Inked In Crimson #10 (She)

Dear Daniel,

If I said I saw pain yesterday evening, I’d be mistaken.

Every speck of summer light
Is overshadowed by the darkness
Wrought by storms within your eyes.

Today's meeting was unforgettable for all the wrong reasons. You had rarely visited my house before. I was not unaccustomed to visiting soldiers, and I let you in. It took only one glance at you before a terrible knot began to form in my stomach. All of a sudden, I realized precisely where I had lost the confidential note. I knew in that single glimpse that you had read it. My heart raced and in a moment of uninhibited panic, I wanted to tell you to leave, so that I might shut the door and disappear to some haven where you could never see me again.

I calmed myself. "Good morning, Daniel," I said, trying to seem genuinely happy to see you. "Have a seat. What brings you here?"

Your eyes were dark with the rain of doubt that had pounded on me all through the sleepless night. I feared the sloshing water may cascade over the rims when your eyes could no longer contain the storm. To think that my actions had done this to you- had I the experience of using it, I would have picked up your gun and taken a bullet to my brain.

You did not sit. I remember you saying my name with one part disappointment and one part anger- yes, anger- in your voice.

"Yes?"

"I don't ever want to doubt you, Miss Katherine, after all you've done for me, but-" You looked at me with a fixed gaze as you got straight to the point. "But yesterday night you forgot a note in my quarters which had a rather odd message on it." You were trying to hide the anger, but your voice was grave. Steady. Beautiful.

I prayed you would not be able to hear the nervous beating of my heart. How would I ever explain my actions? What was duty from my perspective was a serious offence from yours. That is the curious thing about the minds and lives of humans.

I knew that confessing would hurt me. I was prepared for punishment. As I looked at you, however, I caught a glimpse of how much my confession might hurt you, as well. I could not bring myself to give you the truth. "What note, Daniel?" I asked.

You explained how I had dropped a syringe in your quarters yesterday and how you had found a note inside.

"A note in a syringe?" I was presenting my best charade, although I was unsure of whether it was working on you. "Why would anyone do that? What did it say?"

"Something important," you said, dismissively. "Its contents are not significant right now, Katherine. You must tell me the truth- did you write any note and hide in in a syringe?"

You must tell me the truth. I couldn't. "I don't know what you are talking about," I insisted. "I was carrying a load of syringes some girl handed to me. They looked empty to me!"

You didn't seem very convinced, but I sensed you were backing down. Perhaps you wanted to talk about it no more than I did. One last time, you asked softly, "You know nothing about a note, Miss Katherine?"

"Nothing, Daniel."

Your lips eased into a ghost of a smile. I could not tell whether it was genuine. "Ah," you said. "It must have been a misunderstanding."

The storm had stopped, but the clouds were yet to clear. I changed the subject and we spoke awhile before you got up and said you must be going.

Now that you have left, I am in an even worse state than yesterday night. I challenge my own morals and actions. I am not the only person in risk! I shudder when I think of how many deaths I may have caused- then I push the doubt to a faraway corner of my mind. Getting rid of one doubt does little to quieten the chatter of my conscience and the voice of uncertainty. What if the information I supply the Confederacy costs me a greater price- you?

There is more than one battle here.
Mind against heart
Thought against emotion
Loyalty against love
I am torn to shreds
But the weapons of destruction are my own creations
Whatever I choose is betrayal.

Is it right to keep doing this? Is it correct to stop? I don't know. I cannot think straight. The whole day lies before me, yet I want to close my eyes without the worry of having to open them again.

The most frightening thing in the world is not punishment or death- it is a decision you know you cannot make.

Yours,
Katherine

Inked In Crimson #11 (He)

