It had rained all of that week. Heavy rains, flooded roads, school & colleges were closed. But today since morning it had not rained. Though dark clouds still floated low in the sky, they looked tired, and spent. Like the soldiers that remained of a raging battle, tired of war and wanting some peace. Cold wind blew over the clouds carrying them around with it, as if to comfort them.
The same wind blew over the terrace of a bungalow. Its might set free the clothes clipped for drying on a nylon rope tied between a pipe on one corner of the terrace & a hook on a wall near another corner. The freed clothes blew with full might with the wind & into the face of a young girl just about twenty, who just like the clouds was trying to get some peace of mind, but the wind wouldn’t let her brood quietly in peace. In anger, she made as if to pull apart the ends of a dupatta – but afraid that it might tear, she just grimaced at it, gathered the clothes and left the terrace in disgust.
In her room she threw the clothes on the bed and then threw herself on them & closed her eyes. Atleast the fresh clothes felt soft & comforting. But she soon got up again to do what she had already done several times that day – checked her cell phone. Her fingers automatically worked their way into the inbox, even though there was no new message. She went through the last few messages once more. She felt sick with herself for doing this. Yet her eyes hoped to see the new message alert with his name flashed on the screen of her phone, like it used to in the past. She felt a surge of helplessness again, the uncontrollable urge to send him a message or call him. May be he would reply this time. May be. Or may be not. May be should not. There was nothing she could get out of it anyway. She looked for other names in her contact list. May be she could chat with someone else. But she gave up midway. There was no one. Or there was. But she had nothing to say to anyone. Now that she had said too much to one person…
But she had to break out of this. She got up from her bed, went to the bathroom and turned on the tap. Cold water gushed out of it. She held the cup of her palm to it and splashed the water on her face. As she wiped her face dry with the towel, she looked at the reflection of her eyes in the mirror. Brown eyes. Tired eyes, that pleaded to her for that one thing she couldn’t give them anymore. She closed them & rested her head on the mirror for a minute. Only a minute. NO! She was going to break out of this. She had done it before. With a surge of energy and determination she walked out, changed into her outdoor clothes & went outside to take a walk.
She had read somewhere that when you go out – you see things, eat things, smile at people – you are forced to talk, make conversation & that will take you back to reality. But not here. She was new in this place. No one seemed to be interested in talking & though the language they spoke here was her mother tongue, she was not very comfortable while speaking to the locals.
She saw a tea stall at the end of the road. Tea would be good. Tea was exactly what she needed. Its warmth in this cold weather would do good to her mood.
*****
I was fine the way I was,
I had learnt to live with pain,
Safe in my little hole,
I had learnt to cry alone.
And then, you came along one day,
To pull me out of my safe haven,
You made me laugh at all the pain,
You taught me to dream, once again.
Slowly I learnt to trust you,
I let you hold my hand & take me out into the world,
You had promised that,
You would stay by my side forever.
I had begun to accept you,
As indeed a beautiful part of my life,
And suddenly you decided to let go
I wanted you to stay, but there was nothing I could do.
As I frantically tried to get you back, in vain,
Only painful silences & calculated words remained,
Sadly, what you taught me still remains,
Though I want to cry, I can only laugh at my pain,
Now I crave for tears & it drives me insane.
Then she stopped writing & held the paper up to read what she had written. It was not a good poem, but she had expressed something. Whatever. Atleast now she felt slightly, infinitesimally better. She folded the paper & returned the pen to the tea stall owner. The tea stall was a low, neat shed with worn looking stools placed around a few tables. Only two other people sat there.
On one of the stools, she sat staring into the distance as if deep in thought, though her mind was blank. It was as if now her thoughts were in the paper she held in her hand, so she had nothing to think.
“Are you Triveni Amma’s granddaughter?”
She turned. Two ladies had entered the stall. One of the ladies had white hair and fair but wrinkled face. She was positively beaming at her. The other lady who had asked her the question was much younger in comparison, around 45. She wore a lot of gold & a big round bindi on her forehead.
“Yes, how do you..??”
