I couldn't think of a better word, but then words get prodigal when you need them the most.
It was such a moment, it was a moment to express something my mind had not yet deciphered, a little something that was stirring in my heart.
Love isn't something I can believe in, it brings too much misery in it's anticipation, and the inevitable disillusionment that follows.
Some moments though still catch me wondering about would have beens, and the clouds they swallow whole a perfectly sunny day and it begins to pour from a deep blue sky.
A search for meaning and the eventual realization that the meaning is within us and not outside. The love, the joy, and the peace, everything begins within. About soulmates and their inevitable constancy in our life.
Prelude
At the last call in the
dreary damp bar, as he wondered again if there were eyes in a
corner far, which looked at him askance, silhouetted by the dull flickers of
light from the old dusted chandelier dropping from the dark roof of the bar.
The eyes they shimmered much like stars and burned him deeper into a tar. A
deep long slug from the last drink the bartender poured and he staggered back
from the stool and walked with purpose towards those eyes, he stumbled and
grabbed things along the way as the alcohol kept rustling through his veins.
The eyes they moved swiftly out of the bar, and he followed into the cold night
of searing winds and a sleepy emancipated moon riding rough on a sea of
threatening clouds. The cold burnt through the fog of alcohol and he saw the
eyes they didn't really beckon, they just looked through him as if a stranger.
Chapter I
But still, he was there
on that curve of green shrubs that overlooked the old creaky railyard and she
was there too and he was sitting beside her by the pine and kissing where her
short hair fell at the precipice of her shoulder and back.
But her skin was not
inviting the caress of his lips, as she stared indifferently towards the railyard
and muttered, Amanyu where did you get lost.
The question seemed to
draw him out of her body and made him slump back on the moist bark of the pine.
I don't know much about that Al, he grunted, all I know at this moment is that
wherever I had gotten lost, maybe I could find myself again in this rustle of
the mountain wind, the sight of that slowly chugging train and the myriad
smells of your body that is bringing me back to life.
She reflected on that
and whispered, but that ain't enough. She said, I too need to find you again
and I don't seem to be able to do that. You smell no longer of the things I
remember loving you for, instead you smell of hate, of loss, of cynicism, and
perhaps despair, you smell of all the things you wouldn't ever let near. After
a brief pause, she continued what now seems so many eons ago, when we used to
sleep under the stare of a million stars, and you could look forever in my eyes
and fill me with love without saying a word. Now you say so much, and it seems
you mean so little. That speechless, boundless, love of yore, seems lost
forever in a cloud of words that flow, it seems, from an empty heart. Where are
you Amanyu, cause I can see you no more and I can't even feel you as your lips
touch me? Then she fell silent, spent, and furious.
The pines had briefly
stopped rustling, as the wind dropped a notch, this creates pin-drop silence in
hills and he could hear her breathe even from a few feet away. He wanted to
embrace her and perhaps hoped that that simple act could still make all
differences melt away and make her eyes light up. But life had taught him
otherwise time and again. I was here and I was there, and I was trying and I
was losing, I was being broken bit by bit and each time finding it harder to
put it all together again. I was sleeping with whores and cursing you, I was
feeling alone in crowds and calling for you, I was on hills and staring down
cliffs, I was with you and still everywhere without.
As the sun took a final
yawn for the day and slipped into sleep, the chill in the air around grew and
she wrapped herself tighter in her mild blue stole. The cold never went well
with him, but today he seemed oblivious, he spoke to her in a voice that seemed
to freeze and unfreeze in parts in the suddenly growing cold of the small hill
town.
You know, he said, a few
years after, I came here one evening like this and sat here much like today and
I saw you sitting here. I touched you and spoke to you, I smelled your hair and
even called you by that name and you smiled at me, I fell asleep under the
stars here and it was old Joseph who saw me here and woke me up. It was half
past midnight and the clouds had all walked in and the dew was heavy, he asked
was I planning to freeze there tonight and all I could think of was your warmth
and I blurted oh I was here with Al, she must have forgotten to wake me. In
that instance, as I uttered those words, I realized how my sanity was slipping.
