Part 6
Khushi stared at the piece of paper lying open on her study table. It had been given to her by her School Captain three days ago, along with a pat on her back and a rare smile. The Literary Week celebrations had ended without any issues and praises were garnering in for her efforts and idea for "Let's be friends." This is what Khushi had been dreaming of for so long. And yet, she hadn't gathered the courage for three whole days to do what she had wanted to do all along; write to the unknown. With trembling hands she finally opened the piece of paper and looked at the code written inside it. Now that it was open in her palm, doubt suddenly raised its ugly face. Did she really want to write to a stranger and make friendship with them?
*
Arnav stared ahead. The people were trickling into to the hall as if in slow motion. Their actions resembled a rehearsed routine; walk to their bodies, kneel, bow head, pray, get up, walk to him, touch his shoulder sympathetically, maybe murmur something if they were close, and then walk out of the hall. A condolence routine was being performed by each one of them, even if their wishes were just words memorised to perfection. But everyone performed their parts right down to the detail.
Arnav stared ahead. Why was everything white? The two bodies lying in front of him were draped in white sheets, their nostrils stuffed with white cotton, the people sitting around them dressed in white, white candles lit around them, white carpets on the floor. Everything was white; the colour screaming out the blatant truth that his mind was unwilling to accept even now. All he was registering that he was beginning to detest the colour from the bottom of his heart now.
Arnav stared ahead. His sister was sitting on the floor across him, still dressed in all her bridal glory. She was the only one wearing a contradicting colour in the depressing monochrome of white that was all around him. For she had vehemently refused to get up from her place, to remove the jewels that her mother had so lovingly adorned her with just hours ago, to let go of the warmth of her mother's hands as she had dressed Anjali for her nuptials. Arnav knew that the stubborn Mallik gene was widely famous in his family to surface out of the blue.
Arnav mutely got up from his place. Curious eyes followed him as he slowly walked to his sister. She had been laughing a few hours ago, she had been happy. And now, her eyes were swollen and red. She was resting her head on her Nani's chest, her weeping having slowed down to silent trickles of tears as exhaustion was slowly taking control over her senses. Arnav bent down and touched Anjali's shoulder. She looked up at him, recognising the soothing warmth in a string on unfamiliar touches by mournful hands.
Arnav took his sister's hand and gently pulled her up to her feet. Where Anjali had been stubborn for others, she relented under her brother's persuasive hold, his calm voice, his reassuring eyes and allowed herself to be steered out of the Hall. Wary footsteps behind them stopped when Arnav shook his head, his simple action requesting privacy. And so, the brother and sister walked hand in hand, him in his crisp white lucknowi kurta pajama, she in her blood red lehenga, her dupatta trailing behind like a train of veil.
They reached Anjali's room and Arnav made her sit down at the same dressing table that she had left not long ago dressed as a bride. He slowly started taking off her jewels; first the maang tikka, then her nathni, then the delicate chains of her earrings. She winced every time Arnav's inexperienced hands tugged too hard at a hair clip but remained motionless letting her brother go on. And Arnav kept working with a precision, his mind concentrating on the motions of his hand; unclip the dupatta, loosen the strand of her necklace, ease out the bangles. Soon, Anjali sat in front of the mirror unadorned. Arnav walked to the closet and extracted her white salwar suit that used to be his favourite; he recoiled at the sight of it now. He mutely kept the salwar suit on her bed and walked out of the room to give her the privacy to change. He shut the door behind him and stood by it. Waiting.
Arnav looked around him. Why did it feel like the darkness of the corridor was enveloping him. Why did it feel like the walls were advancing towards him, threatening to hold him in a death grip. All those people crying in the hall, the mournful air that hung all around him... Was it really happening?
The door clicked open and Anjali walked out dressed in white. Arnav again held her hand and slowly walked her back to the Hall where the cold still bodies of their parents laid. She needed to pay her respects like the way she was meant to. Arnav won't have it any other way. Their mother deserved it so, even if their father didn't. The voices silenced as the siblings returned, some looking at Anjali with pity, other's with surprise, no one coming closer. Arnav led Anjali to their parents' bodies and they both knelt down in tandem, bowed their heads, offering their prayers...
Someone behind them announced it was time.
Arnav had long cut himself off from the sounds around him, but his ears picked up the gasp emanating from his sister. As her gasps gave way to a fresh bout of tears, Arnav tightly closed his eyes, willing the lump in his throat to surrender.
Arnav wouldn't cry. Because crying was a sign of weakness, and he wasn't weak; he was strong. And the strong take care of their families, of their loved ones in times of sorrow, of loss. They don't shirk away from responsibilities, they own up to it. They don't break down and disintegrate like everyone else, they strengthen themselves by gluing the pieces together. No, he wasn't weak. And he wouldn't cry. Of course he wouldn't.
Arnav got up and helped his sister to her feet as well. Wordlessly, he walked her towards their Nani again and he handed his sister over to the matriarch. "Take care of her. I'll be back soon," was all he said, his tone levelled as if he was talking about going out for a stroll. His Nani nodded as she took his sister inside. He turned back, and watched as the two bodies were lifted up from the floor and taken out of the hall. The priest gave him an earthen pot and asked him to carry it ahead of the procession.
Arnav watched as the flames licked the bodies of his parents and his childhood started flashing in front of his eyes; the youngest memories of his mother chasing him around the house to feed him, his father lifting him from the ground and seating him on the horse for his first horse ride, his mother standing proudly in the stands while he sprinted down the track, his father teaching him how to ride his car sneaking out in the middle of the night so that his grandma doesn't find out, his mother smothering him with a bear hug before he went to bed every night...
Arnav cried.
*
Khushi switched on the light on her study table whilst the rest of the room remained in darkness. She opened her desk drawer and took out her writing pad and her newest fountain pen. She looked around to ensure her sister was indeed asleep. The nib of the pen hovered in trepidation over the plain sheet of paper for a moment as she calmed her nerves. Hey Devi Maiyya, please give me strength, she earnestly prayed in her heart. And then, gripping the pen with a firm resolute, she started writing her first letter to 26S/NA/09.
The first of the 101 letters.
Writer's note: thank you all for your lovely comments.. So just a point of clarity here.. So far the story has been disjointed as I have attempted to show you bits and pieces of what teen aged Arnav, Khushi and Lavanya were like. This is the turning point of the story or rather the starting point. This is where the story REALLY begins.
I apologize for not having replied to your lovely comments. I've read them all and I'm really happy that this idea has been liked and appreciated so much.
Please continue to leaving your feedback and I'll try to update sooner!
cheers! 😊
| topics | author | replies | views | reply |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Mirilovejin | 8 | 647 | ||
| Wonderstarr | 1 | 646 | ||
| spvd | 642 | 42107 | ||
| Koeli | 511 | 38605 | ||
| Meerkat | 129 | 17792 |
comment:
p_commentcount