Dear Katherine
My head was overflowing with doubts and suspicions, and I thought it was best to decide things once and for all.
I felt it wasn’t appropriate to press you too much during my visit today. Noticing your perspiration when I asked you about the note made me realize that the problem is way more significant than I had assumed. On the other hand, I didn’t want to pressurize or blackmail you into forcibly accepting the truth - which apparently isn’t yet justified as the truth - and rather wanted to handle the issue with my own hands.
I wanted to search your house.
I managed to steal your key from the table, away from your eyes, while I was leaving.
I began my descent from the army camp on the way to your house. I waited behind a bush expecting you to come out so that I may break in. Eventually, you did emerge out and made way towards the public church. I found this the right moment to enter inside.
Although I did visit this house before then, it was then that I realized how small and unnoticeable it is. Interestingly, it lies all in anonymity, away from the rubble and commotion of the army camp.
I unlocked the door and went inside, and was welcomed by a creak of the hinges and a pair of cobwebs. I scampered towards the cupboard and opened it to discover a few clothes. I searched through the entire piece of furniture only to find it devoid of any written notes.
Maybe I was wronged by my intuition. Maybe my suspicion was incorrect. Maybe I was too muddle-headed to doubt you of all other women to be a spy from the enemy base.
And then I noticed a pair of drawers.
They did not have handles; or rather their handles were removed. They bore the same color as of the cupboard, which made it difficult to recognize them. I tried to open the bottom one with my free hands, but eventually had to use the key to hook its curvature in the inner side, and then pull the drawer out.
All I could see was a bunch of letters.
Since the bottom drawer was open, it was relatively easy to open the top one. And all I could find was more letters.
Maybe these were the letters which had to be sent to the Confederate army.
I opened one of the letters kept in the bottom drawer.
It was addressed to a nonentity named Daniel.
I gasped for breath.
Then something caught my eye –
“I have been writing to the Confederate officials for a while, but control now seems to be slipping away from me and my hands shake with sudden spasms of uncertainty.”
And then you described how you chanced upon a secretive conversation in the Union quarters.
For me, the sky fell crashing onto my shoulders.
Why did you do this to me?
I opened another letter kept in the same drawer.
It began – “Dear Daniel”.
I rose and settled myself on the cot beside me. I continued reading -
“Winter is nothing but a prelude to spring. The hard, bloodstained earth seems to give way to shoots of green, life instilled in them by the hope in your voice. I take your arm in my hands and the sour smell of wounds fades. The battle has receded into a backdrop which hardly suits the romance being played out on the stage…”
This was followed by a poem.
I was flabbergasted.
I fervently caught hold of another letter, this time from the top drawer.
“Dear Daniel
As I write to you, the clouds paint streaks of gray turmoil across the heavens and the nightingale hesitates in her song…”
All of a sudden, I fixed my gaze to something –
“Already I long to see you again. I wish to gaze into those eyes which remind me of voyages on turbulent green seas...”
And then there were many other snippets, from different letters –

“We all want the fight to end, Lieutenant Adams. Yet suffice it to say that the ends we desire are not the same…”

“I wait for your eyes to hold mine as you gently slide open the gates to your mind...”

“The enemy is like a tower stacked too high, and the Confederacy needs information to topple it. The Confederacy needs women who rise to their duty…”

“Keep me enveloped within your gaze, lest I slip…”

By this time, my eyes were red with tears. These were the tears of Second Lieutenant Daniel Adams, fighter of the Union army, whose motto is that toughness precedes family and emotions. But these tears were not of weakness. These tears were of the bittersweet realization that the simple lady whom I had fallen for is an enemy across borders, and that my love, after all, wasn’t just my own.
Why didn’t you tell me, Katherine? Why didn’t you?
But even I didn’t tell you. Even I didn’t have the courage to come forward and accept my infatuation. Both of us were muted by speech, yet had a lot to say from inside. Perhaps that’s why it was only our hearts who talked, and these talks of love didn’t reach our mouths. We knew that our words flowed from soul to soul, but what we did not know was that those words were not combinations of syllables; they were combinations of emotions – emotions that redefined relationships.

I shall be a blind less
Than watch my eyes dilate with affection;
I shall be a stone less
Than watch my body benumbed at your voice;
I shall be a slave less
Than watch myself enslaved by your thoughts;
I shall be a life less
Than watch my image carved in your letters.

