As soon as the mantras were chanted and Aarti work was over, on the very festive day of Maha astami, She: a 15 years, 17 days old; ran with her steps reflecting enthusiasm, sprinted away from the temple, towards the eye-pleasing big house, probably the best designed in the whole area.
As her feet coloured in azure shaded Rose–Bengal, one of the traditional red dye females use in the very castes of Bengali’s, skipped over stairs and reached her room and with palms & wrists decorated with henna, she grabbed her cell phone, with sparkling wide, big and dark brown eyes, craving for his text message. Her heart shivering, with hurricanes in mind, goosebumps covering every inch of her brown skinned body, her retinas were finally blessed with the most amazing readable that a teenager could be privileged to view on their phone screen. Yes, of course that phrase, that very phrase! It was since a week or two that they were on the verge of utterance, yet none could have blab until that very moment.
She blushed, so did her heart, so did her entire herself, those three words magical now-a-days shortened to two, she smirked. Her heart bounced with every beat. Now she wasn’t just herself, now she was a part of “them”. How long it took for the leaves of their destiny to grow on their respective boughs. Awed and elated she read the text a several times. That text to which her reply was the same added up with a “too”.
With the passage of time, their love smelt strong. A pragmatic bonding they grew into, with cherishing moments that they shared. She was the habitué of his arms. The Brahmin Bengali girl, three years & three months later, have been mentally painted in ‘his’ colours, and dreamt of evangelization so as to legitimately turn his, in her dreamt future. Because by now she had completed all her plans in her head and was only waiting for the time & destiny to come their way.
But things don’t always fall in your privilege! They simply don’t! And a terrifying eve brought to the knowledge of her parents about the Christian boyfriend she was dating. Physically she was beaten up but more scars were located on her heart. The wounds that were cancerous and could stop her breathes at any pose of the clock hands. Her freedom was no more breathing to life. Things changed, their contacts reduced, but not their craze for one another.There wasn’t a single reason for her to smile, but the fact that he loves her, that he awaits a fine dawn to calm the storm of life. That he would never give up on her princess. And not the death and not that god and neither any other power could separate the two of them. Their love was their religion & they were dedicated fellows of piety.
This only perception kept her alive. They didn’t meet anymore like they used to do in the past fine days. When their soul used to kiss each other via their lips & visit each other from the depth of their eyes. Their wasn’t anymore the comfort of his arms, neither his naughty moves to quiver her passion, to make her tempted towards him. The only thing that was, was a cache of poems written for him, stored in the most isolated part of the book shelf, never even read a second time by her own self. But as good moments passed, this bad one too did. Soon, she was freed from the caves of her prisoning treatment & was allowed to use her cell phone. Internet connections started its livelihood on her otherwise useless PC again & she was allowed to go out of her encaged house.
And finally after a long gap of 7 months 11 days that she has counted in her fingers, they met. From a distance that she saw him, standing near a rose garden of a park they decided to meet at, she ran with her full speed, ran with all her potentials like the first time she had ran for his texts, but only difference that this time there wasn’t an equal reaction from her significant other person!
As she fell into his arms, and grabbed hers shirt tightly in her fist and cried all the tears that signified the importance of this moment that arrived after such awaiting, she wasn’t greeted, instead was pushed & yelled at, for wasting his swanky shirt (a brand name, she didn’t have mental soundness to hear about). Astonished to his behaviour, her streams continued as he gently pulled her back & asked for forgiveness. But strangely there wasn’t a little sprinkle of happiness in the eyes of his, for seeing his ‘everything’ anymore.
Days added up, and added up was a plethora of complains, verges of arguments and oceans of tears that she cried for him. The ‘him’ that was more tempted towards partying, drinking, smoking, unedifying towards career and what not. He preffered to be tippled, being surrounded by girls, eye pleasing ones, rather than this ugly girl with least fashion senses and a moron homesick person. A drizzle over the stormy waves of his oceanic nature.
And soon came a day, when he texted her “Bebby, I really love you, its that I fear if the next time your family comes to know about us, they’d kill you into pieces!! Babe, I care for you, so I wanted to… “, followed by another, 3 minutes later ” you know, we should break up”.
