Chapter Tw0:
Gullible Confrontations
"The One who created death and life, so that He may test you as to which of you is better in his deeds. And He is the All-Mighty, the Most-Forgiving, Who has created seven skies, one over the other. You will see nothing out of proportion in the creation of the Rahman (the All-Merciful Allah). So, cast your eye again. Do you see any rifts? Then look again and yet again, your sight will return to you in a state of humiliation and worn out."
(Surah Al-Mulk)
"You feign too much virtuousness and naivety. You pretend to embrace a world of integrity within you. As much as I hate to confess, I say you have allured me with your fake-ness, if such thing is even doable. But yes you have."
Why does this headache exist! Damn it! He thought, prying open the doors of the house. The first thing that his mind registered was the art pieces titivating the frontier wall. They were enormous and elegant, too classy and handmade. The artwork gave off the quintessence of a connoisseur, laden with a magnanimous passion for nature and calligraphy. The beauty imprinted walloped him as bizarre and untypical. The staircases that lead down were embellished on both sides with hypertufa planters. They were grazed and studded with tear shaped colored stones, glazing with what light struck them. The pansies bloomed out in clusters from each pot. The whole space of that house his eye sighted was feigning out unearthly exquisiteness.
There were pots and flowers and nature paintings and decoration pieces and calligraphies. The curtains were pure white floundering in the cold air glibly. He felt his heart settle down under the tandem of the grandfather clock that ticked in the vicinity.
"Holy Shit! This house feels so tranquil. How wacky!" he expressed out loud.
"I am delighted the aura made you feel so." Never in his wildest mind's eye had he imagined a voice to be so calming. The words floated to him yachting on the sea of the air permeating his senses. What gorged his vista the subsequent instant made him forget his world of pain. Was it his imagination? Or was it the hoax of daydream? Did such leeway lounge in the trails of awakening life? The seconds that stretched to infinity congregating a universe of immobility around them rolled out.
Her face was too radiant. It was as if the angels themselves had sprinkled the light and glitters from the heaven on her countenance. His heart swelled with crushing want to lose himself in the beauty the woman, who had materialized out of thin air, carried with her. Her eyes were hazel with specks of gold imprisoned in the irises. Her long eyelashes fanned her face casting a shadow of quills on her obtruding cheekbones. Her beauty was unblemished, that was what he perceived looking at her. The head cloth swathed securely around her head supplemented her attractiveness. He never thought hijab, as the Muslims called it, could make a woman look so serene and beautiful. After all he had seen the female race wearing that piece a number of times. While this particular woman had the tendency to change that opinion of his. He was too engrossed to notice her descent down the stairs.
"Don't scrutinize me stranger." Only when had she spoken out he regained his senses. He blanketed with blinding fury at the girl obverse him who had made him lose all his self-control and posture and who by some marvel had made him forget the headache which was till a few minutes ago was intent on butchering him.
"Excuse me. Don't be so pathetic. You are not my type." He answered venomously.
"I believe you." She answered too sweetly for his taste and it almost made him scrunch his nose in disgust. His head did a flip over and he managed to steady himself with the door.
"Are you okay?" she inquired.
"Do I look okay, Mother Teresa?!" he lashed out. His already throbbing head added to his distaste for the girl.
"Sit down. I will bring the medicine." She replied evenly. His gaze shifted to her lips that were too soft and thinly carved. It was as if they were kissed by the petals and the dewdrops themselves. The pink lusciousness and richness was excessively tempting.
"No. I am going to go." He said turning around but his head did a second flip over harder than the last.
"f**k you!" He spat holding the door again.
"See you don't seem okay. If only you would come and sit down for a minute..." She pleaded, her plea held a certain edge of unease in her tone. "Please." She added after a pause.
"Fine." He conceded rather grudgingly walking feebly towards the chaise lounge.
"Wait for a second." She disappeared into the room beside the stairs.
He let out the gulp of air that he was holding in for too long. He felt nutty at the prospect but in some way he didn't want that girl to acknowledge his heavy drinking. She had ignited that fire in him today which had never blazed his being before. The feeling appeared too novel, even appealing in a deplorable way. His heart had never cart wheeled at the mere sight of a girl. He had been with girls wagering beauty too ethereal to be considered, with girls too bold to be endured, with girls too meek to be granted, even with girls who were ugly as ducklings. Women of every color figure and mind had been bed by him. But she was the first woman who had made him feel like a man mountaineering the peak of the embryonic manhood, a man with rampant testosterone level.
"There you are." She spoke. Opening his eyes he saw the glass filled with water and a leaf of pain killer placed on the table. He punched out 3 pills and gulped them down.
"I can see you are a pill addict, stranger. Aren't you?" She tagged.
"It's none of your concern." He replied setting the glass back on the wooden table.
"I know it's not. Bandage your hand please. It's bleeding." He gave her a skeptical look but on following her gaze he was amazed at the rapidness his hand was bleeding and he hadn't even realized it till now.
"Don't you have any courtesy? I am an injured man. Shouldn't you be bandaging it? Oh wait! You are a Muslim! You have to be in the alcove of the so called precincts and limits of your religion." He mocked, huffing.