And presently, the image of a Union soldier is carved in the letters of a Confederate spy. This is the image of the Union soldier who believes in service before self, fight before heal. This is the image of a partisan who shall always side with his duty, even if it requires sacrificing his love.
And today, his duty is to report a spy to the General…
I rose up slowly, very slowly, from the cot, and gradually made my way to the door with your letters in my hand. My legs were reluctant to let me out of your home, and I had to force them to move forward. I had to command them to move directly towards the camp site.
Love has its conditions, but so does loyalty. So it hurts me to the core when I tell you that I am in deep love, yet am compelled to shove it aside to fulfil my commitment. I may be condemned in the eyes of love, but if the turn of events force me to watch my love go against my duty, I am coerced to support the latter.
I know Katherine, that this may be hurtful. You may think I have stabbed you in the back. But it is my job to tell you this – my love and my objective are two different worlds. In the world of love, I see none but you. But when it comes to my objective, you are but a Confederate spy. And every Confederate spy is an enemy. Yet, you must not forget that for me, you are that same simple girl sitting beside me, holding my left arm with her soft, delicate hands.
If you have a heart as great as your love, forgive me and my stone heart for whatever I’ve done…
Yours, and yours forever
Daniel

Inked In Crimson #12 (She)

Daniel,

After all that happened yesterday, I find it a marvel that I am still writing this down and addressing it to you. Yet as soon as my pen touches a scrap of paper, the first thing it writes is your name.

I blew my cover yesterday. 'Safe' is a word I no longer know. I stepped out in the evening, well after our ill-fated conversation in the morning. I needed quiet and calm to regain my lost peace of mind and intended to go to church for no longer than fifteen minutes. The evening air was buzzing with tension, and before I stepped out I ensured that all the unsent letters I had written were hidden with care. Yet when I returned, the door to my three-room dwelling was ajar. I ran into my bedroom to find blank pieces of paper strewn across the floor and drawers shut halfway in haste.

My letters were nowhere to be seen.

Of course, you now possess them. I'd realized you hadn't quite believed me when I denied being a spy. Now you had everything I'd ever wanted to say to you, as proof. Although I addressed everything to you, I feel sick when I think of you reading it. The morning is beginning to warm into afternoon, but I am chilled to the bone. Pages are turning before I can read and absorb what they say. Does this mean you will not visit me again?
I lied to you and deceived you. The only truth I could give you was my love. Every word and every smile was true. Every glance was the most sincere glance of the heart. I might be loyal to your enemies, but I had no hidden motives where you were concerned, none at all. I simply fell in love with you.

I do not know why fate chose this setting to bring us together. All I can say is that this is not a deception as terrible as you may be thinking, or at least, it was never intended to be.

I wish I could turn back time. It has become one of my most fervent desires. I know, however, that what has been done has been done. My letters are with a Union soldier. I have readied myself for whatever awaits me.

What is fear?

Yours truly and sincerely,
Katherine

Inked In Crimson #13 (He)

The rumble around me is growing every single moment, and my ears cannot take the beating that they are getting exposed to. But it is not the violence that is making me fatigued.
The musket is still intact within the folds of my right fives. He is fully loaded, and raring to be fired at the enemy. But it is his deranged owner who is hesitant.
He knows that he is not going to be fired again. At least not by him.
And when a gun realizes that his master is lost in thoughts other than his target, he shall accept the reason to be bondage.
A gust of sand-filled wind allows me to shut my eyes for a moment. And I take this opportunity to close my view of the war zone and open one of bliss.
I am transported back to my quarters.
I realise that all the while, it has been an enemy who has treated me with utmost care. It has been an enemy who has filled the void of a friend in my life.
All of a sudden, my mind holds me by the scruff of my neck and takes me to today’s morning.
I can feel my legs walking – no, running – towards the General. I hear the Major at a distance, but continue my steps. Eventually, it is the First Lieutenant who catches sight of me. He runs, holds my hand, hands me the musket, and drags me to the troop assembled for the battle.
I can still recall what he said –
“Hey, Second! Where have you been? Here, take this. It’s fully loaded. Your arm’s okay, right? Yes it is. Now listen. We’ve terribly fallen short of troops, and Meade has ordered to recall soldiers with minor injuries. I know it’s monstrous of him, but you are healthy, right? Yes, you are. And you have to fight today. For the good of the Union. Now come on, everyone’s assembled…”
“…But where’s the General?”
I took off my hand from his in haste.
“He’s lickin’ sand at Culp’s, waitin’ for us. Now don’t be a hot-headed jerk. They need you and many more like you, who are fit to battle. Come on, there’s no time. You do not want the Confeds to win again. Quick, the troop’s gettin’ ready.”
And I was dragged along the uneven stretch to the assembly of soldiers.
My task was left incomplete. My duty of reporting an enemy infiltrator to the Union General was left unfinished.
****************************************************************
I manage to lift my hand and wipe off the dirt from my face. I squeeze my eyes and open them after blinking thrice. But another streak of red sand finds me unguarded.
This time, my closed eyes recall my life and times with an enemy eavesdropper.
And out of nowhere, your arm lifts my tired elbow and rests it on its warm surface. Just then I notice your dove eyes that have in them a startling naivety. And then my focus shifts to your voice, which is even more poetic than my letters.
Why did I not let you read my letters?
I did not have time, Katherine. I’ve never had time. I did not have time to find a family. I did not have time to report to the General. I did not have time to tell you how much I cherished every single moment with you. I did not have time to tell you that your love is complete; that it is bound from both sides; that your letters do have a meaning. I did not have time to tell you that even I write letters to you without thinking whether or not they shall reach you.
But I did have time to discover the Daniel of your life.
Words longed for falling from my mouth, but tripped and stumbled when they reached my lips. And when I found your words timidly hidden in inked letters, I was astonished at how timid I was for being unable to express my adoration that till today remains concealed and suppressed under bits and pieces of paper.
What worth is love,
If its freedom limits only to ink splashed on whiteness?
What worth is relationship,
If relatives do not proclaim what their relation is?
What worth is voice,
If it hesitates to burst before someone close to your heart?
What worth is soul,
If it does not understand that there is a soulmate close by?