That day I promised I wouldn't think of you anymore and the next day I took the
evening train to Laza, went to a bar got drunk and then walked out to a taxi
stand and asked the driver to take me to a whore house, I guess it isn't
something that surprises taxi drivers in big cities, and without missing a beat
he said sure or maybe it was something in my bloodshot eyes.
I slept with a whore,
just to feel a woman after many years and more so to see if I could find warmth
in another body after yours.
The next few months I
slept with many, my lust, and your hate mingled into a strange madness that
drove me from one bottle and woman to another. I had begun to change, maybe for
the better, for once I began speaking from my heart and for another, I started to
see life for what it was, a shapeless mass of disappointments strung
together by expectations, hopes, and dreams. And it wasn't just my life which
was like that, everyone I met on anonymous shared tables in dark bars and all
the women who slid in beside me for money, and all the darkness I saw in people
around me, showed me it was what life was for most. The other few, evoked
hatred, their happiness burnt me like acid and their love made me angry.
For a long time, I
abused myself like this. It was as if I was playing to a gallery of one as if
you watched each little thing I did to debase myself and it was as if I could
hurt you by hurting myself. Until I realized the futility of it all, you didn't
care. You were not watching, no one cared and no one was watching. I was like
a pig hurtling myself in anger in filth, hurting no one, affecting no one,
except myself.
That day I cried, at my
own emptiness.
As he said this, finally
he realized that in this long monologue he failed to see when she finally turned
and started looking at him. He failed to see her big bluish eyes welled up in
anger and he failed to see that at that moment he had inadvertently transferred
all the hurt that hadn't got passed to her.
It stung hard on his
cold skin, as she slapped him on the face. Taken aback he couldn't say a word
as her eyes flamed. And she hit him again and sobbed, but didn't cry. Again she
turned and stared down the rolling hill at the railway tracks, which were
beginning to disappear in the closing darkness.
The anguish of love that
was meant to be but still went all wrong. The anguish of hearts that got joined
so young and refused to ever part. The anguish of innocence lost forever. The
anguish of a life wasted.
She suddenly got up and
waved a hand through her golden-brown hair, said something about her family
would be waiting, and then almost as an afterthought added, you know I have a
beautiful daughter. The surprise at this revelation was almost covered by his smile,
a smile that was almost impossible to place. After a few moments, he told her
he would want to meet her. She said sure, I am here for a fortnight. Then
waited expectantly. He read her expression and almost chuckled, no I have
nothing to tell you. Don't think I didn't marry pining for you Al, he said, I
married twice and thankfully never had a child. Those big round eyes saw him
deeply again and asked what are you doing these days. He told her about leaving
a cushy job to come back here a few years back, I run a small farm by the Toly
stream now. You remember Toly? That seemed to lighten her up as she nodded. I
can show you around, he said, I have a bed strung over two boulders and the
little Toly passes beneath, it's the best place to sleep. She laughed and said
oh so something has not changed.
Then she walked off
towards her home. As he pulled himself up from the ground, he wondered why life
would conspire to make him meet her again, just when he was moving towards
peace and meaning. Was she the chapter that needed to be revisited for him to
truly disengage from a life of unfulfilled possibility and achieve the peace he
coveted.
Chapter II
That night was a night
of stars and sleepless dreams, of many unknowing smiles in the darkness of his
room. Of many aches he had forgotten and many questions that were best left
unanswered.
The next morning, he
dressed early, almost at the break of dawn, and stepped out into the damp
coldness that engulfed the small piece of isolated land by the Toly. Toly was
an evergreen brook, small and pristine, and hardly of the type that could drown
anyone. Only during rains did it threaten his small farm, especially on days it
rained a little too heavily in the higher mountains where Toly came from.
Spent time running his
usual track, that looped between exactly hundred pine trees, three bends of
Toly and two hillocks up. As he stopped to catch his breath after the second
loop, he instinctively decided to go an see Al. Maybe to just confirm that
yesterday wasn't just some revisiting nightmare.
Al's parents still lived
in their tiny cottage near the grove of wild apple trees that overlooked the
small post office. It was several miles from his place, as he walked and
jogged, he knew somewhere in his head that life had finally turned a full
circle and he was almost ready to finally and lastly let go of Al in his heart
and in his mind. He wanted her to know this, especially after yesterday
evening's outburst.
