Part 8 - An Unspeakable Pain
The cool breeze was blowing softly, caressing his face ever-so-gently as he sat in the connecting balcony outside his room. The sun, which was about to set, turned into a huge ball of neon, half submerged in the darkness of the hills of Umargaon. The bright crimson light seemed to be shaded into the sky like in a well merged oil painting, the shadows highlighting each streak perfectly well. His eyes were fixed on the retreating celestial body but his mind was elsewhere, it had travelled to an apartment with marble floors, to a familiar body shrouded in white, to a warm, loving face clear of any emotion.
He jerked his head back, almost coming back to reality. But that didn't help, it never did, instead it reminded him that the day he would have to live through those hellish moments again, and be expected to survive was near, very near, in fact it was tomorrow. On that day years ago, he had lost an integral part of him, he had lost his childhood, he had learnt the meaning of grief, of pain, and his perfect world that had been devoid of any negativity had transformed into a realm of emptiness.
The shouts, the screams, they all rang in his years, becoming increasingly strident. He had bore it for the past years, he would bear it now, he told himself. But each time his head seemed to stop spinning, a sudden flash would appear, and tears of frustration would blur his vision. A loud cry, that had pierced the still air years ago, made his mind go blank. His sister's hysterical shout. Only the salty trail of the tears remained on his cheeks now, his voice choked and a brief memory belted through his mind.
"Maa...mumaa!"
Night after night, he had woken up next to his trembling sister, as she had cried in her sleep and then woken up shouting. He had done what he could have then, taking her hand in his, wiping her tears and whispering to her the words they had both been accustomed to hear before they were put to sleep by their mother.
"After dusk, there is a midnight and after every day-break comes a new day. The sunlight will fall upon you; the rays fall on everyone alike. The new day will lead to a new beginning. Shine in the sunlight, accept it. Don't hide from it."
Their father had been lost. Lost to the world, lost to them. He would spend hours and hours in his room, swinging back and forth in his armchair with a framed photograph, the one with the cracked glass. Even when Mathur uncle came with his boy, little would change, except he would hear his father weep into his hands, and then a few hours later, the air would become still, and the apartment would fall silent, again, the only sound that would break it would be the creaking of the arm chair.
He remembered how once, he had been gifted a snow globe during his childhood, the part of it when he had been happy. The glitter and the flakes of snow had fascinated him more than the family they encompassed when he shook it vigorously. But he had soon lost interest, the glitter had seemed annoying and useless and he had carelessly thrown it on the floor, and walked away without paying attention to how it had crashed on the floor and the glass had splintered into shards. The same summer, his world had disintegrated in a similar way, and his family had torn apart just like the family from the snow globe which had lay battered on the marble floor, covered in blood that had spilled on the ground after his mother had cut the sole of her foot from the sharp edge of one shard of glass. It had all changed. He had come to be afraid of change. The word had started to have negative connotations for him. He had started to associate it with loss. It was as if they were all living just for the sake of spending their days.
That was till one day, his sister, who had been eating very little -- only when their cousin, and Mathur uncle's son had forced her, literally pushed the food into her mouth -- had fallen severely ill that he had snapped out of his painful reverie. Not because he had understood that he had to move on, but because he had shuddered when that one night he had felt his sister shiver, and talk in her sleep. Initially he had thought it was another nightmare, but then she had mumbled something incoherent and when he had touched her forehead, he had felt her skin burning. He hadn't realised anything after that, and frantically he had ran to his father's room, scared to do anything else, scared to lose someone he considered his only family now, someone one who was most important to him.
After that, he hadn't known what had been happening. He had just been walking through it all. He had been pushed into a car, he had been running along with Mathur uncle who had been carrying her, and he had been sitting beside her when the doctor declared she would be fine. He had flinched when the injection pierced her skin, and he had fed her with his palpitating hands, when she had finally woken up, and smiled weakly at him.
That had been the time when he had distanced them both from their father. Had it not been for Mathur uncle, whose number he had shakily dialled, he knew he would have lost his sister because their father seemed to be oblivious to everything. He had lifted his head from the picture, looked at him like a madman and then gone back to muttering to himself.
