In the Quiet of Her Yearning

Tiny in its appearance, dark legs, a long tail with several black bands till the rounded tip but an entirely white plumage with wings streaked red having mysterious dark bars underneath. Always sitting at the far end of the branch, away from the rest; thus being a subject of speculation. Forlorn, staring through space into an unknown abyss, enthused by nothing; the world registered its distance in words that had but mocked her sorrow. But humans, species driven by their bizarre enthusiasm, were of least concern. Lost in the silence of her longing, the bird couldn’t care less. To the world she was known as an object of marvel, ‘a bird leading a life of loneliness’, but of her story, they knew nothing…

*.*.*

Flying meadow to meadow, ocean to ocean, in search of that which she could call home. So swift in her moves and euphoric in her flight, she was a thing incapable and unintelligent of sorrow.  She fluttered from the mayhem of the waves to the quiet of the fields, driven by her need to belong, she searched and searched but could not find that which she could call her own. The wonders of Earth revealed themselves, awed by the profundity of each, she would ruminate for hours wallowing in the peaceful river of ravishing sights and simple little moments she has collected over the course of her journey. To see, she was complete. But to learn, she wasn’t. The incompleteness has always been there, only she didn’t know; for strange is the poetics of life, you are oblivious of what’s missing from you until the moment someone brings it to you. And so alike all ignorance, hers as well was bound to end; with a revelation which was beautiful, but only in the beginning…

To look back it is difficult to recollect where did he come from. She feels like he has always been there; a part of her life since the beginning, always her companion to every flight. That’s the thing about intimates we love, so overwhelmed by their charming intrusion we forget how our lives were before they had come. It was a rainy evening, tired by her day’s exciting flight, she landed on the highest branch of Alpines that stood broad and strong, just like a love which was about to bloom. Unaware of his presence and distracted by the sheeting rain, she held on to the branch from keeping herself fall but so wild was the tempest, it was sure she wouldn’t hold on long. Alarmed by something move from behind the dripping lush leaves, she halted her struggle and concentrated. Her velvet feathers were adorned with little droplets of rain strung together like ornaments across her neck and forehead, he, who had been watching her struggle since quite a while, was dazzled by the sight of her ethereal beauty. He inched closer and spread out his wings for her to hold on. It is seldom that life without being asked offers us things too good to be true; and when it happens, we tend to know not how to keep it, for just because it came our way too easy. And yet, she instinctively moved closer and he protectively held her in his broad, gentle wings. Her young heart swayed by his warm presence, with as much as a care in the world, she fell for the bird who showed up at the most unlikely time in the most unlikely place; and like a weightless leaf, she flew with the wind which brought her where she desired. She was in love. She never saw it coming. It just happened. She had, finally, found a home.

Sitting abandoned by the same branches seasons later with him in her mind always meandering about, he was more real than everything else. Little was their time, but extremely thorough. There was romance, just not the kind necessary to make a story. It was a simple connection transcending all expressions; for interestingly never a word passed between the two yet the love was confessed and revered in its full glory. She had conquered every blessing. She was infinite in every moment that passed. In every moment that passed she was more alive than she’s ever been and ever will be.

She went back in the rain to find him. She took high flights to go beyond the skies and bring his soul back from the realms above. But what more than a tiny fragile creature was she? What more was she than a broken winged thing which saw her bird dying before her eyes?

Because as per the rule, it was not tolerable for nature to allow a union. And so it happened, that which is inevitable, that which none could fight. Her heart was pierced with thorns of death that ruthlessly took away her home. It happened quick. The bullet left the rifle, it was a numbing sensation, the two hearts stopped as the sound of death boomed through the woods, but when it was over, only one continued to beat…

Such is the tenet of life; you are brought things you don’t even know you need, yet once they become almost like an inseparable part of you, they are taken away, without even having you bid a final adieu. And how strange is the way of the world, one moment you are so sure of which way you are heading, but the paths suddenly change, and it is no longer the place you used to know. What do you do then? Where do you go? Your home is gone. You think hardly little can go wrong at one point, unaware that the wrong which awaits is going to alter your world.

