Interlude V
Late evening fading sun manages to pass its shine on the knife and gives it a rare glint. The glint of light passes through knife and gives him hope of salvation. He leaves a guttural moan as his fingers run through the picture he so painfully sketched. She is the Nyx, the night, without who he would be shoved into much deeper darkness which no one can ever fathom.
But he knows how this is going to end. He knows how he is going to end up. It's one of those things that people always know without exactly knowing how they know.
But he still does it anyway.
Because it's him who has to tell her; show her the path; ensure that she passes Styx safely. His arrangements are all done. And when the time is right, he will perform his act.
His looks around the studio and lets out a sigh filled with pain and despair. The thought of leaving the place that has comforted him for most part of his adult life brings out a surprisingly rare ache in his belly. The importance of task he has set out for himself overweighs everything else and the thought of taking her across the fifth circle calms him down.
After all the Furies were dead and the gates were wide open.
The thought sends a shiver of pleasure across his spine and he closes his eyes in sheer delight. The pain and the anxiety is already a thing of the past.
Yes, the Furies were dead. But the fallen angels weren't. And they couldn't do a thing a stop him.
They had to go through the sixth circle to understand the consequences of rejection of the morals. He would then explain to her about art in the next circle; the one natural wealth provided to humans by the God himself and he might tell her everything he knows about it. He wonders if he can sketch a picture of them in a ferry. It would probably pain him to explain the eighth circle to her, he muses. The dislike for the frauds was brought out more venom in him than the Furies themselves but they were unimportant worms in his life. He could squash them under his feet whenever he wanted. But that would mean losing her and identifying himself out in open. And that wouldn't help his cause.
He wonders if he can take her in his arms to protect from the icy chillness of the ninth circle. The thought sends pangs of pleasure across his chest and settles as a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. It brings out an uncharacteristic smile on his face.
But after the ninth circle, what will happen to her next?
The thought isn't pleasant. Would she leave him there alone with the Satan himself or will she walk through it all and go to purgatory and be free forever? He knows he cannot leave the place. The wings and claws will not let him go. Will they ever see each other again?
Nyx or night, after all, can only be a temporary companion for darkness. Dawn always quarrels and breaks free and night takes a step back. Always.
A sob escapes his throat at this thought and he scrambles around his thoughts and memories and try to hold on to one of them.
When he finally calms down, he knows what he has to do.
He had to let her go.
Mannat Har Khushi Paane Ki
Cricket
36