Chandramukhi

It was but a glimpse of that love which could only be laced with her ever-lasting fragrance, but in that instant, when he gazed at me, it was mine, mine to cherish, forever. It was but a slight glimmer, yes, and it was hers, yes, but it was my face that was reflected in his irises, and that moment was mine. It may well have been bestowed upon me out of indebtedness, but it was mine and mine alone.

I was the one he shared his drunken loneliness with, the only one fortunate enough to serve him, the only one of my kind whose presence was not repugnant to him. Yet my human heart was ungrateful.

Paro's absence was more powerful than my presence. Even in his half-amused benevolence towards me, the pain of her parting hung heavy upon his eyelids, heavy, like a dagger, to my heart. I could not help but crave for more, for something else beyond his lack of hatred towards me or that spectre of love that I was sometimes graced with. I craved for him to belong to me, for him to brand me as his, as she was, so far away, and yet, so close to him.

But how could I truly envy her so. I had to also love her, as the integral part of his being that she would always be. I loved after all, as his heart did, obstinately, with utmost surrender. What is this odd sense of contentment that fills my heart so, even as I know that he, my mirror, would never be mine. All I could have were moments that would slowly dwindle away into fading memories. And they would be re-united, for theirs would be the love that would, against all fate's dicta, endure, beyond all worldly barriers. And my thankless resentment would be obliterated at last, replaced by eye-stinging, overwhelming happiness, because he, my Dev Babu would be happy at last. At last, at peace. What more could I ask for.