The lights were off. It was quiet around, as usually it was during that time of the night. The fan, with its old regulator in place, growled on. A mosquito net, sometimes flowing in the ensuing blow, more of filtered the cool air. He was sweating profusely. His eyes were red. Only the night prowler could have distinguished. The FM was playing on his headphones. It felt like torrential party rallies on loud-speakers.They disturbed the setting. He lay still. One by one, hot drops wetted the pillow. Moment by moment, he grew further detached from himself. Instant by instant, he grew calmer.
Maybe, now, he’d have cooled down. He wiped his cheek and then his eyes. He touched his pillow, realizing his weakness. He should have held himself. He thought again, logically and practically. Yes, that was the term she had used, when all the time, it was him who had tried to make her think that way. He realizes every dog has its day. Strengths have an amazing ability to become a weakness at a critical point. He was the epitome of calm, the idea of ubercool for everybody. He had now failed them. He had failed himself.
Dragging himself he washed himself in the washroom. Puffy eyes couldn’t be transformed in a jiffy. He turned off the lights. It was fruitfully dark again. He felt a sigh of relief. He was away from prying eyes. Dutifully, he scratched around before he found his moneybag stacked away in the drawer. Without a hesitation, he took out the parched paper covering something inside.
There was a slicing sound. Maybe a slicing screech would have described it more aptly. Suddenly he felt calm. His wrists felt cool. It was pleasant to find viscous flow struggling through, just like him. Struggle was written in his blood. Steadily he closed his eyes. He hoped once, someone would come and bring him back from that terrible nightmare. He again hoped, this time, that he was never disturbed. And all along he fell into a soothing sleep, lips curled into a penchant smile.
Misused, she lay in a corner. The dark alley was replete with dirt. And polythenes. And drums. And barrels. And torn clothes, of her, shred all around. As she recovered her sense, her hand travelled to her temple, which throbbed wildly reminding her about her being. All of a sudden she felt a chill. As she browsed her hand over breast, she felt her nipples and realized her naked figure. It came back to her. The woeful thrusts and pain. The forcefulness and wildness of the rogues, the bastards! She felt and remembered everything, except she didn't have the guts to open her eyes. What if they were still there? What if they were just sitting by the wayside waiting to pounce on her while she came back to her senses?
With shaking eyelids and drooped in pain, she opened her left eye. Gory dark stared back at her. Far away something bright was there. It was hazy. She was having trouble adjusting to the black. she opened both her eyes. It must be the street lamp. As she sat up, and looked at herself, a new shudder passed through her. she shivered all the way down to the bone. She felt shame, guilt, atrociously. Empty streets greeted her.
Looking all around, well aware of peeks, she picked up shrapnels of her dress, and covered her bare essentials. Dragging herself along, with a shiver keeping her rooted sometimes. A mere shadow on a lighted window or foot-steps on the stone pathway alerted her and she pryfully stepped into the darkness hiding herself.
She was almost there now. She could see the lights. She could also hear Mozart. It was Cain's favourite. She reached the steps. She could now read the nameplate stuck rigidly on the door. It read" Cain & ishshah " .She loved to be called "ishshah". She was Cain's and only Cain's ishshah. She loved it when he took her hands and pressed them into his own, just like rose petals embraced the anthers within. Even if she had been torn apart by those rogues. Her Cain would see to it that she be avenged. She adored it when he took her in his arms and swivelled around with her in embrace to the ballad tunes. She lost herself in him when he made his moves on her and made love to her. A coach on its way on the street with ringing bells drew her back. She didn't have the strength nor the courage to knock. She pushed the door and went inside, apprehensively.
Cain and a woman were on the floor. In close intimacy. Cain stared dumbfounded at her, and the woman screamed," You said you had her finished and the business was over!". He quietened her, "ishshah, just be quiet!"
She was stunned. Hysterically she howled and wailed and yelled," She's just my namesake!" and collapsed on to the floor, her insides tearing apart, like flesh being torn out of a fractured bone...