When she had finally been brought home after a two week stay in the hospital, a middle-aged woman in a pristine white sari had entered their lives. Her bespectacled face was calm, and she had looked at them with a soft, kind expression. He had maintained his distance, not wanting to attach himself to anyone. And then, as time had passed and their father had started going to work, to his office, he made a startling discovery, that the new entrant had gained his sister's attention. His sister had started to eat, she had started to smile, though feebly, and even the nightmares had become rare. That was when he had developed a soft corner for the woman, who later had become their Dai ma, for he had understood that she was helping them, even after having her own set of problems, battling the world as a young widow after her husband had lost the battle to Cancer. He hadn't asked her to talk to him before he slept, like his sister had, he hadn't asked her to tell him stories about her village, instead they had both shared a knowing glance, and he had known that she understood him.
But the walls he had erected around himself were hard to break, and the only person who could pass them was his sister, who would hold his hand in her sleep, who would only sit with him during recess when they had finally started to go back to school, who had taken to silence, become a muted version of her earlier self, a self was completely opposite to what she had become after tragedy had struck them.
As they had grown up, she had started to mingle with people, given her profession, but often he would see a cloud settle over her, at times when she would be expected to romance someone, at times when she was just sitting in solitude, thinking no one was watching her. They were after all, twins. She was much like himself, when it came to expressing pain, they would both do it silently. Her fears, her anxiety, her pain, all of them had culminated into her nightmares and then the solace she found in Dai ma's presence, but he had been different. The years had passed by and often, he would find himself sauntering back and forth in the gallery in the middle of the night. He would often see his mother there, smiling at him, wrapped in a sari which was a complicated shade of blue-green, a pleasant colour, her favourite. She would be waving at him, then smiling, sometimes he would hear her rare, carefree laughter, as her eyes would shine bright, but then he would hear her crying silently, cuddled up in one corner, where he had found her once, near the array of rose flower pots.
She had been wearing the same sari, the one both she and his sister loved. It had been a cool night, but far from pleasant. He could see streaks of red in the night sky, every time a crack of lightening had lit up the sky, and he would wince, but remained rooted in his position when the roar of thunder followed. When she finally looked up, she didn't wipe the tears like she normally would in front of his sister, but she did stretch out her arms towards him and as he had settled besides her, holding her hand tightly, she had pointed toward the brightest star and said softly.
"You see that star? It is called the Dhruv taara, I named you after it. It is the one star that guides the rest of the world. You only have to guide your sister, son. I know you will, when I am not there. You are much like me, I know you will be able to control yourself when you need to, I know you keep your emotions bottled up inside you. But be with your sister, because she will support you, in her own way. She is more like your father. She expresses more, she'll express for you too."
In the end, it did turn out the way his mother had said it would. They had both supported each other, in their own ways. Solitude had become his companion. It had never freed him from its shackles. He had been bound to it, because in solitude he found his mother again. In solitude he would look up at the Dhruv taara, and that would remind him of his mother, of the promise he had silently made to her. Of the secret only the two of them shared. They say you get strength when you cry, because you pour out your emotions. He cried only in solitude. But the strength he gained was when his mother smiled at him in his dreams, his visions of her. And he would get the strength because he knew he was keeping his promise, his mother's wish, a wish only he was aware of.
His sister had always been under the illusion that their father needed time, like they had. He had never tried to disrupt that illusion either, he knew she wouldn't be able to bear it, but he had resigned from being the son he used to be, someone who would care about him, because he knew his father would never be the man he once was, and he knew none of them would be able to do anything about it. Guilt was a strong emotion. As he had grown up, his own misconception about missed mothers and unhappy fathers had cleared. He knew his father was guilty, that he thought he was responsible for all that happened, and he wasn't going to go and console the man who was responsible for taking away his childhood, and his sister's.
As the leaves of the trees in gardens of their older, much bigger house they had shifted back to withered and grew back, as the pleasant winds of spring turned to the balminess of summer, as the rains fell upon Mumbai, and then the slight chilliness crept into the air, not actual winter, they had both matured, physically and emotionally. The guilt in their father's eyes turned into coldness, sharp and brazen, that turned into something else altogether when he would be with Mathur uncle's son, Karan. He had drifted away from them both, from everyone, from all those who had been close to him. He would only act ignorant around all of them, especially their mother's sister and her family. His sister, who had become one of the biggest actresses in the film industry, was the only one who tried to make conversation with their father, while he on the other hand hadn't made any effort, too busy establishing his own business and then expanding it. They had both been successful, like their mother dreamt of, and it had all been possible because of the Angel with the gold rimmed glasses, he was sure had come to them because of their mother's blessing.
...
Dhruv heard the buzzing of his phone. The screen flashed, and distracted from his thoughts, he noticed the name.