The sun tries to emerge out from the clouds, but it just cannot.
I gather courage to lift my right hand and caress that part of my chest that screens the heart. I touch the breast pocket of my uniform. But it’s no good. I place my right palm back to its initial position, knowing that it is stained with a dark red color that will eventually dry up. The bullet is still inside, sheepishly smiling at the fact that it had found the right man at the right place.
Yet, the bullet has not achieved anything great. What worse can a bullet do to a heart that is already punctured with innumerable wounds?
But don’t you worry, Katherine. Your portion of the heart is as safe as before. It is still thumping with full pomp. I did not allow the bullet to hit your region. Why should I? I do not want to lose your memories and your remembrances. I do not want to lose whatever is preserved in that ‘secluded corner’ of my heart.
Nothing shall be more painful
Than losing your presence in me;
Nothing shall be more disillusioning
Than disregarding your presence in me;
Nothing shall be more catastrophic
Than forgetting your presence in me;
Nothing shall be more lifeless
Than killing your presence in me.
The only mistake that we committed was that I was a Union, and you, a Confederate.
We are star-crossed.
Therefore, the time has come to tell you that although we were torn by the ruins of war, our love wasn’t. For years, I yearned for a companion that would walk with me on the path of roses. But God gave me so much more than I desired.
He gave a companion that would teach me to walk on the path of thorns – transcending all borders, barriers and showers of gunfire…
Time, for me, is short, but life has paved its way to unification, and unify we will, be it in afterlife. For me, you were born as my platonic love, and for you, I shall die as your platonic love. But you shall live on as the legacy of my existence. You shall be the memoir of our love that will long be revered by every element of romance. You shall represent the force of compassion, and the will of love.
I know that this letter will never reach to you, for it is not ink that says what is written in it, but the thoughts of a dying soldier that paint it with emotions. This letter is unharmed, and will always be unharmed in my mind, protected from the cruelties of the blood-stained battlefield. This letter is written in my psyche, and shall be destroyed only when nothing of me remains but a piece of flesh.
Let the heavens hear what I’ve written hence,
Let them know how I defied their laws,
Let them understand how I went against their dimensions of Destiny,
Let them realise how I changed the road of Fate.
We may succumb to the ravages of time,
Which viciously wipe away our existence from mankind;
But survive our love will, till time immemorial,
Braving the wrath of circumstances, day by day…
****************************************************************
The sun finally finds its way out of the clouds, as I close my eyes for one last time…

Inked In Crimson #14 (She)

Daniel.

The letters are soaked.

They arrived in a simple, white envelope addressed to me, brought by a soldier in Union uniform. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him at the door and I steeled myself for arrest. That, however, was not his purpose. His voice is thundering in my ears. 'This was in the possession of Daniel Adams. He would have wanted you to have it.' Gently spoken. Cruel words.