For in all its reality, there aren’t many sure things in life.

And thus remained a dream unlived, and emptiness echoed in their nest crafted from bark and jasmine leaves knit together with spider’s silk, their fancy house attached to the highest tree branch near the river facing the mountains, so the first ray of sun could reach at them and the morning breeze would caress them from their sweet slumber to wakefulness. That uncertain future she was so looking forward to became a past, and she didn’t even realize it.

She mourned the loss of him once, and the memory of him forever. The sound of death touched her once, but will echo in her senses forever. She absorbed all his love in her red wings and she pours it at herself every once in a while; and deeply engraved on her underwings is his memory. It is in her that he lives, and in him she has preserved herself. He might have flown off to a distant land, and though she could no longer see him inching closer in the rain, or be aware of his touch holding them together in the storm; she could however still always sense his fragrance lingering in the air that surrounds her. She could always sense him looking at her. The heavens would pour and despite him sleeping miles away somewhere amidst the heap of withered leaves, he was always wide awake in her memory. He wasn’t there, yet in so many ways he still was. His absence itself was like a palpable presence. 

So say what the world may, knowing of a race for its trait of ignorance, it mattered not what it said. They clicked her pictures for her peculiar appearance and even peculiar lifestyle, but she? She would register none. She wallows in the quiet of her yearning where she finds the solace she's robbed of. And stares straight across time and space fighting the phantoms, focusing with all her might to escape the anguished chaos of that night which has her helplessly trapped, and walks into the trails of eternal silence, because only silence can guide her back home.

The world may not have seen their union,
The heavens will.

Euphoria III

Read Euphoria II here.

They had come quite some way from the grand entrance; leaving the city capital behind, seemingly walking together now along the lush border. His pace was fast but firm, hers had substantially increased but cautious still. Anybody watching them from a distance would have noticed how she’d been trying to keep up with him. Step by step. Stealing blushful glances on him. Curling her fingers firm around his hand every time they’d slip lose. She was unaware of where they were heading, and unaware she chose to remain. Her heart had found a genuine guide, directions concerned her no more. She had handed her trust, the only possession that ever belonged with her, to him. She was convinced he’d keep it safe. She was sure, he’d not let go of her hand that he had bravely held. Despite them being unusually similar, there were differences that both were aware of. To him, they secretly mattered. But on her part, she was confident.

***

He weighs everything that comes his way, she takes as it is offered. He believes she expects him to be like that huge mountain range of red sand that protects the city of Euphoria, taking the changing weathers and unpleasant raids of time all on itself; hard and still. She on the other hand maintains him like a thick bank of cloud, which is soft and moving, sheltering her from the ruthless sun; and when it’s grey and heavy with gloom, it trusts her enough to pour down all its pain upon her. She rather conceives him that way, than to be unmoving and lifeless like a mountain that lacks the ability to trust and in its sheer arrogance idealizes itself to be self sufficient. She wants him to be like that flexible cloud which knows moving in isolation wouldn’t take it nowhere; which knows how its existence would plainly evaporate in the hollow wind should it hold on within itself. That free spirited bank of cloud which will top all the mountains and cross all the valleys, together with her. That is how she wants him to be. He is, however, far from knowing. And she is yet to tell.

She still gets intrigued by the sight of young pollens twirling with the wind. She still catches the flying feather between her fingers. She solemnly holds her breath if ever a fallen star shoots by. She still collects the beach leaves and looks up to him to complete the wish spell, like he used to. But he correctly remembers that no more. She would throw tiny red hollies playfully at him. He would seldom respond. She would heartily pluck and toss lavender alyssums to him, he would only smile. It secretly surprises her how little things as these no more appear meaningful to him. And how that which she doesn’t quite approve of, charms him. She brings herself to terms with this anyhow, remembering the vow she had made that evening: a little sacrifice for each others’ happiness, a little patience through a time tough and a time unfavorable.