Shreeya calling, it read.
The sun had set now, the sky was clear overhead, a few silver lined clouds and the blue around them was all he could see. He had to tell Diya about it. She deserved to know. It seemed that the walls he had built had turned transparent for one person, someone he had finally managed to find after years of avoiding any unnecessary affection. He knew Diya would only encourage it, but he couldn't bear to see the hurt in her eyes, the longing, and especially at a time when they were both so vulnerable.
He had noticed that something had been wrong with her since she had started shooting for her latest film. He had anticipated something like that, but she had changed into someone else. The signs were noticeable, although he didn't talk about it much, because he had sensed she knew it too. She had become more anxious, sometimes angrier than she had ever been with him teasing her, but it was all familiar. He had seen her like that three years ago, when she had fallen in love for the first time, when she had let her own walls crumple down for that one person, who had ended up crushing the bud of hope he had known was only starting to grow.
When he had first been introduced to Arjun Singh Khurana, being the good judge of character that he had become over the years, better than his own sister, he had noticed the restlessness in his demeanour, like he was fighting his own demons. As if he too had placed his trust in love with great difficulty. But he had also noticed the possessiveness in his eyes, the surety and the rigidity. He had witnessed the desire in both their eyes when they looked at each other, the need to hold each other close. When they had both shook hands, they had signed a silent agreement. He knew his sister would be loved, but still a strange uncertainty had clouded his eyes when he had made eye-contact with him. He had felt a strange rawness, hesitance and even to some extent the same uncertainty mirroring Arjun's eyes, but he had let it pass, although he feared for his sister.
Last week, when they had been partying on the sets, given Ananya a surprise, he had noticed that his sister had been absent when everyone had started going back to their rooms. Sensing something strange, he had excused himself, although he had been careful to not alert the others. When he had been climbing the stairs to the terrace amidst the pitter-patter of the rain on the stone surface, he suddenly heard a cry and stilled, silence followed, and then there were footsteps. He didn't know how to react when she saw the blur of white coming his way, and before he knew, his sister had crashed into him. He could feel her tears wet his shirt, and concerned, he had lifted up her face such that she looked at him, and the look in her eyes made him stagger back. It was the same emotion he had witnessed when they had been left without their mother, when she had returned home the day after their father had announced her engagement to Karan without asking her, when she had told him that there was no Arjun in her life, that she did not deserve to have love. All of it had reeled past his eyes and he had found his own tears welling up. For the first time after their mother had left him, he had found himself crying in someone's presence.
He had carried his unconscious sister in his arms and had made her sleep in his own hotel room, but he had ventured out soon after switching on the heater. He had returned to the terrace, and as he had suspected, he locked eyes with Arjun Singh Khurana. Although Diya hadn't ever told him anything about the reason for them parting ways, he had known it had to be more than just the announcement because ever since, she had not seen their father eye to eye, so much so that the news of her shooting her film with Arjun had reached him only because he had overheard both of them and Dai ma talking, and Arjun's name hadn't been taken in her presence. That day, they had both shared a look, but no agreement had been signed. Dhruv, as a matter of fact, had been seething in rage till he had gained his control, like he always did, and beyond that film of anger, he had seen apology in the eyes of the man in front of him, and he had seen a distinct confidence that wasn't there before, but he had walked away, neither wanting to give Arjun any hope, nor taking it away from him.
...
Neither did she want to give Arjun any hope, nor did she want to take it away from herself. In the other wing of the hotel, Diya sat in her leather chair, the sky visible from the slightly open glass window in front of her; the only sound interrupting her solitude was the sound of the wind blowing against her face at intervals. She felt her eyelids droop as she leaned back in her chair, the weight from the turmoil, both psychological and emotional finally coming forth.
It was evening now, the stars were beginning to shine in the purple sky, a stark contrast from when she had lifted herself up from the bed one week ago, rubbing her eyes. The sunlight had been too bright for her. It had pierced her eyes, prevented them from opening, and when her vision had finally adjusted to the light, it was only because Dhruv had drawn the curtains. He had strode forward and silently handed her a pill.
"It would help with the headache, after you had managed to drench yourself to the skin last night", he had said, slightly amused.
She had taken the pill from his extended hand, not breaking eye-contact, and when she had been about to say something, he had cut her off.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, especially your dear Krish bhai."
"I wasn't going to say that", she had replied sharply, but she had known that was not the truth and so had he.
"Of course, you weren't. So, what have you decided?"