“I told you, didn’t I?” said the older of the two ladies. “She looks just like her mother. When did you arrive? Where are your parents?”
“They’ve gone to the city for some work. They’ll be back in the evening around 7 may be.”
“Oh, you are alone now, are you? Come with us, we are going to the temple.”
“No, its ok! I …..”
“Come dear. You should never say no for going to the temple. And don’t sit all alone like this.”
Not having the energy to refuse she just gave in. On the way they interrogated her about what she was doing, where she was staying, what job, blah blah. But whenever she spoke, they interrupted her with their comments. “Oh she talks so sweetly na!” “She looks just like her mother..” “But she’s shy now. When she was little, she used to harass everyone so much. Triveni used to bring her to the temple in the afternoon, so that her grandfather could take his afternoon nap.”
The temple was an orange building situated at a height, at the end of the road, if you took a left from the tea stall. You had to climb four semi-circular steps to reach its entrance. There were no side walls, only a big verandah & round pillars to support the structure. The pillars had impressions of the Radha Krishna pair on them. At the centre was a small room where an idol of Lord Krishna playing his bansoori (flute) stood. Krishna was surrounded by flowers, coconuts, fruits & essence sticks. The bowl of fruits reminded her of the time when she & her cousins used to steal bananas from a similar bowl in her grandfather’s puja room. It reminded her of the time when she was little, when she came to this village every year in the vacations. It suddenly hit her that after so many years, she was in the same place, as if time had not passed at all…
People were coming in groups and sitting on a side of the verandah, after doing namaskara (touching one’s head to the feet of God) in front of the idol of Lord Krishna. Some were laying jute mats and placing musical instruments on them. Something was going to start here.
“We have a bhajana group here. People of the group come & perform here every Saturday afternoon. Its refreshing to listen to them.” The younger lady said, noticing her watching the group. “You want to stay back for it? I have to leave, we have work at home. Wait. Let me see.” She took her to a group of ladies & introduced her. There was a general show of pleasure & surprise on seeing Triveni Amma’s granddaughter. In the midst of this, a bald man in his mid 40s, wearing a lungi and sitting cross legged in front of the audience, started playing the tabla. Silence fell. The lady quietly left, leaving her sitting alone with the group.
The next few hours were bliss. Singers came one by one and sang songs mostly in praise of Lord Krishna, his childhood, his mother & the Radha Krishna pair. Some people were counting the beats by patting their thighs & nodding their heads in appreciation when a solo was played on the veena or when the singer pulled off with ease a long, difficult alaap with many twists & turns.
The tanpura’s rhythmic vibration in the background in medley with the sitar, the veena, the singer’s voice & the beats of the tabla in the right places accentuating the meaning of the singer’s words – it enraptured her. It was ironic, she felt – an atheist, swaying in agreement to a song in praise of Lord Krishna. But then, she did feel the need to praise, the performers – for the way they sang or played in perfect co ordination, the creators of the musical instruments – the tabla, the sitar, the playful veena or the rhythmic tanpura that held together the whole family to make the music complete, the people who were able to create this music. Or for music itself – the divine magical being that could give you this beautiful, out of the world experience, an ocean that pulled her & made her want to be a part of it. She felt this unwavering devotion for it. She realized, what the people here felt for their God, she felt for music. Music was her God & she unconsciously prayed to it to let her become a part of it.
Before she knew, the session was over & they were packing up. She got up silently and left the temple, as if talking to someone would adulterate the mood that the music had set in her. She walked home silently in a daze as the sun set. As she walked, she suddenly felt drops of rain. She looked up and smiled silently in her head as the raindrops soon turned into a shower and drenched her completely.
At home, as she changed her clothes & dried her hair with a towel – the cell phone beeped, finally his name flashed on the screen. The message read, “ Hey wassup? I m sorry was busy the other day when you messaged. Howz it going? Hope you are doing fine. Miss u.” She contemplated replying, but didn’t know what to reply. Strangely he suddenly felt like someone from a different world. Later. She thought. She left the cell on the table to go to the kitchen and cook something special for her parents, before they returned from the city in time for dinner.