While this message arrived her cell, she was busy describing her friends about how much lovely time they spent together in their early days, holding a locket with the letter pendant, the first alphabet of his name. As soon as her gossip session of her post-tutorial class was over, she pulled herself into the car, throwing words at driver, she opened the text, THE TEXT!
Silence & tears, completely flooded body with a tsunami of intolerable ache, it was alike an earthquake who killed everyone surrounded but you! You know, that kind of horrifying it was, that kind of uneviable, it felt like! She managed to hold the cell that was just about to fall down her weakened fingers, mourning. A mountain fell on her heart, big pointed rocks of unimaginable rejection. He wanted
to break up, he wanted to break ‘them‘, the bonding, the love, them! How could he ?
He, who held her like the precious of diamonds, who used to smell her like a rose, who used to sooth her soul, who kissed her body, like she was his, forever! How could he think to end everything up. How could he imagine that this girl can shallow all her memories and not die but digest? How could he just, how could he?
She turned ill by the time her car was at the door gates & as soon as she kept her first step, she fell down to senselessness.
Waking up to the smells of medicines and overdosed care of family, bounded by the walls of unbearable suffocation, her frail palms held the heavy cellphone and texted, “I would breakup only if you could look into my eyes, and promise me you’re okay with this break up.”
A week later, they met. They met in the same lane of their old school, the spot where for the first time their shadows had met and started stitching a way towards heart. She knew he will not say all that he texted, he just simply can’t say anything such, looking deep into his favourite pair of eyes, hers! And she knew, this failure in fulfillment of the condition will save their relationship, will save them as a whole, will save her from a moribund edge of her ‘sullied desires’.
They met, so did the condition. He spoke it to her, with not a hazy glimpse of regression. He just said it and asked for the separation leaving her in the tremendous loneness. As she gazed into the eternal blank, that contained nothing but a constellation formed by his left foot marks. Her childliness came to over, her dreams crushed under his feet, buried & cremated.
Three days later, after a continuous storm of her whimpers & sobs and a numerous self advices and the haunting memories that made her to open her social networking site only to find a text “we’ll always be friends”, an addition to the fakeness of the shyster.
A week later, he got committed to a girl, who was a basic reason of their most of the fights! A girl who could sleep with him, and satisfy him physically. And being a friend, he avowed his ex & their she stood, half consciously, trying to unheard the fact that her boy is hers no more! To unheard the mockery of fortune at her mortified state.
Three days from then, he informed her about how it was his first kiss day with the second girl of his life, and how well she tasted. Listening to which probably broke every bone of her body, and was cut down to the maximum pieces of the minimum sizes.
“I still love you” came a text to the insomniac jinxed girl, that somewhere ignited a portion of her iced heart. Maybe a hope from the darkness howled of its existence. But it was instead one of her hallucinations. Within the other week, she heard how her boy spent a night with his girl, losing everything for one another, all those physical barriers that seemed more realistic than the mental hills this poor naive had climbed. She went to an era of mental illness, starvation followed by sleeplessness. There was a great margin decline in her progress reports. The only major action she took was to cut her veins, her skins, her fleshes in regular intervals though no part of her soul was left unwounded.
Two years from then, one late Sunday morning, a jolly voice was cracking jokes with her mother. Drinking her saviour ginger tea with a wide smiling face and a pair of eyes more attractively glittering than earlier did. Her life was cavorting around her amusing days that only was filled with stomach aching laughs, giggling tones and the only pressurization produced by academical books.
A diary & ink was the protective fire, that kept her warm in cold fatally nights. That was the sword she used fighting Jihad with demons that haunted, of the devilish past. Every night brought her victory, she wasn’t anymore suppressed by the thought of not being loved by a guy who by now has changed six girlfriends. Life was better and she was stronger, than ever before.
She had unfurled herself from the sheets of melancholy, she adored her scares like relic. The horrifying faked promises didn’t pester her conscience. She grew up from the ashes, built herself with the flames, she was now a searing rod, tease her to get fierced! She wasn’t a labile neither a liability. She was a bright spark, around her was a halo, a ring of optimism. She was an inspiration. Her fragrile earlier desires made her no weak, they rather preached. Life goes on. Those were painful lessons of ‘didacticism‘ to make life shine a little brighter.