"About?"
"You know what", he raised his eyebrow and she knew she couldn't delay the inevitable.
"It isn't easy, Dhruv. I don't think it's the right time to discuss what happened in the past, I don't want to. But yes, more than angry, I am afraid, afraid to give it a chance. I don't want to face heartbreak anymore; I don't think I will be able to survive it."
"I know something major would have happened, otherwise you loved that dog too much to have left him just like that, although I am not quite sure about him. Or should I say love? Don't judge your story by the standards of others because honestly Diya, life's too short to hold onto the past."
"Aren't you becoming all philosophical. I think you have inherited it from maa."
"Someone has to", he had shrugged. "Also, good things do happen Diya; all we have to do is wait for them to choose the right time to commence. Now, I am off to the beach, its clean here. Don't forget to call Dai ma, she's worried sick about you. You know why."
"I will. Enjoy yourself and find yourself a girlfriend, will you? Ah, and remember I don't want a fisherwoman for my bhabhi!"
"Don't worry about it, my choice is better than yours", he had shouted before shutting the door.
In the following days, she had tried her best to ignore Arjun, but he had turned up practically everywhere she could be found alone. He would coincidentally turn up in the gym, where she went early in the mornings to avoid everyone and anyone, which he never did before. He would even pull her aside when would go into the make-up room. It had all been happening almost every hour of each day, and though she had wanted to avoid it, she had been powerless against him, especially when earlier that afternoon he had pulled her in his arms as she had been about to collapse outside her vanity van after having given a shot. That was what she was worried about the most, that he would find out about her visions, that he would be able to read her eyes, watering with those peculiar emotions.
That day, she had had to perform a song sequence. The one which showed Draupadi's longing for her third husband, her lover, while he was on a thirteen year exile because he had entered her chambers when it was the eldest Pandava's year with her, in order to take his bow. To her surprise, and immense agitation, the Arjun from her life, who was supposed to be having a no-shoot day, had ended up on the set, pretending to be observing the creativity of his director, while the person in question had seen right through him. Nonetheless, Arjun had seated himself on the plastic chair that was available, his piercing gaze following her every move.
She had been feeling jumpy all along when RV had been explaining the whole scene they were to shoot. He had been describing to her what she was to imagine, how she was to feel like the new, virgin bride, waiting for her husband to come. She was to feel like how Draupadi would be feeling, when her meeting with her husband was only a few days apart after years of waiting, and then perform the choreography she had rehearsed earlier. She hadn't been able to concentrate on the man in front; rather she had been glancing at the other man from her peripheral vision, only to find him smirking in her direction.
That had been till the music had started to play in the background, and she had taken her position, readying herself for the scene. Although the sets were as opulent as would be in a Rajveer Vyas film, the choreography was not as elaborate; it was all about delicate movements. Her thoughts about her personal life, about Arjun, her hesitance, it all seemed to vanish. This time the mirror in her vanity van did not disappear, the mysterious smoke did not turn it into a chamber with rustic mahogany, drapes in warm colours, and ivory carved windows. Instead, she did not feel anything inexplicable when the designers were wrapping the cloth around her, draping her in the soft, ornate fabric that had been especially designed to suit her character. This time, she had felt nothing till she had heard the music playing, till everyone on the set had been asked to be silent, till the director had shouted the words she had gotten so used to hearing.
Dhoop se chhan ke
Dhuaan mann hua..
Roop ye chamke
Tan anchhuaa...
Suddenly, it wasn't a vision anymore; rather she was in the vision, a part of it. She was not Diya, but a girl who had travelled across generations and become Draupadi. The blush on her face was natural, not something painted on her face using cosmetics. The fluttering she felt in her heart was real. Not because she had been asked to imagine something, but because a memory was flitting across her mind. The memory of a tall man with a broad back, his muscles flexing as he pulled the taut string of the ornate bow in his hands. She was thinking about how the touch of his large, calloused hands would feel on her warm skin. The heaving of her chest became rapid; it was not for show or only an act, but the result of her heart drumming against it. The movements she had learnt were now flowing out of her like the words of an enchanting poem, her movements were fluent, graceful like the underlying metaphors in the poem that strike a chord in one's heart. There were smiles too, a slight lifting up of the lips in a manner when realisation dawns, when the previous actions appear foolish, and yet, yet a hue of red spreads on the cheeks. They were shy smiles, which hid behind them the thoughts of the breath-taking passion she would share with her husband. She suddenly longed to feel his hot breath against hers, his mouth on hers. She desired to see her own reflection in the depths of his hazel eyes, to lose herself into them, to be the centre of his universe like he had been hers when a few days ago, their year together had begun.