"God Stranger! You reek so badly of alcohol. You shouldn't be consuming so much of that stuff." She advised folding her hands in front of her. He surveyed the fair distance the girl kept between them and inexplicably it peeved him.
"I shouldn't be drinking it because I would be damned? You Muslims are so fun and life killer all with your self-made rules and norms. You are shunning my former question."
"No. you shouldn't be drinking it because alcohol is adverse for health. It damages our liver, makes us dizzy and incoherent. One should stay in senses. You never know what would cross you. I am not avoiding that question. My not bandaging you has not got anything to do with me being a Muslim. I nurse other reasons. I am sorry." He could only gape at her for the reply she had managed to utter. Shrugging aside the funny feelings that were trying to tug at his heart he dipped his hand in the bowl of water that she had set on the table. The pain seared through his hand when the water moistened the gash, seeping in.
"What's your name?" she asked. He looked up at her. Her eyes were glued to the bowl of water. Lines of worry were etched on her forehead. He wondered why she was feeling worried for a stranger she had just met.
"What business of yours lies in the good name of mine?" he asked arrogantly.
"I was just wondering what your name could be... You are a good person at heart stranger." This girl had the mystic power of making him spell bound and wordless.
"ASR." He replied shaking his head to ward of the effect she was having on him.
"ASR." She tested the word, dubiously. Hearing his name from her mouth made him feel implausibly at peace. It was as if he had heard his name spoken for the first time. It was spoken with such sincerity and frothiness that he wanted to remove every other way his name was spoken before. He felt disgusted at the memory of his name moaned by the girls he had taken to bed.
"Arnav." He couldn't comprehend why he had wanted that girl to know his real name.
"Arnav? You are a Muslim? You are too..." the simple stating of the fact of his being a Muslim made him forget every warm feeling he had developed for the girl.
"I am too sinful to be a Muslim? Too bad to be a Muslim? Too grudging towards Islam to be Muslim? Tell me which grounds from these you were going to cover up for me turning out to be a f**king Muslim!" He barked at her, his eyes reducing to slits with the anger infringing them. She recoiled a few paces back.
"I am sorry. I had no objective of offending you. I just wanted to say that you are too fair, caramel eyed and too brunette to be a Muslim. Too foreign looking... Not that I support the outer appearance relation to the religion theory. I was just stating, not questioning." She replied meekly with eyes downcast.
In those moments he felt like clawing his hair out. This girl was driving him mad with her fake act of goodness, unexpected responses and beauty. How could one so easily come up with answers specifically designed to win the hearts of others. But he was not among those who get floored with goodness so easily.
"Stop with your Oh-I-am-so-goody-good act! It is revolting me."
"I am not trying to be goody two shoes. I am sorry."
"Stop saying sorry !" he bellowed, thumping his hand on the table and the bowl hurled up in the air, the contents spilling out, landing on her feet. She almost jumped up with the impact of the china bowl that crashed into tiny crystallized pieces on her feet, the crash resounding around dulling to the swish of air. Blood oozed out from her toes slightly reddening her slipper. For a minute he didn't catalog the whimpers of agony that escaped her lips while she stood straight as a rod with hands clenched into fists.
"Crap! I am..." he made his way towards her only to be stopped.
"It's okay. I am fine." She replied out of breath. The sting of the wound she felt dripped from her tone.
"I didn't intend to do this. I have anger management issues."
"Don't worry. It's okay." She limped towards the settee across him and sat down.
Extracting a tissue paper from the tissue box that was on the table she scooped to dab it on her foot. Her pain made him feel capricious. He was not used to sharing people's pain. He never even felt sympathy for wounded scarred but her pain made him feel atrocious and he ached knowing he had caused it.
"What's your name?" He inquired sitting down after fraction of a second.
She looked up at him but not in the eyes. He hadn't failed on noticing her shyness and humbleness. Every time she looked at him she never held his gaze for more than a second. He could literally see the naked bashfulness and chastity in her eyes. The look of shame she tendered was so pure and sincere that it almost made him believe it was real and not counterfeited.
"Khushi." She replied, bending again nursing her feet.
"Happiness. A too virtual meaning." he mocked. " Who named you? Your mother?"
"I named myself. Tell me which one of your parents was a Muslim?" She spoke straightening herself.
"My dad. I take after my mother and I am glad for that. What do you mean by you named yourself?"
"Do I look like a Muslim-ah? She questioned him. He took in her appearance again moving his gaze over her face. Her eyes looked foreign. Her complexion was ivory. All in all she didn't look like a Muslim just like he didn't.
"No."
"Good because I wasn't born one."
"Then how... You converted to Islam." He completed his question when the realization dawned upon him.
"Yes. As a human I have a freedom of choice to explore where my contentment lies. A Christian can convert to Hinduism or a Muslim can convert to Christianity. There is always freedom of choice. No religion should be impressed upon the humans forcefully. These religions...they are just divisions. The universality of God holds no matter in whichever religion you are." She replied beaming, staring at the table.
"Muslims are bogus and sinners. That's why I never followed Islam. I am more of an atheist. There is no God or any such stuff." He spat maliciously.