P.S.:-For most of you who'll be ignorant of the word, "ishshah", it means "woman" in hebrew. In the Bible(old testament) it was mentioned about Cain and ishshah. For more information you can contacthttp://www.answersingenesis.org/articles/nab/who-was-cains-wife
The sunlight was streaming in. the dust highlighted. In a corner lying senseless was a figure. Ruffled hair. Brown eyes half-open. Beaten virtually into pulp, the oozing blood still dark crimson, the floor was a pool. the door slightly ajar, with a push a child walked in. Stricken by the scene he gasped in horror. Taking the unconscious man in his lap, the small child slapped him hard. Slowly he opened his eyes. And he kept staring. Wondering if he was in heaven or on earth. Somehow the face seemed all too familiar. The small boy too somehow with curious eyes looked on and on at the disheveled face. Taking it in all…
The man was nursed back to health by the small child’s mother, and maybe even more by the child himself. With lustrous eyes, he had caught the fascination of the now-in-crutches man. They spent the whole day together, playing soccer, fishing trouts, throwing discs. His mother never seemed to object, and even if she did, the man somehow seemed to silence her with just a wave of his hand. He simply noticed his mother’s seemingly compressed attitude. They spent a whole year together before the man left them. The young child, then only seven, missed him, bawling through his weekends. His mother sometimes consoled him, but not without restrain.
Steadily the young child grew older and stronger. Soon he left behind those childhood memories, now basking in his academics. And he was a state champ boxer too. The girls used to fall head over heels for him. He was getting used to this life. He was the rising star in high school. A bright future with a brilliant mind in place, Could there be anything that could destroy his impassively perfect life? Guess not! Sometimes when things seem too perfect, it’s just that things will start to go out of hand soon…
One fine morning when the sky was never blue-er and the breeze never calmer, the wind was knocked out of him. His mother, who had almost single-handedly brought him up, died of a sudden stroke. He saw black everywhere. Big time into studies, he hadn’t had the opportunity to earn his own bread thereby being financially dependent on his mother. On top of that he had fallen in love and was in a compelling situation whence he had to marry his love at the earliest. He didn’t have a source of income and this fact weighed heavily on him.
He married her. Amidst all the turmoil he couldn’t leave her and his to be due offspring. But he had a problem. A-hell-of-a-problem. He didn’t have any financial background and he was short of money. First the furniture went, then the jewelry. And then came the time to broker a deal for the house. A place where he had so many memories. And also he couldn’t bear to look at his wife’s face and the hardships they were going through. Casting aside his emotional attachments and ignoring his wife’s pleas for restrain, he made the deal. In the end even this did not suffice.
The child was born. It was a son. He held him aloft in his arms and as the early morning rays of the sun cast a narrow glance on the white face, it radiated a glow which looked forever so innocent. That sparkle made his day.
It was afternoon on the same day. In a dark alley sitting cross-legged was a man in torn attire. Surrounding him were three well built men, who looked more like ruffians. They handed him six notes apiece, and in return they received a couple of packets of white powder each. And then they left. And then the sitting man left too, departing for the maternity home. En route he bought a few things from the market, including food and a toy for the new born.
He entered the cabin. The mother cried out in joy, on seeing her husband gone for so long, and immediately called out to the newborn, telling him his dad had come. The child seemed to understand. He responded with a cry, so typical of a day-old boy. The father took him in his arms and caressed him. And then he went back.
The child was now a year old. His father seemed to recollect his own childhood. And he didn’t want his own child to go through the same pain again. But he had to go. If he stayed in town, his family couldn’t even afford a day’s meal. He had to go seek his fortune elsewhere. Leaving behind his sweetheart and his dear son behind. With a heavy heart he set out.
He made his luck. The last 4 years had been brilliant financially for him. He returned home. He hoped for a welcome with a tinge of spring in his steps. He put his steps in the house, which he called his own, but where he hadn’t been for so long. The house seemed to be in tatters. It was dark everywhere. The corridors seemed to be empty. He drew a blank, perplexed.As soon as he was to step out, he observed a poster on the wall. It spelled “WANTED” in bold and below it a snapshot of himself. He realized his pursuits had gotten to his home before him. And the truth dawned on him.
Shaking his head as soon as he stepped out, a shot whizzed past him, rattling the glass panes. His instincts helped him salvage himself from the barrage of shots that followed. In a flash, his colt was out, now and then hurtling against the cops. He was fit and agile as ever. As he made sure that his pursuers was gone, he attempted to get up and found it terribly painful to do so. He had been shot at without even realizing it. With one last fling with the colt, he killed the lawman.