But then she didn't discern when the music suddenly stopped, and involuntarily her heart skipped a beat as she heard the sound of payals. And then she heard those words, words she yearned to erase from her memory. Words which sent a shiver down her spine, and made the flush change to a sickly pale. And there were tears. They weren't from the glycerine; they were her own tears that left a hot trail as they rolled down her cheeks. There were tears because she felt a part of her heart halting, not pumping the blood she required to live, she felt her head beginning to spin, she felt her throat choke and her fists clenched the side of the red lehenga. She gasped, not in disbelief, but because she felt an endless pit of darkness consume her. She felt the hollowness in her stomach as her heart constricted painfully. She wanted to reach out and grab the hand that seemed to reach out to her from some part of her memory, but the darkness bound her in its shackles, and the scream was silenced before it left her mouth. The emptiness had resulted in the appearance of a smile, a dark one.
"Rajkumar Arjun nagar dwaar par aapki prateeksha kar rahe hai, apni nav vadhu ke saath."
Diya had not noticed anything after that. She did not notice when the camera stopped rolling, when everyone around her fell silent. She did not notice Arjun's expressions as he stood up, she did not notice the slight opening of his mouth, and the shock in his eyes, nor the single tear drop. She was caught up in her own thoughts. She was mustering the courage to remain standing, to not collapse into the nearest chair she found. The lehenga was still clenched in her fist, and her knuckles had turned white. Absentmindedly she had nodded to everyone, not paying attention to what they were actually saying. She hadn't been able to. It was as if the only words ringing in her ears were the ones that had come out of the woman's mouth from earlier.
Somehow, she had managed to reach her vanity. The sun had been high up in the sky, it had been shining almost piercingly, and the heat had been scorching. Umargaon was a coastal town with hills; it was humid in the daytime, cool at night, but never as dry as it appeared to her in that moment. It was just like the state of her throat, which was dry, and her lips, which suddenly seemed cracked. As she had tried to open the door of her vanity van, the letters of her name appeared big, as though she were looking at them with a magnifying glass, and she had felt her head spin, she had felt light-headed. Just when she thought that everything in front of her eyes would blank out and her knees gave away, a steady grip held her in place. The next thing she knew, she was in her vanity, and a glass of water was held close to her mouth and she had heard the same husky voice she knew so well, one she was so familiar with.
"Drink this, please Diya. You are dehydrated."
Diya had not cared then, because all she had needed was that moisture on her lips, and she had sipped the water, let it's coolness spread down her throat. She had not done what she would have, had she been in her senses, she had not had the energy to ask him to call Ananya or anyone else.
A strange awkwardness, devoid of any angst, of any feeling of romance, affection, even of disgust and pain, had stung the air. It was an emotion she hadn't experienced earlier, not when she and Arjun were in the same room. While she had felt his hazel eyes on her, she had ignored it, uncomfortably scooting her gaze around the familiar surroundings of her vanity van, suddenly interested in the mirror with the light bulbs and then in the calendar hung on the same wall, just beside it. Instantly, the sight of one date delineated with red had caught her gaze, and she had felt that giddiness return, she had felt herself tremble as the glass in her hand had crashed onto the floor, and water had spilled through it, spreading on the carpet beneath her feet, turning the light pink into a deep magenta.
Surely, Arjun had noticed the change in her eyes, the sudden emotion that had clouded them, recognising the look from outside the vanity van. Immediately, he had leaned forward, sitting beside her, hugging her close, not caring if she would shout or complain. If anyone had been witnessing it all, they would have been surprised that Diya had actually not protested. Instead, her quivering hands clasped the lapel of his shirt tightly, crushing the ironed cotton, and she whispered, almost pleaded to him in a low, shaky voice.
"Take me away, please. I don't want to be here tomorrow. I don't want to be near anyone else tomorrow. Take me somewhere far away, please."
TBC
Hope you like it!
Please hit 'like' and leave your comments😊
Also, I know that the update has come after a long time, but to make up for it, here is a long chapter. It is really long! Don't throw chappals, I couldn't help it😛
This is a reference to the song I have used in the update. Do listen to it, and let the creative juices flow😉
[YOUTUBE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaQu5UkRNSc[/YOUTUBE]
Edited by 8520NK - 9 years ago
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