As he neared the sun cam
over the Zonu, the tallest mountain in town. It was said that since Zonu in the
east was so tall, it had always robbed the small town of morning sunshine. The
sun miraculously began to clear away the white mists and the chill in the air,
by the time he walked past the small iron gate of Al's house he was sweating.
As he swung the little, tilted and almost about to fall old gate, he remembered
how for almost a hundred years of his childhood he had run past that very gate
into her house, for the inane and the profound things he and Al could speak
about forever. She was that little girl running around barefoot to say hi as he
would throw his bicycle in her dad's little lawn. He smiled at the stark
clarity with which he could still see her like that and wondered how she had
managed to hardwire herself in his head forever.
As he stood there
momentarily lost, the door opened and there stood, barefoot, with her open
mouth smile, gazing at him intently a little girl, after a brief few moments of
silence he broke out into a hearty laugh. Hearing the laugh Al came out and saw
him with almost a delicate cultivated indifference. Mumbling a little apology
he made an excuse of being on his morning run when he realized it was her old
house and came in without realizing the early hour. He could see she did not
buy it all but brushed Amanyude any comebacks by instead talking to her
daughter. The awkward moment passed and he almost invited himself for a cup of
tea.
Her parents were not
amused to see him but gracious enough for old times sake, he guessed. He
learned that Al came every summer, and realized it was he who had come back to
town in January, after almost ten years. They asked him about where he had
been, he told them about being here and there. When he told them where he used
to work, he was surprised at their surprise, almost as if they never believed
he could achieve much in life. They seemed to feel ok when he told them he had
left all that to start a small farm in town. It seemed to comfort them,
probably relieved them that their judgment about him wasn't wrong after all, he
looked at the two now old and shriveled pieces of meat who at some point long
ago, had pretty much conspired to rip his world apart. Now he felt nothing for
them, no anger, no pity.
He played with them
until they felt uneasy about his motives in visiting their daughter again. Then
as he left and she walked him out, he grabbed her hand, it didn't take her
back, he squeezed her fingers and whispered he was happy for her and looked
into her eyes. That seemed to melt her like snow under the first ray of sun,
and he knew that was something she needed to hear. He walked out and turned
once again, to see her golden-brown hair shimmer in the sun and the cold of the
morning making her shrink into herself as she waved a bye. He closed his eyes
as if to capture that moment for times to come. It was time, time to wrap up
what he needed, and head out.
Chapter III
It was a day since he
left the small village near Toru, which marked the end of the little town.
Between the fog-filled morning and the early sunset, he had made slow progress
through the winding roads that were full of potholes and loose dirt left behind
by the torrential rains of the monsoon season. As the sun shimmered slowly
through the white cover of clouds mixed with mists, he stopped at a small hut
that served tea to the passer by's. An angry little river roared in the steep
gorge behind the hut. As he settled to wait for his tea, his thoughts wandered
back to the little farm he had left the last evening, wondering if it was for
the last time. He had come to love the farm by the Toly, despite the attendant
hardships it had begun to give him a sense of belonging. That wasn't something
he had felt for any place in a very long time. He looked at his dirt-covered
motorcycle and sighed at the way it had become old and outmoded. The old bitch
needed to get him far from this place right now and he almost pleaded silently
for it to not break down. He was headed to Dremi, a hermit village far away from
any place, which had several Buddhist monks living in isolation from
the world as they meditated. It would take him close to two days to reach
there. He checked with the hut owner and made an arrangement to sleep there for
the night. He was promised food and a cot after the hut closed for business and
the owner left for his village. It would be better than trying to pass the
night under a tree in his sleeping bag he reasoned.
That night as he lay
down, the sound of the river was particularly fierce, as the waters angrily
washed down the boulders, despite being tired from the ride he couldn't sleep.
His thoughts wandered from one stupid chapter of his life to another. He
wondered if he were to die there in that hut tonight, probably no one would
care. He didn't mean that much to many. It is funny how a person measures the
success of life in terms of possessions but never in terms of the people who
care until the time comes when you no longer can do much to change either.
Then he thought of Al,
would she care? Not much was the obvious answer.
