The Love that I saw...

The dreamscape was not over yet… Stories within stories were still unfolding, and I was there the protagonist savoring the near perfect life. There were friends, relationships, and the love existed in those relationships. Life was not a cramp to live with in a city of hustle. It was winter, the moon shining white, and the musk floated in the air of a small town called Brotherhood. A colony of people dwelt there who loved to grow affection for others. They cultivated love, they ate love, but they never sold them. They had stored so much of love in their hearts that their chests were bigger than the people on the other side, separated from dreamy episodes by a thin film. ‘Those who rupture the film don’t get roles in our episodes’, he had said. They must cross over it, without tearing apart their own existence as well as that of the film.
I am not the creator of dreamscape; I am the protagonist playing the role that I wanted. He always insisted me to quench my thirst with Love and gallop on the pavements without the fear of falling down and getting injured. He confirmed, as long as I am in Brotherhood and my wishes are sacred I won’t get injured, although he never guarantees anything for the world on the other side. Everyone calls him the Grandfather. Big chested people say that he is the creator of Brotherhood.

I had always thought of love. I imagined that one day I will be at par with them who were loved on this side, in the real world. I was in delusion in reality. I was deluded till the night when the grandfather explained me the truth. I don’t remember how it happened, but I recollect that he had crossed the film, stepped into the real world, and carried me away to Brotherhood. In that episode, I spent the whole night at Grandfather’s mansion where he lives alone. He is the one with the biggest chest in his town. There we had dinner together; we had roasted turkey, sausages, and warm milk for me while he had wine for himself. He kept smiling at me in between his sips of wine, and through pauses in his speech. He explained me how deluding the world on the other side is, and how deluding its inhabitants are.

‘Love is not just between a girl and a boy. Love is so sacred that it exists between every two entities and more. Love is between sand and stones. Love is between air and the mountains. Love is between birds and the sky. Love is between a mother and her kids. Love is between me and you. And don’t forget, that the love is between you and yourself.’

As the grandfather spoke, his eyes used to get closed and his right arm swung here and there in air.

‘But do you know what is necessary for the Love to be present? It’s the truth and the honesty. And I doubt they don’t exist anymore on the other side’, his head bowed down, his eyes were still closed.

Grandfather sipped some more, and then followed his words.

‘You might get yourself hurt my son. Expectations have been killing people from inside. I have lived my whole life there, and I know how many times I was killed.’

‘Will I get killed too grandfather?’, I asked hesitatingly.

‘I will not let you. And I have brought here to prevent you from any injury you might incur. Expectations, wishing for love staying on the other side, these are potentially dangerous’, replied he.

‘Come on, give me your hand and lets go for a night stroll. Let me show you how the Love feels like in its truest form. But I suggest you not to expect the same when you wake up in your world. In Brotherhood we cultivate love, we eat love, but we never sell them. You must know what the true love is and this will prevent you from falsehood and delusions…’

The night was beautiful. Trees were dressed with shimmering lights from fireflies. The twilight was mused in the music of violin coming from a distant hut. I saw the moon through the clouds that were not polluted. I could see people with varying sizes of chest. And I could easily deduce who were more loving. ‘Truth and Honesty’, I was engrossed within depths of my mind with these two words told by the grandfather to an extent that I watched every movement in that episode to confirm that indeed the truth and the honesty existed there which made the whole ambience so loving. The truth and the honesty, they existed in families, between friends, and strangers. I was the protagonist, but I was the stranger too. But the showering love never seemed to go lesser on me.

I would never free my hand from the grandfather’s. I wish if I could stay here forever… I wish if…

I was about to mutter some more to myself but the episode ended. The night full of love came to an end with the warm sun overhead and with the alarm clock proudly at its work.

It’s not summer here, but still the heat is killing. I don’t focus on weather reports. I have a different measurement scale like the one that the grandfather used in his life here. I want to learn some more from him. But not right now. I must hurry for the school. I will be the protagonist in the next episode of the dreamscape tonight.  

PS: Every night I get into dreams, and they are like episodes of a tele serial where the life is what I have always wanted. Dreamscape is a tele serial, and I am the protagonist, and I will continue to be in each of its upcoming episodes.

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BARKHA

“Pearls of my eyes, today I seek over again to solace you. Be still; I won’t let you sneak out through ages of love homed in my eyes.
Be gentle; ease me off to sleep, for I am awake since you left me. I am seized in the wait endless, staring forever at the skies.”

Mr. Partho Ghosh mumbled these words, his voice heavy, and eyes strained from insomnia. In between closing and reopening of his eye lids, he stared at the night sky through the open window close to his squealing bed. Stars displeased him.
He wanted sleep to take over him, but she had been meanest and rudest to him lately. This sixty two year old man, with his mind mused in some belonging he cared to keep alive forever, lived in a small one bedroom flat alone. His flat has a leaky roof and it damps after rain. People in general would hate that, but Partho loves it. He loves rain.

I watch Partho every time. I wish if I could help him out. But I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

II

Mr. Partho was a poet, not by profession but yes he was very much passionate about it. His wife used to be the agonist in all of his story telling poetry. Things haven’t changed even today.

“Hello Mr. Partho, how are you doing?”, greeted Mr. Kashyap at the grocery store.

Mr. Kashyap was the fresher for the job from which Mr. Partho retired. Mr. Partho never accepted his promotion. He retired from the post which he had when he joined the company. He knew promotion brings ‘transfer’, and he never wanted to leave his home and his wife. He wanted to be in this town for ever and ever. Because it was here in this town where he met her for the first time.