The weather has changed pretty much ever since the city capital has been crossed. The sky is no more blue. The crispy winter hail keeps blowing, with a rough shower every now and then. Her satin gown is soaked and her henna painted feet are now covered in mud. The kohl has washed out, leaving uneven black smudges below her eyes. Her hair that was made beautifully adorned with pink jasmines and white lilies, is now damp and flowing loose. To him, she looks ethereal all the same. Or so she believes. Nothing matters to her as long as she has him next with her. Neither the rain, nor the wind. Neither her kohl smudged eyes, nor her messed up hair. Neither his forgetfulness, nor his sudden soberness. She had left all the strings behind that ever tied him. Or so she thought. For her, nothing had changed much. She was still completely in the state of Euphoria, still rejoicing the festivity of their togetherness. For her, the magic had remained.

For him, however, the change in weather brought a change in design. The river fell into stillness. He came to a sudden halt. His face was clouded. What it meant, she couldn’t fathom. But soon enough, she learned what would follow. He looked deep into her eyes, touched her soul, and breaking a vow of never leaving, he vowed to return. Stunned and numb, all she managed to muster up was a faint smile.

Why she made no attempt to stop him, because he had already warned her. She was, yet again, proven wrong for thinking he acknowledges her little authority that she believes to have developed on him over this journey. With every step that he made away, she was driven deeper into a shell. Receiving the meaningful blows of pouring rain, she collapsed down at a fallen log and fixated her eyes at his shrinking image. He glanced back at her for one last time –something broke inside her –and without a word, without a sign, in the middle of an unknown journey, leaving her all on her own –he disappeared around the corner…

From now onwards, she will no more delight in slumber. She will now wait. Wait for the sky to turn blue again. Wait, for him to return.

Read Euphoria IV here

Fiction: I'd Like To See Her Again

On the far side of the park in the pouring rain, she sat at the vacant bench.

See her face, what do you see?

She fell in love; in the wrong time, in the wrong place, with the wrong person.

But could she be blamed? Since love is inevitable. It just happens; in the oddest time, with an extremely wrong person. And fate is always there to make you realize that.

She wouldn’t wince, no matter how sharp is the blow of this heavy rain falling upon her. It was like, the sharper was the blow; the more unreal would she take the pain to be. The more drenched she’d be, the more real will she find her own existence. It was like, she’s trying to make sure if she is alive or not. She was trying to put the fallen things together; herself.

Even in this dim light, I managed to see those bruises of despair on her face being dissolved into smooth lines of resignation and acceptance.

That moment, she seemed totally drowned in desolation, absolutely lifeless and dejected; puzzled and lost. And this moment, her anguish was transformed into ease. It was obvious, that she has finally submitted to her ironical fate. She has successfully put the fallen together –herself; leave alone the uncertain duration; because sooner or later, she was going to fall apart, again.

Was she crying? Or were they sigh of submission? I know not. I wanted to go up and tell her how courageous she is, to sit by her side and tap her shoulder for her braveness and endurance. I wanted to tell her how proud I am of her; of course I didn’t know here, but I felt this unknown connection between her and myself. A very powerful connection for that profound instance; because her story, was pretty much my story.

I looked up, and she was gone. When did she go, I don’t know. Where did she go, this I don’t know either; but she wasn’t there anymore.

I was left alone, with a feeling of regret to have missed a chance of talking with somebody whose story was in union with mine.

Her face revealed a story, a heart wrenching story; story of love, story of pain, story of despair, story of loss, story of separation, story of dejection –story of contentment.

I wish to God, to see her again. Yes, I’d like to see her again.

 

You know, fate could be really brutal at times. For some, it begins with misery and ends in happiness; but for some, the misery gets worst towards the end.