The nights in the hills
are strange, they are quite almost eerily quite. The sounds are strange and the
loneliness all-encompassing. Though he was used to this, living next to Toly was nothing like being next to this fierce river behind the hut in the deep
gorge. He was too proud to admit it made him uncomfortable, but somewhere it
did. He longed for a company in that strange dark and lonely hut.
Finding it difficult to
sleep, he took out his flashlight and walked down the steep and small steps cut
into the hillside towards the river. The moonlit night made the water
shimmer as it bounced upon rocks, the sound of the river grew like a roar as he
carefully made his way towards the river bed. The sky was a clear black and as
often happens in the hills, the mist had disappeared, he could sit on a boulder
and literally count the stars, past the majestic mountain silhouetted in the
moonlight. He told himself that for moments like this one, he could live a
hundred years.
So engrossed was he in
immersing himself at the moment, that he hardly noticed that someone was
walking towards him, it was only when the person was a few feet away that he
noticed and almost jumped out of his skin. The stranger laughed a throaty laugh
seeing him jump with fear, it took a few moments for him to realize that this
was maybe just a man. The hour of the night and the wilderness still made him
jumpy finding another person out for a stroll by the river. The stranger sat
down and told him that he lived nearby. After a few.minutes he relaxed and
settled into his normal bantering style with the stranger. The white robe of
the stranger almost sparkled in the moonlight, though his face was quite
undecipherable. The stranger's name was Hari, he was an ascetic who had been
living here for a few weeks now.
Hari didn't speak much,
but sitting there by the river in the middle of nowhere, he was a welcome
companion. Hari was smoking a chillum and offered it to him, which was declined
as anything other than alcohol never gave him any pleasure. Amanyu asked Hari,
why despite being an ascetic he could not forsake this very earthly pleasure.
Hari looked bemused by the question, he said who is to decide giving up what
will make anyone an ascetic.
Chapter IV
The next evening too he
met Hari at the same place, the river was louder than the day before and the
moon brighter which made the river bank look like a loud, well-lit discotheque
that was eerily deserted. Hari taught him to meditate that evening, telling him
tips that would make him look inward and forget the cacophony of the river or
the fear of being the lone creature in maybe miles and miles.
Meditation wasn't new
for him, for he had dabbled and lost interest in it often. Hari told him the
legend of the river, apparently, nobody could drown in it, even though many
people had been swept by its waters, the river wouldn't let anyone die he said.
Anyone who ever fell in it by mistake or by design had always survived.
That was an interesting
thought, as he took a slug of the local whiskey he had procured during the day,
and felt it's acid burn down his throat right through to the stomach, he
wondered aloud if this was one legend that could be verified first-hand.
Hari laughed at this thought and muttered that one thing he learned living the
life of a nomad was that one should not trust legends. They are mostly fake.
They fell silent and stared into the river, Adee couldn't get the legend of the
river out of his head. As he stared at its beautiful flow and listened to its
threatening roar, he wondered if his love for Al had also been like the legend
of the river. Neither would it let him soak and swim in it nor did it ever let
him drown in it. All his life, he had been as if sitting by the river watching
his love flow helpless and boundless, unable to either partake in it or kill
himself in it.
The local whiskey, he has
been told was made of apple, it was sharp and his head was spinning by the few
slugs from the quarter he had bought in the village. Not having eaten much,
wasn't helping either. He hadn't felt hungry for the last few days, he had only
been feeling empty of late, rest any emotion or sense he seemed incapable of.
As he sat there in the moonlight, a sudden dread came over him, as his abject
surrender to this emptiness almost fifteen years back came back to haunt him.