When nightmares were no longer frightening
Reality chokes me
I speak
Silence responds
The explosions I hear are not your voice
My hands
Brush thin air
Maybe it's myself I cannot heal
I poured all my emotion
Into an apparition
I am empty.
You are gone.

Why could the universe not sentence me to a punishment less agonizing? I was prepared for anything but this, Daniel. I chose my loyalty over my love, and here I sob on the floor, both shattered. The Confederacy lost the battle. Your eyes closed forever.

I wish time had stopped when your heart did, but I seem to be the only one frozen while the universe is still in motion and the battle outside rages on.

Visiting army camp again would be akin to willfully tearing myself into shreds. Would I do so, for nothing more than information? I do not know- that is a question from another life.

Right now, all that exists is you and I. I am broken, damaged, exhibiting the kind of weakness I would never have expected of myself. Shattered, free for now but caged within memories. As for you- you may not be here in form, but your words are still speaking to me. Your letters weave up a presence in this room, so that there are not one but two souls here tonight, mutely watching an ill-fated love slip back into the nonexistence from which it arose.

I can't stop the tears as I write this last letter, which your eyes shall never glimpse. The mental image of your body, the light of life snuffed out by merciless pieces of metal, makes me want to cry out. Yet I cannot make a sound and my screams are soundless exhalations, my face contorted into a picture of helpless disbelief. Streams of tears run down my cheeks and drip onto the paper; my mouth tastes of salt. There are pages and pages written in your hand. My gaze runs blindly across the lines and the print is sharp and clear one moment, hopelessly blurred the next.

'I’m like that fallen leaf from a withered maple tree, only waiting for some sweet, soothing breeze to lift me up from the dirt that borders my saddened life. You are that string of emotions, to which my kite of feelings is tied.'

Day has darkened into night as I read these for the thousandth time since morning, yet all my shattered soul can make out is a few fragments of sense.

'I'm feeling betrayed. By you.'

'If you have a heart as great as your love, forgive me and my stone heart for whatever I’ve done...'

I want to rip the letters into tiny pieces, just as the memory of your smile rips my heart brutally into two, so that I may never know the physical pain of reading these words again.

'You are the thought of my mind, the emotion of my heart, and the utterance of my mouth. You are the spell that has left me spellbound. You have given wings to my words, waves to my senses, and companionship to my isolation.'

The very next moment I clasp the bundle of sheets to my chest, running my fingers over the words you wrote. Your thoughts are enshrined in those lines. I hold the letters gingerly in my hands- a glimpse into the life we were not destined to know. They are all that is left of you.

I realize that I was not the only one who embarked on a doomed voyage to find love.

I sat by the ocean
I braved the storms
Waded into the waves
Drowned in the waters
Sank to the bottom
Of a sea of bliss-
I opened my eyes
There was only
A dry, parched, gaping pit
Where I lay
There I still, lifeless, stay.

It was nothing more than a momentary spark, yet it seems to me like a connection that endures, joining me to you, wherever you are now. The wind whispers in your voice but when I look around, I am alone. I plead with the wind to bring you back. It scatters the letters around me, where I lay on the cold gray floor.

'Dear Katherine...'

It is surreal to think that you wrote these to me. You, who were a constant of stability and joy in a life full of rapid changes and betrayal, you who were a beacon of hope for people lost on dark seas, the face of optimism, so innocent yet so wise with experience- you wrote these to me, a faltering, disloyal, girl who did nothing to deserve you. Yet you penned these words, and they are addressed to me. It is unbelievable. A part of me surges with ecstasy, then plummets into an unending pit when reality comes rushing back.

'Yours, and yours forever,
Daniel'

It's not just tears, all my emotions are pouring out of my eyes in a stream that I will never be able to stop. Alone without comfort, I weep into a worn blanket. I pull myself together, only to break down again. There is a cold chill in my stomach and I feel like someone is punching me in the ribs. "Daniel," I whisper in an exhausted, broken voice, hesitantly touching the line where you have signed the letter. Your name sounds foreign in my voice. I am not fit to pronounce it, but it is so beautiful. As I train myself to forget your face, that name will be all I own. "Daniel," I repeat, staring with an empty gaze at the letters on the floor. "Please... give me one more chance."

