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Chapter 7
A MIND DISEASED...
Raizada Mansion,
Dalhousie.
The beautiful, almost century old mansion was perched atop a rocky mountain ridge, providing a breathtaking vista of the verdant mountain valley. A place where each sunset was like an amalgam of an artist's genius brushstrokes and every sunrise a beautiful symphony of colors, shadows and melodious birdsong. Arnav was staring at one such sunset, with his eyes softened by the dusk's golden light reflecting his inner violent turmoil.
Her voice, her words, her tender touches, her eyes were not letting him live in peace, haunting him ceaselessly. Her eyes suffused with vulnerability and hopelessness seemed to be firmly imprinted in his mind and no distraction, no cynical thought, no amount of alcohol seemed to be of any success in erasing their memory.
"I really like you though I don't know why. There is no reason to".
"There, I touched your face. Now what are you going to do about it".
Her voice seemed to be seeking a vendetta as it chased him relentlessly wherever he went..
His own words, his unabashedly wicked lies seemed to vie with her clear voice for the sole purpose of torturing him.
"There you are...Jumping the gun again! Who the f*** said anything about sleeping together?Here I am, trying hard to romance a girl in this beautiful moonlight but sadly, her mind is full of filth".
"I told you that day, there's something about your eyes that first brought me to you and that keeps me coming to you..".
"Your eyes have intoxicated me, they don't let me sleep, they haunt me everywhere I go".
"Why should it even matter to cheap s**ts like you?
Closing his eyes, Arnav made a last ditch effort to thwart, to strangle all those persistent voices...
"She is probably just a fine actress like all women are. And why should you feel sorry for a woman like her, who not only lacks scruples about carrying out an affair with a married man but is a traitor to this country too."
"Everything is fair in war", he told himself silently in a voice that was fast losing conviction...
Later in the evening, he turned the TV on and stared at the flickering black and white images with unseeing eyes. A play was coming...
Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies that keep her from rest.
Macbeth: Cure her of that! Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with some sweet oblivious antidote cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon her heart.
Doctor: Therein the patient must minister to himself.
Coming tomorrow, IST...will try to post it in the morning..:)
Love,
Jenny :)
Cricket
Arjun
Jhanak
Tum Se Tum Tak
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