It had taken him almost three precious years of his life to scrape out of the
hole he had created for himself by an alcohol-fueled rage and self-pity. It
wasn't a period of his life he was proud of anymore. These thoughts almost
served a reminder, that was he slipping down that road again. With a start, he
jerked and looked to his right where Hari was still slowly dragging from his
chillum. Hari looked at him askance and a faint smile seems to play on his lips,
after a few moments he said, so its time for you to move, ain't it? He nodded
and again stared at the river. See legends are meant to serve a purpose, after
all, said Hari. Adee nodded an agreement and whispered almost to himself, yes
they are and with sudden urgency almost sprung up and looked at Hari. He said,
farewell friend, I need to be on my way, let's see if we meet ever again. Hari
did not respond and he moved with quick steps into the shallow water spread of
the river, splashed the cold water on his face and hair, it stung like ice and
almost made the buzz of the country alcohol recede. Adee then quickly and with
purpose, climbed the mountainside to reach the hut, pulled together his bag, and after a few minutes of trying managed to get his motorcycle buzzing. In a
few moments, in the middle of that cold mountain night, under the silver rays
of the moon, he was on his way. If there was anyone around, they may have seen
the resolute look and purpose in his eyes.
Chapter V
Dreji was a strange
place, a place of immense peace and detached coldness. For a small severely
remote village, it was surprisingly full of people. But he had never seen so
many utterly indifferent people together. Each was as if engaged in conversations
in their own head, stuck in their own world. As he sipped tea and savored the
warmth of the cup, he wondered if it was just the numbness from the long almost
back-breaking ride through the night or it was the numbness of the people
around which was more oppressing. He pulled his cap further down his ears, the
wind was picking up and had an extra ounce of chill that morning, his thoughts
wandered to Al and her smile when she greeted him at the door two days back.
That brought some warmth back. He wanted to carry on and not stop in Dreji for
long, the place and its people were all uninviting.
Chapter V
As he rode away from Dreji, his sense of freedom began to grow, much like hope that sometimes momentarily, like the sun through the dark winter sky, tugged his empty heart.
It was late and he was feeling unusually blue. The night and oppressing cold wind made the ride through the winding roads of the forest very taxing. As he turned a corner, he glanced down below the open valley that spread all across the bend in the road. In an instant, he lost any remaining motivation to chug along and braked to a stop. Placing the helmet delicately balanced on the seat of his motorcycle, he took a few steps to the brink and sat down tired, peering far into the open dark sky down to where it merged quietly with the endless valley. It was forever in moments like these that Al would come back and wrap herself all around him. Today was no different. As he sat feeling her all over him, the meaninglessness of his life stared back at him. For, he mused, if after a lifetime of strife and strive, all he had was this dark open valley and its loneliness, life had been quite futile. For even as a young man he had these very same things. The journey of twenty long years had it seemed yielded nothing.
This strife within and the arduous mountain road was beginning to take a toll on him and sleep tiptoed in. By the time he woke up, it was pitch dark under a spectacularly clear sky. The cold winds pierced through every inch of his skin, he felt a heaviness in his chest, cold winds effected him quickly. Needing something to eat and a shelter to sleep was critical, else this could turn out to be a cruel long night. He hurried to the motorcycle, kicked it to life, and headed on.
The mountains are eerily quiet in the night, in the remote hills past Dreji,
the sound of his motorbike could probably be carrying for miles. Not that he
expected any audience at that time of night. As he rode through the pine and
deodar forest, the winding road and the cold wind were keeping him sharp and
awake. Amanyu remembered the long walks he would take through the pine forests
with his father as a child, his father loved to tell him stories or rather
legends of the mountains, stories that often involved leopards and witches, and
he would listen in rapt attention, sometimes on the edge, but secure in the
sense of humor of his father and comforting warmth of his hand, that held his.
Those were the fondest and clearest memories he had of his father, not long
after had his father passed away, leaving behind a confused and often unguided Amanyu
to navigate his growing up years in a family of women. It is funny how one
cannot always pinpoint what got missed in the growing years, for Amanyu's
mother hardly left any stone unturned in raising him, but still, in some
moments of reflection and solitude, a feeling gnaws at you, makes you wonder if
you would have turned out a slightly different version of yourself if father
was around. Al would have not approved his thoughts, she believed in
dealing with the cards that were dealt, would have been always bored her. Amanyu,
would rant for hours about would have been, and she would listen patiently,
never agreeing but letting him blow the steam, and a few times she would lose
patience and snap, asking him to stop whining. She had a way with him, always
had her way, in loving him as well as leaving him. Amanyu never had a chance,
she could walk in and take him away with a flick of her brown hair from her
brow. She also knew him well, so well that he had spent a lifetime since hoping
to meet someone who could know him like Al did. The road turned and a small
speed bump, which he missed and jumped over, told him that he was entering a
village, he quickly looked around for signboards and spotted a small place with
a sign of 'room available', parking the motorcycle beside the road, he walked
and knocked on the door. After several minutes, somebody answered, a short
conversation and payment later, Amanyu found himself in a small but warm room
with a blanket. It was too late to check with his host for a meal, so Amanyu
gulped down a liter of water and snuggled into the blanket, waiting for sleep
to come. Sometimes this wait could be endless, but today was a good day and in
a few minutes he dozed off.