Nowhere to go, he proceeded to the barn, where he had spent many a day in his younger days. Dust and filth strewn everywhere. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Settling down against a haystack he lay down.
It was dawn.The sunlight was streaming in, the dust highlighted. In a corner lying senseless was a figure. Ruffled hair. Brown eyes half-open. The oozing blood still dark crimson, the floor was a pool. The door slightly ajar, with a push a child walked in. Stricken by the scene he gasped in horror. Taking the unconscious man in his lap, the small child slapped him hard. Slowly he opened his eyes. And he kept staring. Somehow the face seemed all too familiar. And then it hit him.
The young child was his, now five. And he recollected that day in his childhood, when the same thing had happened. It’s often said, when a man is about to breathe his last, lots of truths sink in, and there’s a certain helplessness to it. Same happened with him. He screamed out, “Reborn !” and withered into a lifeless body, still in the child’s lap.
The train was billowing past the barren land. He was on vacation. Far from the monotonous drag of life he had decided to speed his way through to the desert. He wasn’t alone. A compartment or two full of eager passengers accompanied him. He also had another companion, whose presence he hadn’t bargained for. It was her. She wasn’t there in the compartment but was invading his thoughts time and time again. He was totally unprepared.
It wasn’t the first time he had the hots for a girl, neither would it be the last time. But somehow this was different. School life ,which had entered its last lap somehow got him very nostalgic. And somehow amidst the strong heat wave blowing across his face he seemed to miss her voice. How funnily overwhelming was that feeling!
His mind went back to the times he spent with her. It was sheer fun! The long chats, the naughty looks, the walking back home episodes, the steal-a-minute phone calls, the fun of having fun! How weird…why was it that she struck him like this? They were after all just friends…best buddies…close-knit…but why was he feeling so very helpless? He had other friends too…it wasn’t that he didn’t have fun with the rest of them but somehow somewhere fleetingly he realized it probably wasn’t the same without her…
Reaching the hotel he called her up. They chatted, it was nothing different, was it? She ranted on about her life and how she was missing him, and how she hoped he would enjoy his trip, and come back and tell her the accounts. And then he hung up. That night he didn’t sleep. An unconscious voice told him,’ maybe the time had come to take their friendship to the next level.’ And a subconscious one told him, ’maybe this wasn’t the time for all that.’
A double couple of months later. School was to end soon. Everywhere around the mood was understandably a bit gloomy. Friends and friends of friends were busy with slam-books and diaries. No-one was really happy about this change of phase. Even he wasn’t.Yet again, somehow her to-be-absence bothered him much more. He couldn’t restrain himself further. He had to have a talk with her regarding their ‘friendship’.
It all happened in their common tuition class. He told her he felt specially for her, something different than anything before. She confessed it was the same for her, but she was confused. The word ,’love’ hadn’t been uttered yet. Neither could come along to say those three magical words. Maybe they had a loss of courage or maybe their feelings weren’t strong enough. He told her ,‘ Let’s take forward this friendship and give a name to it.’ She again steadfast refused, asking meekly, ‘What name would you give it?’
They never talked about this again…
Days passed by. College had started. Him & her were in different streams now. They hardly met, but did not let that become a deterrent in their fun-n-frolic filled friendship. Slowly time built its wall around them. Both got busy, gradually getting embellished in their own lives. Tragically yet tellingly they drifted apart.
Six years later. He received a letter. A marriage reception invitation. He was struck by the name. It was her. She had married and her marriage reception was overdue six months. It struck him odd. She had gotten married and didn’t even bother to tell him. He felt a surge of anger. And then he remembered with a chill how they hardly were in contact with each other. Strange are the ways of life. He recollected with a thud that fateful evening in that tuition class. He decided he would certainly go and wish the married couple a gay life ahead.
A glittery evening, adorned all around with startling chandeliers and statuettes and starlets. A grand party. And then he met her. Suppressing the underlying tension, he went ahead. He spoke and wished her, except that no words came out. He just kept staring. He was suddenly crushed, and from her expression it seemed so was she. Some anonymous feeling with a dash of long overdue screamed out , ‘Name me …’
