Unhurried eternal love…

The evening seemed to be closing in a little too fast, the Sun was about to drop away for the day, rolling off the horizon a little too soon. People scurried around, preempting an impending experience, one that would perhaps be different from the rest of the 364 days. There was an unsettling feel about the market place that day, not the unhurried or dawdling pace of most shoppers, who seemed to more often than not pass through the plaza in a state somnolence, as if sleep walking through a different time and space.

Today was different though there was a palpable clamor, an underlying excitement that seemed a tad infectious, to the extent that even the street dogs that lounged around oblivious to the all-pervasive din seemed to be in a hurry to get to a safe haven. Everybody seemed to be buying goodies, things they needed and perhaps didn’t need either. Tucked away in a corner of the narrowest alleyway was a small decrepit shop that only came so alive about 10 days in a year. An old man hunched over his wares and mechanically collected money from the huge throng of people, milling around the lane trying to get a handful of his exclusive wares.

For most part of the day he sat expressionless and only those who knew him well or had heard tales of where he came from could tell that there was just the shadow of a smile on his creased face: a visage that hid years of turmoil, tales of love and trials; a persona that had weathered many a storm. His eyes had a sharpness that belied the seasons they had seen, the years that had passed by. If one stared just a bit longer one could notice the traces of a glint, a naughtiness entrapped and encapsulated in a stoic exterior: not relenting or melting with changing climes. 

He was a lone ranger, tolerant yet strong and resilient: unaffected by the goings on around him. Many had left never to return, many had gone missing and from many there was no message or letter stating their whereabouts. His neighbours had tried; tried very hard to make him leave as it was no longer safe for him to continue living amongst the majority, he being from the fringes of the minority. He resisted and with quiet determination and resolve that comes only with time and age, stood his ground.

Slowly his entire family moved out: the sprawling homestead that the joint family inhabited fell to ruin and most of it was taken over by the people who now considered him an outsider. His needs were scarce so all he asked of them was to let him have a small niche in the huge property from where he could sell the few things he was good at making and a tiny place to live in. They allowed him as they soon realized that he was not a threat to them in any way anymore.  

This was the only thing he knew how to do best and had learnt it from his grandfather and then had chiselled the art under the eagle eyes of his father. It was an art that had been handed down in the family since centuries, perhaps.  There were very few takers for this art now but just the few days of business in a year were enough to help him tide over the entire year.

He locked the shop for the day and picked up the small bundle he had lovingly kept in the alcove and stepped out. A quick look over his shoulder to ascertain that all was well in the fading light he walked briskly, as quick, as his tired limbs could carry him. A faint smile seemed to take shape on his countenance, as he moved through the now thinning crowd as all headed home for the festivities. Nearly twenty minutes of maneuvering through the alleyways brought him to a pale green door. Pushing the barely secure door open he gingerly crossed over the threshold and in the middle of the courtyard sat a frail, waif thin old lady, maybe as old or older. In the far end of the dilapidated court were a few diyas flickering in the now dark night, the smell of oil wafting to greet them. She took the little bundle from him and opened it as if in slow motion not lifting her eyes off it for a minute. As soon as she had untied the outer wrapping, she picked out the gossamer thin stole with glimmering and glistening tiny designs spangled across it in all its beauty.

They sat side by side in complete silence watching the flames dying their own death on that night of festivity. For nearly 25 years now he had walked this path to be with her, she was his reason to stay back and though they were in the eyes of the world from different communities, she too hadn’t picked a companion and he had stayed single too.

It was just this one day that they met, sitting through the night, lighting lamps and watching them die slowly, hoping against hope that in a different time and place they wouldn’t be forced to live apart because they believed in different Gods…

©Copyright Suverchala Kashyap