Part 7 Beyond reason(s)
"So?" Sandhya asked, once they had sat down.
Prashant was gazing thoughtfully at the coffee shop window being assaulted by furious lashes of rain. As always, his expression was mild, serene as though nothing could surprise him, as though nothing could shock him out of his emotional stupor.
"Yes. I must explain," he said, upon his return to the present.
Finally, Sandhya sighed to herself. An end to the mystery, to her misery. Ever since Prashant had called to ask her out for coffee, she had been struggling to make sense of what was happening around her, to her. Sandhya was a person who needed certainty in life. The unknown scared her because it was unstable, unpredictable. And despite all her efforts, Prashant had remained beyond her understanding. Yet, infuriatingly enough, there he was, wreaking chaos in her well-organised life. For heavens' sake, why? When it was so obvious that he wasn't interested in her in the least, how had he become, for all in the world to see and clap their hands in glee, her husband-to-be? How could he play around with her life like that?
"I know what you're thinking, Sandhya. I don't love you but I..."
His voice trailed away, as the waiter, a young, sunny-faced lad, bounced to their table and asked for their order.
"Coffee?" Prashant asked her politely.
"Tea," she said curtly, just to contradict him. It was oddly satisfying. She was starting to find Prashant more and more irritating as time went by. As matters stood at that point in time, he was the most intolerable creature in the entire universe. She hated everything about him, his bright white shirt with thin light grey diagonal stripes; his two-day stubble that kind of suited him; his short, slightly wet black hair that clung to the top half of his forehead...
"Two teas please," Prashant said and the waiter made his way to the next table, bobbing up and down like a rubber duck.
"I used to love a girl called Amrita," Prashant said slowly, as though each of those words was so heavy that to unload it was arduous, wearying.
"So why don't you marry her?" Sandhya wanted to snap, but before she could say it, her eyes fell on his, and her voice lost itself somewhere in the messy emotional commotion that ensued within her.
His eyes, dark and hazy, were shining with a brightness she had never seen in them before. A brightness that seemed to emanate from the ghost of an erstwhile happiness and the moistness of its inescapable memories. Her annoyance with him inexplicably melted away. It made no sense to hate a man whose every breath was to him, nothing but a source of suffering. A broken, defeated man.
"And..." she prompted softly.
"I really loved her," he said, a tremor in his voice. His gaze drifted away to the rain's angry, erratic cadence on the window pane, and lingered there. Blankly. Blindly.
His words staggered on, painfully, "She left. It was so easy for her. She can't have loved me as much as I loved her. It's been nearly two years of trying desperately to hate her, but I can't forget her. And she didn't even love me. It was all nothing but a lie. Everything she had said. Because she left... Got married. I could never understand why. I had done everything to make her happy. Then I proposed to her and she just left because she wasn't ready for a commitment. And she got married... Married... Just like that. It was so easy. I could never understand... Why can't it be that easy for me? I want to start living again. I want to be happy. I know I don't love her... But I just can't forget. The smallest details... haunt me."
The waiter came with the teas. Prashant turned to look at Sandhya, uncertain of what to expect. He saw was his own heartache mirrored in her face. It surprised him. And comforted him. She understood. Words were hollow and meaningless. Yet she understood what lay beyond them. He could sense it.
But the poor girl didn't deserve to be subjected to all this, he felt. A tiny tear was glistening at the corner of her right eye, like a quivering drop of dew on a dainty petal. It broke his heart to see it.
And a thought struck him just then. She had no reason to be sad; in fact, he had no reason to be sad either. He dismissed the thought for its oddity.
"Forgive me, Sandhya," he said, sincerely, "I just feel you have the right to know, but I didn't want to upset -"
"Don't worry about it," she answered, "So... you don't know why she... left?"
For a few moments, he said nothing, allowing the rhythmic rain to pound on, uninterrupted. Sandhya was looking at him with such tenderness, such compassion, that just looking at her made him feel lighter. He was also strangely, insanely overcome by an irrational desire to laugh. She looked so distraught for him. But why, oh, why? Amrita was gone! Gone! He almost laughed out loud... relieved. He wanted to stand up on his chair and laugh for all the world to hear. He wanted to go up to the waiter and squeeze his chubby cheeks. He wanted to break through the window pane and dance in the rain like a Bollywood hero.
What on earth was happening to him? He seemed to have digressed beyond all reason and reasons thereof.
"All she said was she needed some time," he shrugged, remembering the question. He didn't want to talk about Amrita any longer. For some elusive reason, it made no sense.
"And did she never explain why she -"
"She called," Prashant interrupted her, "It was after she had gotten married, but I just hung up."
"But you really must talk to her, Prashant! You must get to know the whole story."
"I've moved on," he said stubbornly, but not unkindly.
Sandhya felt that he was lying, deceiving himself, only to protect himself from more pain. Prashant felt that, somehow, he might have actually had moved on, whatever that meant.
"Look," he explained, "I don't want to talk to her. Really. I don't see why I should."
"But you said you can't forget her, you're always thinking of her. It's because you feel this resentment for her. And until you forgive her, you can't move on and be truly happy. All problems have a solution, Prashant. It's not always easy, but it's never impossible. It really all boils down to whether or not you want the problem to end. I feel that somewhere in your heart, you don't want to let go."
He was impressed. She had such an acute understanding of the ways of the human mind, of the way he felt... had felt. For her words would have held some truth a few minutes ago. But now, everything had changed. Inexplicably. Irrevocably.
"I do want to let go," Prashant said earnestly, "I want to marry you, Sandhya."
Vasudha
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