Chapter 6
We are waking and sleeping, dreaming and despairing, all in and all without. Who are we? The endless nomadic thoughts take me from one cold endless night to another. What is this with cold nights? They keep me shivering and strangely warm within, the train it rattles the whole night through nameless towns and hills, all I can think of is some fantastical lights , sparkling drops of laughter and my glories. The orange of the sky blending into the ink blue and the grey all around, flying a thousand miles up in the air, and all I want to think of is freedom and love. Mystical stars and me chasing their twinkles, sitting all alone and still all without and all I can think of is some conversations to shoe the night by. What is it with all that goes on within? All I am thinking of is lying flat in a mountain stream and feel the water submerge me in its coldness. What is it with streams and me? You seem to be in my every dream and yet I can't take a dip in you. Like a thirst I cannot quench any of you, my nights, my dreams, the silhouettes I can never decipher, bring me a drink, for all there is somedays, is an old cask whisky to make me slowly drift away on a boat in the sleepy sunshine of evenings, over the stream in my backyard and stare far into the sky and wonder where are the stars behind the dying rays of sun. What is this in my eye? A longing , a determination, a loneliness and also the love of all I have been given. The warmth of so many who love me, the peace of the nights and the self determined pace of life. But then there are dreams and in those dreams are sunlit streams and there is me finding myself bit by bit in my small hilltown of dreams. And there is those whistles through the trees, calling me deeper into the woods as I dither and vacillate on the edges.
Listen, I said to no one in particular,
I want to fly down that mountain,
Soar on the wings of my soul and call valleys below names,
Paint some orange on the white floating clouds and make them rain as I go piercing through,
Fall flat into some lake between the mountains and rise frozen phoenix from the waters,
Then sit and wonder about life, my apparent loneliness midst our togetherness,
long nights of restless dreams and fantastical beasts who fail to get me through those long night chases,
My heartbrokenness amidst the aching love of the mountains, the darkness within amidst the white and greens all around.
Call me names if you must, but don't call me back.
Yes, I used to dream, many dreams fantastical.
I used to laugh, I used to care and I used to love.
I used to gaze at twinkles, through endless dark nights.
Now on the days when the fog lifts and the moon shines through, reminisce is all I do.
I am the left over from a banquet, stale and foresaken.
I can't leave and I have overstayed my welcome.
I am the crooked smile in a sea of grimaces.
I am the mad man sulking in the corner, enraged but smiling.
I am the nightmare that ends a night of fitful sleep.
Hello, is all she said, a hello was all it was. But dreamers, they sometimes only need hello's, and he was a dreamer.
In the sun-drenched space between him and her, myriad rainbows formed and disappeared, all in the few moments that he peered into her eyes.
She always had her way with men, the mischief that danced through her serene and deep eyes, set prominently in that undecipherable face, made most men flounder.
He told her of how he had often hoped for another chance meeting with her, ever since the time she had caught him by surprise while sitting alone at the edge of the valley on the foot of the abandoned old cottage near Toru, the biggest hill in town.
It wasn't the best thing to say, and it was almost visibly boring for her. But he was never known to be a conversationalist.
After several minutes of such inanities, she told him her name was Jewel and he blurted 'how appropriate'. That, awkwardly enough, broke some ice and she let a small laugh through, which almost made him feel like pulling her up close.
These were early days, he knew. But also that, there would be a lifetime of these days.
Standing on that rather cold but sunny morning, in front of the small bakery that opened early to catch the morning walkers, he had no way of knowing that Jewel was about to change him in ways he could not imagine then, he and Jewel were headed for adventures.