She walked briskly, not knowing where and not caring. Her
muddled mind cleared slowly, as walking often did for her. Drawn out of the
vale of her reverie by the singing of a koel in search of its soul mate, she
glanced around her. Finding herself in the thick of the woods and recognising
the wild mango tree which towered over the long-forgotten path, she recalled
her childhood days when she would accompany her mother and aunt to rescue the
tiny, juicy mangoes from the hungry ants under the dry leaves on the forest
bed.
Darting her glance at the dark woods, which seemed to be
closing around her menacingly, Samhita quickened her pace. She walked further
down the narrow path now strewn with half-eaten, rotten cashew apples thrown by
monkeys. In front of her lay the broken foundation of an old house, eaten up by
wild vines and the passivity of its residents.
Stepping gingerly across the foundation stones, she turned
to look at the path that lay silently behind her, thinking of lives spent
seeking love and then letting it go in order to live. "Don't look back, or
else the wood fairies who follow you and protect you from danger, will vanish,"
she recalled the warning by a village woman who worked in their fields and with
whom she often went to gather firewood. Her childhood fear, strengthened by the
stories narrated by elders to keep naughty kids in check, or to allay their own
fears, towered over her now. Breathing deeply, as if to erase her fear by
inhaling it and burning it within herself, she walked past the ruins and
stepped out onto the rocky cliff that loomed over the emerald fields.
She sat down, dangling her feet over the cliff and thought
about the people who lived in that ruined house once upon a time - their joys,
untold sorrows... Samhita shook herself as she realised that she was brooding
again. She checked her cellphone for the umpteenth time, knowing full well that
no message or call could come in a place with no signal, chiding herself for
hoping that he would call atleast once.
Inhaling the cool forest air, she questioned herself - what
will happen if you never see, hear from or live with the person you love?
"Nothing," was the answer Samhita heard from
within and without. Startled, she turned to see a woman wizened with age yet
graceful in her green cotton saree, walk slowly towards her. "Don't be
afraid, my dear. I live in a house yonder," the woman said, pointing
towards a thatched hut standing proudly amidst the fields. "I heard your
question, which you must have unknowingly spoken out aloud."
Gathering her scared wits around her, Samhita sat down
silently. "Life is very simple, my dear," continued the old woman,
sitting beside her and smiling. In a voice that seemed to flow effortlessly
from deep within her and with a faraway look, the woman added, "We just
pull the simple thread of life in our amateur fingers and end up entangling it,
confusing ourselves and others in the process."
Seeing the puzzled look on Samhita's face, the woman
questioned, "Tell me my dear, of her five husbands, whom did Draupadi
really love? It's a question for which only Draupadi knows the answer. I was
once a bubbly girl like you; full of life and unbridled optimism. Do you want
to hear my story?"
Samhita nodded silently, yet unsure of how to respond to the
stranger. The woman, with unseeing eyes, continued: "It was my job to
gather firewood everyday and I spent a lot of my time in the woods, immensely
enjoying the solitude, rustle of leaves as they rose in the sudden breeze and
scampering of little animals. One summer day, tired after gathering firewood, I
sat down on this rock beneath that wild jasmine bush. In the stillness that
enveloped me and gentle breeze kissing me, I soon fell asleep. After a while,
as the sun shifted and his hot rays fell on my face, I woke up and found a man
sitting across me. He was staring at me, lost in contemplation. Startled, I got
up. He came out of his reverie and a smile appeared on his solemn face.
"Don't be afraid," said he. "I was just
searching for a place untouched by humans... to sit and meditate. You seemed to
be the perfect muse for me."
"We met on this rock daily, went for long walks in the
woods and sat here for hours, not uttering a word and yet strangely comfortable
with each other. He taught me to read, brought in me a passion towards life. He
was my dream to fall back on when reality failed me. In two years that we spent
together, I knew the workings of his mind but nothing about him.
"One day when I came here, the rock seemed lifeless; he
was not there. I had fallen in love. From that day onwards, I came here every day;
desperate to see him, see his animated eyes as he spoke of the things he loved,
his passion towards his countrymen. After a year of my futile visits to this
rock, I got married to a farmer from this village itself. For the next 15
years, I sat on this rock every single day, hoping that he would suddenly
appear at the bend in the path and sit beside me.
"One rainy day, as I took shelter beneath a tree trying
to shield myself from the angry rain which whipped me from all sides, I saw
someone walking gingerly through the puddles, holding an umbrella. My heart
skipped to see my grey-haired love walking towards me as nonchalantly as if he'd
never missed a meeting. He stood beside me, held his umbrella over me till the
rains stopped. And then he left, taking a long look back at me. Our silence
spoke. I knew then that it was the last time we would be seeing each other.
"I continued to come here, not anymore to see him but
to be with him in my thoughts and many moods. There is no such thing as an
unrequited love my dear. He can be anywhere and I can still be with him,"
the old woman said and after a minute of silence, got up to leave. She disappeared
behind the wild jasmine bushes before Samhita could collect her stupefied self
and call out to her. A whiff of jasmine lingered long after the woman had left.
Disturbed by the woman’s story and unable to find peace
anymore, Samhita returned home. She asked her uncle about the house in the
midst of the fields. He said that nobody lived there now. "The house was
built by a farmer's family who were good people and well-liked by the
villagers. The children grew up and left for the city while their old parents
lived there for a while. Then one day, the old woman, who had gone to visit her
children in the city, boarded a train to return home. She died in the tragic
train accident in which her coach derailed. When fire fighters started retrieving
the bodies, they found that the woman was holding the hand of an old man, who
too had died in the accident. He was later identified as a celebrated freedom
fighter who had fought against the British. He had formed his own radical group
and strategically attacked the British, causing them to retreat from this land.
A fire fighter later told the media that he was surprised that the scorched
coach was filled with the fragrance of jasmine."
--A story by me.