I would sacrifice anything right now for one more moment with you.

Yet, no matter how much I repent, the breath of life does not flow through your body. Your eyes cannot see my tears. The mysteries deep within them are locked forever to the world. The warmth of your skin has disappeared from your lifeless hands. Your voice will never again fill up a melancholy afternoon.

Memories are all that remain. My own actions, perhaps, have cursed me to spend my days with only solitude for company and my nights in dreams, which seem so real that waking up each morning will be akin to losing you all over again.

Those memories are the only places worth living in now. I know not what shall happen to me henceforth, yet I know that you gave me the most beautiful days of my life, and blissful golden moments to cherish.

Whatever befalls me, one thing is for sure.

I shall remember you, Second Lieutenant Daniel Adams, until my soul is reunited with yours.

Yours forever,
Katherine

Being Intolerant - The Right Way

My first feeling of hatred for terrorism was when I encountered a camp of homeless orphans during a mountaineering session in Kashmir. Some of us were chosen to supply foodstuffs there, and I had an uncanny feeling that it was going to be a day of boredom. There were over a thousand of children all wrapped up in coarse Pashmina shawls, sitting in their bamboo tents.

That day, I realised what humanity was all about.

The biggest drawback of our country is that it takes things way too seriously while there are many other more considerably important issues waiting to get noticed. It is ridiculously illogical when a farmer who hangs himself in front of a politician gets the main cover headline for a newspaper, while the case of a mass suicide by a farmers’ union has to settle with a small column in the ‘Local’ section. The reason? The first case has a politician, right? This fact itself explains everything. In every single article I’ve read on this issue, the opinion of the person giving the speech has been the focal point, and not the victim himself.

 Why is there any need to highlight the issue of recording an hour-long show for an entire week, only because it has a language that is ‘misogynistic’, ‘derogatory’ and ‘offensive’ to the general public? Agreed, that it was not a show to be openly exhibited to a family audience; agreed, that it really was an offensive, foul-mouthed display of innuendos. But Indians really need to grow up. What was the need to stretch on the same old rotten subject at length? Doesn’t it actually publicise such events even more?

One thing Indians need to realise is that there is no use of publicly showcasing your anger on the denial of rights. This anger needs to be accompanied by solutions to the problem. Returning of awards only signifies that you are infuriated. Such an act actually proves that you measure your talent and work by the scale of how good (or how bad) you think your country is. And if such is the case, you actually do not give enough justice and recognition to your talent, since talent cannot be measured by anything but its acceptance. And rejecting the very evidence of its acceptance is equivalent to disrespecting those who accepted your work and honoured your talent.

The intrinsic mechanism of the country is so delicate, that the country can go berserk by any little news, and can even make an immensely trivial issue blow out of proportion. And when it does, issues such as terrorism, insurgency and corruption are forgotten. Whenever a wave of intolerance strikes the society, logic, thought and reasoning is forgotten, and the idle part of our brain takes centre stage. Conclusions are drawn without a second thought, and the ability of right judgement flees from our body. How could you then expect the country to progress in the true sense, if its own citizens get mad at things that are too far-fetched and trifling and do not deserve to get popular notice?

I am intolerant, because I cannot tolerate the intolerance of others. I am intolerant, because I cannot bear with the existence of homeless orphans in the coldest region of the country. I am intolerant because I cannot make amends for the effects of terrorism and violence. I am intolerant, because I don’t give a damn to news that is no news, but get worried when others do. I am intolerant, because I get influenced only by news of substance.

I am intolerant, because I am concerned, deeply concerned.

And people need to understand my concern…

 

A Tryst With Love

Mr. Ajay Raichand, Chief Operative Administrator of ‘Raichand and Raichand’ firm, jerked forth his seat, as he woke up from his unconventional slumber. It was quite uncommon for a man of his competence and calibre, to doze off, but this day was different. Mr. Raichand was preoccupied in something that now meant much more than his Project Reports. His secretary scorned, as he yawned for the fifth time in a row.

Mr. Raichand had fallen in love.

It was a roadside pedestrian he had fallen for. She had flaxen hair, a broad forehead, and a fixed gaze. It was just a second of interaction – no, not even a second – a moment of interaction. He could not move his eyes away from her, and mechanically picked up her things after that brisk collision.

But she had forgotten something.

