silence of the night and sleep from the eyes of a dreamer. It has been a long time since I last wrote to you; I do not know if you’re alive, if you’ve forgotten me or whether you’re travelling towards us. What I do believe is that these winds have probably accepted my request. At the behest of my anxiety, the clouds are carrying my words, and maybe you’ll read when it showers in complete majesty.

Such silence has another reason- my choiceless self deciding to fulfil the physical void. Nay, this heart, for all those years back, I left a part of it with you. As our city sprawled with wealth, so did our memories with freshness to life and desires to mingle. The constant cacophony of apparent nonchalance all around made me realise something. The elders look at me for extinction is a fear that has been committed with our settlement. On one such day, when all the futuristic rigmarole was eating my desire to speak to the wind, she came and sat by. Her voice welcomed sunlight into my heart, infested with maggots of our separation. And I said, to what agony did I conceive that a moment of gaze has been spared with these uncountable footsteps? Not an echo came by, and I sat in the ineffable arguments within me. I can sustain the poison in my veins, but as for the longing for touch, my desires consummated with the one my heart never sought.
Guilt happens to be the most powerful emotion felt by mankind, and I am a sufferer of it. One may love, and it may get tainted; one may be angry, and it may get settled; one may be happy, and it may be ruined, but guilt coils around your conscience like a serpent and with every passing sun, it’s choking the life out of my healthy self. So, as my penance, while our souls may meet one day, I want you to be angry and exasperated and vent it out on me. It was your sob that took my breath away, and it will be your anger that will breathe life into me again.

Before I reached the edge, I took a different stone, this time hoping you would read despite knowing that I have found myself in marital bonds. So has our settlement; as the air got much warmer and markets busier, our houses seem more plentiful, and Pashupatinath rides his bull in ecstasy on the perfect grids of the streets. Our bath isn’t humongous like the citadel, yet it is surprisingly aromatic. It happens to be when the chief priest performs a ritual to sanctify a merchant into the priesthood. I see lotuses being carried by my neighbour and women baking seals for Lord Pashupatinath. The evening will be momentous, but in my soul, there is a fracture amidst the perfect smile and vigour. I am tired.

My guilt restricts the scribble, and an incessant pain adorns my mind. I cannot ask for forgiveness from you, but acceptance is what I can ask for. I wish to sleep in your memories and at the edge of my age, when my hair turns grey with ease and confusion dwells in my sight, I wish to dissolve in the silhouette of your being. The night will come for me as it would come for you. A cymbal just disturbed the sleeping winds around me. I think I hear my child amidst the distant commotion. I must go with a heavy heart. The offerings to Pashupatinath are awaited, just as my offerings to the Goddess of my beloved realm.

A sincerely, inured sinner
𑀳𑀺𑀦𑁆𑀤𑀯𑀺

Rituals of weddings or vows of marriage, whether known or unknown before the Vedic age, are not known. However, observing the idea of cities, settlements and families, one may safely assume that the Indus people did have a concept of hierarchy, heredity and family.

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AAYA TERE DAR PAR DEEWANA

Pratap was outside the gates of Meera Girls College in Udaipur by the next afternoon, unsure of whether to go in and ask for her. He spotted a few girls walking out, and one of them kept staring at him suspiciously before approaching him. He stood in his spot, still awkward as she asked, “Aren’t you that ASI guy that Roshni met?” “I… what?” Pratap narrowed his eyes “I am sorry, I don’t remember you.” “I am Mahek.” The girl waved her hand and smiled, “I was with her at Chawand.” “Oh, I see.” Pratap sighed. “I found some information that might help her …err… project.” He stopped at Mahek’s suspicious frown. “So I thought…” “You came all the way here to give her some information about her project?” Pratap cursed himself inwardly. Indeed, that sounded lame when she repeated it. “Why didn’t you call her?” “I…” He cleared his throat “I lost her number, so… I was hoping that she would be interested in an on-field internship…” “Oh, wait, I will give you her number. But she isn’t here, and I do...

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There is something funny about the phrase “as dead as a doornail.” Why? Because I am dead and I don’t look like a nail of any sort. I lie on my living room carpet, hands stretched out, the knife stuck to my back...such a backstabber. I hated them all my life! And what is the purpose of killing me? It is not like I would have lived much longer, I was eighty-five, for God’s sake! I lay here, the blood turning thick as I stared at the painting on the wall. It is such a hideous painting. I bought it for so much money, I was duped. I am waiting for the morning when my caregiver arrives to discover me on the floor. But I feel they are still around, looking for something. Searching every room. It is around 7 AM that she rings the bell. She bangs the door. She yells out, “Mr Smith!” Oh no, she is going back. Come back here, you fool! The criminal must still be upstairs. I hear them come down the wooden staircase and exit from the back door. Now the useless caregiver lady is back. Oh, she ...

My Everything

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Purnota: Chapter Forty Four

Aniruddha tapped his black loafers on the Italian marble floor of the entrance as he eyed his watch. It was almost half past five. He checked himself in the full-size mirror beside the coat hanger, looking fresh as he shaved and bathed, set his hair, chose a white summer blazer over his black shirt and trousers and abandoned the idea of a tie. He cleaned his glasses with the handkerchief, contemplating whether he should knock at Asha’s door, telling Bondita to hurry. He wondered what the women were doing there for such a long time. He could hear them giggling and gossiping as he walked past the room. He wondered what huge deal a party was that a woman needed another to help her dress up. He took out his phone and wondered if he should call her downstairs instead to avoid the awkwardness of knocking on the door. It was then that Aniruddha heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up in a reflex. He would give her a piece of his mind for wasting precious moments, especially when they...

His Wife

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RAABTA

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