"I can see you wharf not so good judgment about Muslims. It's okay though."
"Wait I am insulting your religion to your face and its okay with you?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes completely."
"Ha! That's what I meant." He wheezed swishing his hand in the air.
"Sure you did. I don't want to be indecorous but you should be leaving now. It's almost sunset."
And then he realized he was not at his own abode and that he had erroneously entered this house thinking of it as his own because all the aligned houses on the lane had almost the identical exterior. Moreover his headache had clouded his power of reasoning.
"Oh yes. I inadvertently entered your dwelling mistaking it as mine. I am living right next door."
"It's okay."
"What no twenty questions now and I haven't even apologized?"
"No." she smiled. "I have had my survey."
"Okay." He slurred, pushing himself up from the couch. Copying his stance she too extracted herself from her posture and stood up.
"Khushi! You don't know what..." And the voice died down in the middle of fervor.
He looked at the door and found a girl footed there, her mouth agape in perceptible skepticism. She was stunning and petite. Her lustrous black hair flowed in brazen waves around her waist. Her eyes highlighted with the Egyptian mascara. She was attired in a pair of jeans and a white collared shirt. Her hands holding couple of bags.
Now this is what I call my type. He thought grinning inwardly. His conscious rubbed together its hand in a welcoming grant.
"You are back." Khushi stated tenderly.
"Yes. Who is he?" She inquired hopping forward.
"I am ASR. You are?" He replied extending his hand towards her. She took in his hand shaking it enthusiastically. Even with this girl he felt the same. No spark. No belly feeling. No nothing. He made him feel nothing like the girl standing behind him did and they hadn't even touched.
"I am Payal. It's nice to meet you ASR." She answered.
"Oh." Was all he could manage. Another Muslim girl. But at least she wasn't putting up a flaunt of reclusion and piousness. This much credited him for now.
"Arnav was leaving Payal." Khushi spoke out.
"Arnav?" She questioned, eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Yes. Now if you would go and change." Khushi commanded.
"Sure. Control freak." She acquiesced, sticking out her tongue at her.
"I am hoping to see you around."
"Sure. We are right next door. Just arrived here yesterday. Summers you see."
Turning towards him she bid goodbye and walked towards the staircase.
"Good night Arnav." Khushi addressed, gaining back his attention.
"Oh please woman! My name is ASR. Screw me for telling you my real name. I don't like it when people call me Arnav. Got It?" He replied harshly.
"But it's your name Arnav. Arnav is a very beautiful name. Especially it's meaning. The ocean." She replied, her eyes misting over in admiration of the meaning his name carried. He then watched her with beguiling interest, his heart taking on a blasting cadence of a racing train. He never knew his name bore such significance. All these years he had been ignorant of the denotation of his own name. It was too trifling a thing to grapple his consideration. He never even had the fancy to be enlightened with the meaning of his name. Even the sound of it did noxious tricks to his mind and heart.
Apparently he ostracized his name. His name surfaced the memories he held of his father, a certain lifetime he had shared with a man he reviled to the depths of his heart.
How was this mystifying woman conscious of what his name meant?
For the umpteenth time she had triumphed in taking him head on with muffled surprise. He couldn't help admiring the calm that rested upon her face and the refinement with which she carried her body.
"Ummm Arnav?" His thoughts came to an end with the hanging querying statement.
"Yeah whatever. I repeat don't call me that." He tried to mask his jumbled up thoughts and the approval he was sharing for her.
"Whatever you say." And with that he discerned that their little interface had terminated. The finality with which her voice rung made him move unwillingly towards the door. He didn't want to depart just yet. Wasn't it too soon?
"Farewell Khushi." He muttered.
"Allah Hafiz(God protect you) Arnav." She mirrored his response only that her greeting transmitted so much more of a meaning and naturalness than just mere combination of artificial meaningless words that were spoken out of habit and propriety. With her greeting came the well being she actually meant for him.
He looked up at her then one last time, taking in her slender physique and soft features of her face, the tranquility he gathered was a part of her. As much as he didn't want to admit to himself he had fallen for her credulity. Nodding his head in admission he turned around to walk away. Something so close to reluctance fluttered in his heart. He heard the pliable closing of the doors behind him and the clack of the lock that resonated before he could turn back to look. Had she closed her doors upon him like he had on all others? Maybe he was squishing too much out of silent actions. Maybe his headache had made him go barmy.
Her last words resounded in her head seeping further down into him if such thing was even possible. He crossed the portico and assembled his disoriented form. He egress the precincts of her abode knowing that somehow her prayer had been heard and that he was safe... for now.
Thank you for reading this. I know the pace is slow in this chapter and some of you would have found such conversation in the first meet awkward. But this Arnav is too complex :p
You would know soon why. Though according to my format the second chapter was an introduction to Arnav's side. But oh well... I posted this first.
Please "Like" and "Comment" if you find it worthy.
New readers please buddy me for Pms.
P.s: If this will not get success or I will feel this story is offending some or that this story is not meant to be for this forum I will discontinue it.
Adieu.
Mischief Managed.
The Marauder
Edited by wardamatloob01 - 10 years ago
Indian Idol 16
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