Raichand took out an earring from his bag. It was the only memory of her existence. Her charm had hypnotised him to an infinite extent. He longed to see her again.

After another uneventful day at his firm, Raichand drove out of the headquarters, expecting something interesting to happen at home.

It did, but rather on the streets. As he was driving his A-60 model down the Right Lane, he noticed a familiar face on the by-road. His face lightened up to no measures. He was watching her for the second time.

“Can I give you a lift?” he asked, with a shining face.

She stood aside, and fixed her characteristic stare, as is she knew of such flirtatious men.

“No, thanks. I’ll go alone,” she responded in the sweetest of voices Raichand had heard.

“Very well,” Raichand drove off with an elated feeling.

He had heard her voice for the first time, and the few words she had spoken added feeling to his life. He had experiences of beautiful lasses and delicate darlings dying to date him in his college, but this was different. “Shut up your mind, Ajay! You are ridiculously in love with a girl you don’t even know,” he tried to divert himself from all movie philosophies, romanticism, ‘love-at-first-sight’ syndromes and ‘Love Is Blind’ ideas, but ended up seeking solace in them.

Her gleaming eyes, stunning eyebrows, and breathtaking looks brought down a man from the highest realms of position and luxury, to a world where fantasy dominated over other lively things.

“Just once more, and I’d never see her again,” thought Raichand. Few could not imagine that this ‘once more’ would repeat itself after every meeting.

As every day prolonged itself to twice its size in Raichand’s soul, he found out that the girl worked in the nearby grocery store. He would watch her effortlessly pick up a dozen cabbages, or cheerfully communicate with her customers. He would even occasionally try to stop his car and peep through the shop window.

One afternoon, as Raichand passed by what had become his place of eternal comfort, he found that the store was closed down. His disappointment and uncanny shock knew no bounds. He enquired about the store, and found out that the girl had left her job to support her parents in Virajgaon.

“Virajgaon? Oh! That’s the place suffering from intense drought conditions,” he recollected a news article from Saturday’s newspaper.

That night, Raichand did not lose leave his quarters. He was in no mood to go home. His mind was perturbed. His melancholies had now grown ten-fold. He had a headache, but didn’t notice it. He took out the earring which had now become an embodiment of his emotions. The immense pain of drifting away from someone so beloved had drowned him in a state of loneliness and shock. Of course, the girl was unaware of his daily routine near the store. But had his love actually grown so profound, that it would separate him from her completely? Is this what love is all about? Is love so blind, that it does not notice the confinement of a lover’s soul? Is love nothing but separation, remorse, sadness and pain? The excruciating agony had conquered his heart, but he was helpless against Fate…

The following day, as Raichand was twitching his fingers, with a blank face, in front of his computer, the Senior Executive entered in his room. Raichand had not expected such a visit. He rose up, momentarily forgetting his thoughts.

“Sir, uh… Good morning.”

“Good morning Ajay. Well, what do you think of our property deals?”

“It’s great sir. We are on course to becoming the third largest private provisions firm in the state.”

“That’s great. Do you know what I’ve planned? Some charity for the drought.”

Raichand’s heart skipped a beat.

“The drought? Oh yes! The drought.”

“I know it’s a short notice, but I’ve shortlisted you for a visit to these places; you know, for donation purposes. You are to skim and scan the conditions there, and determine the value of money to be donated to the people”-

“Uh… Sir, could you list the names of places?”

“Sure! Well, you have Khejad, Ramgaon, Sushilkhand, Virajgaon, Jaunpet…”

Virajgaon… Raichand’s face lit up. He had heard this word a day before. “Oh yes!” he recalled the conversation with the owner of the shop neighbouring the grocery store.

Raichand cut in the conversation.

“I’ll go sir!”

“I know it’s quite abrupt and sudden…”

“I’ll go sir. Tomorrow.”

For the first time in his life, Raichand was restless as a result of happiness. His face was illuminated, as if a gust of merriment had spread all around his life. Destiny had given him another chance to bond with what he had longed for his entire life. His blind love had finally found an eye; his flightless wish had eventually discovered a feather. His tryst with love had ultimately found a new dimension.

The next day, Mr. Ajay Raichand, COA of ‘Raichand and Raichand’ packed up for a train to Virajgaon.