“I am fine Babu Saheb, just the mornings have been a bit cruel to me. Nights are also no different”, replied Mr. Partho.

“I suppose you are not getting sleep properly. Your eyes tell the whole story.”

“I am sure they do, but I tell you that the sweet and memorable part of the story they don’t tell, and you will never know of it”, replied Mr. Partho.

“I see. But I suggest you that at this age you must not live alone. Moreover your health has been consistently declining.”

“What should I do then? Get myself registered at Briddhashram? I mean what you call as Old Aged Home? Hmm?”, questioned Mr. Partho stiffly.

“No no. I didn’t mean that. I mean you should invite your relative at your place or go to live at theirs sometime.”, replied Mr. Kashyap.

“Hehehe. No thank you. I have only one relative, and she visits me every year. I think that time of year has already arrived.”, and with this Mr. Partho walked away.

Mr. Kashyap kept trying to figure out what Mr. Partho kept mumbling as he passed across him.

Pains of Partho weaken me. I feel trembled. Even though I know what the old man wants but I can do nothing. After all I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

III

I can see him from here, Mr. Partho has resumed with his poetry. Perhaps his diary of poetry can turn out to be the best seller if published, but Mr. Partho would never want to publish them.

“The chill, now the wind has contained. Kissing my neck with the breeze some sweet some sour. And in this breeze I…”,

Mr. Partho was gumming these words but then stopped as came the knock on his door. Mr. Partho walked towards the door. And the knock came for the second time.

As the door got opened, there she was holding a dishware; perhaps she had cooked something special and thought of sharing with Mr. Partho.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes. Please do come in Mrs. Dutta.”

Mrs. Dutta was Mr. Partho’s neighbor and his only friend. She was a year older than Mr. Partho.

“I know it’s a special day for you. I made something on this occasion. Wouldn’t you like to taste it?” asked Mrs. Dutta.

“Why not Mrs. Dutta. Its 11^th of August. Even if you ask me for poison, then I am ready to try that too on this day.”, said Mr. Partho laughingly.

“Why would I ask something like that Partho. Do you think I am mad? It’s your wife’s birthday. I have made a cake for you.”, replied Mrs. Dutta.

“Do you know Mrs. Dutta, I went to grocery store today. I did buy the ingredients. But when I started the work in my kitchen, I couldn’t put together all what Barkha used to do for preparing the cake. She used to cook so well, the vanilla puffed cake was her specialty. She never explained me how she used to make those lovely cakes. Neither did I care to learn. I used to think my wife will never leave me. She will stick to me till my breath will last.”

Mr. Partho got carried away. His eyes moist, and voice got heavy as he spoke his words. Silence prevailed in the room, and it seemed as if it’s going to last forever.

“Don’t say like that Partho. She never left you. It’s all destiny. God loved Barkha so much. And that’s why he…”

“Don’t you think I loved her too? I loved her more than God. She should have stayed here with me. Always. Forever.”, cried Mr. Partho, almost on the verge of breaking down he was.

Silence existed for few more moments. But it ended as Mrs. Dutta tried to fill the void.

“Now come on. Lets cut the cake. Its Barkha’s birthday and you are not going to disappoint her. She was a lovely wife. You must not sadden her by saddening yourself like this. Nature and its laws, we can’t go against it. Don’t you think so Partho?”

 “No Mrs. Dutta. I won’t cut the cake. I won’t celebrate until she gets back here. I want to get drenched with her caresses of love”, said Mr. Partho.

“Have you gone mad Partho? How can she come now?”, questioned Mrs. Dutta with surprisal.  

“You don’t know Mrs. Dutta. I have been waiting endlessly for her arrival. I have been calling out her name, looking at the skies all day and night”.

As came more of his words, the more he started to turn weak. It seemed as if he is going to fall down. But then Mrs. Dutta helped him to settle on the chair.

“Oh Partho. Please be seated. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry”

“Barkha!”, yelled Mr. Partho.

IV

Two hours swept on the clock. Mrs Dutta had left. And Mr. Partho was still on the chair, baffled and dejected. Suddenly tube light in the room flickered. It started with the lightening in the sky. As came the cracking of thunder in the sky, Mr. Partho woke up from his trance. He came to the window and glanced at the sky. A gush of adrenalin rushed inside his veins. Rushing outside of his flat, forgetting of the locks that he left open, he hurried towards the lawn.

It had started raining. As drops of rain touched his forehead, it seemed to him as if he got hold of his departed love from his life once again. Memories that his old eyes had preserved afresh, seemed to revive into existence. Pellets of rain, skinned over love and compassion from heaven solaced him.

Moving by the kitchen window of Mrs. Dutta’s house, he cried her name.

“Mrs. Dutta. Oh Mrs. Dutta. Come out and see. Barkha has arrived.”

 ...

As I told you before, I watch Mr. Partho always. I watch him closely all days and nights. But I am devoid of any emotions now. God turned me like this. Reasons are unexplainable that why he did so. However, I know what Mr. Partho wants. Every wife knows what his husband wants. He wants me back in his life. But how can I? I am also a mere toy in hands of the almighty.

Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I am… (sighs)
I was Barkha Ghosh, wife of an angel in reality, Mr. Partho Ghosh.

Image Courtesy: Google Images Search

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