Murmur of the Lonely Brook (20 page)

It was cold that night and Diwakar carried in a few more logs than usual. He lit the fire and kept the lid of the bukhari open. He rubbed his palms on the flames to soak up the heat. He played his song and kept the mobile next to the bukhari.

Nisha came in and found the room warm. She glanced at him once and went to the window while listening to the song.

The night will wake up soon

with a silvery moonlight spread

trees dark and tall,

hidden in a mystic shade…

You will smile at me,

and then get up to dance,

moving around the fire,

as if in a primitive trance...

She went to the bed and picked up a blanket. She placed it on the other side of the bukhari and gestured for him to sit there while she sat on the sheepskin opposite him. She felt hot and removed her jacket and topi and let her hair down. She wore a red kameez and a white salwar. The bukhari lid was open and the flames leaped out every now and then. In the light of the flame, Diwakar saw her and kept looking. He was lost in another world, in his dream. She was sitting out there, but in his mind, he saw her dancing. With the flames. Around the fire.

Time went back a million years—

distant drums filling the space,

the flames will join you...

putting colors on your face...

The trees will watch in wonder,

as you dance around,

stars will blink in awe...

even the moon will arch down...

“But I don’t know how to dance,” she said, smiling at him.

The spell broke and he returned his thoughts to the room. He saw her once again in the light of the fire. He desired her strongly. Both felt hot from the heat of the fire and he noticed beads of sweat on her face. He smiled and she came and sat next to him. Close. Almost touching. He could smell her hair, her sweat. The song played on…

And when the dance is done,

you will sit next to me,

I will be looking at you...

dark eyes filled with glee...

You will stretch on the grass,

below the mystic skies...

moonshine painting your dreams

while I kiss your eyes...

She listened. She knew the song was the inspiration of his dreams. She moved away slightly and sat facing him. The room was dark but he could see her clearly. She unhooked and removed her kameez. Diwakar watched her. Her face glowed in the orange light. Her long black hair flowed on both sides of her face partly covering her breasts. He could see them, not too large, not too small. Perfect. Her eyes remained fixed on the fire. He moved forward and closed the lid of the bukhari, trapping the flames inside. But the flames inside him burned intensely, tormenting him.

She stretched next to him on her back, removed the rest of her dress, and pulled him next to her. He lay down on his side, facing her with his head raised with one arm. She raised her head and brought her mouth close to his ears and whispered, “Now, don’t ask anything.” Then she closed her eyes, as if waiting for him to kiss them.

He kissed her eyes. Then the tip her nose. The lobe of her ears. He tasted her sweat, drank it from her cheeks, from her dimples, her neck. He touched her breasts, moist and warm, cradled them softly in his palm, and then kissed them gently, circling the nipples with his tongue. He pressed his cheeks against them, feeling her heart thumping below her ribs. He came back and kissed her lips, putting his tongue inside. She shivered and tried to keep still. He kept kissing her while his hand explored the hills, the meadows, the valleys, the ravine, and the gorge. And then he came back and rested his hand on the plateau that nested the small hollow of her navel, making small circles with his finger. He moved down and kissed her toes. Her ankle. Her calf. Soft, sweet, and short kisses. He kissed her knees, the soft inside of her thighs, the valley of pleasure, pausing there a bit, tasting her wetness. She shivered and stirred, feeling deeply aroused. And then he moved up. He was on top of her, crouching on his elbows. She pulled him close and guided him inside her. She felt her own wetness against him as he went deep inside her.

He slid his hands beneath her armpits and placed them below her head and raised her up. He kissed her, and at the same time, kept on with the motion plunging inside her, reaching the very depths of pleasure. It was as if the mountains inspired the rhythm with which their bodies responded. He was a natural lover. He was intense but not forceful, strong yet gentle, passionate and loving. As if she was a river and he sailed on it. He kept watching her every now and then and planted soft kisses. He was thrusting faster and faster, the rhythm increased, reached a crescendo and then he came inside her. She felt him shudder on top of her, she felt him move inside her, and then she felt him coming inside her and she came also. It was as if a tremor hit her. She felt a mind-numbing joy, and for a moment, she blanked out into a world of bliss. It felt like heaven, like the mountains, the valley, the river, the green meadows, the birds, the sky, the moon, and the stars. Only a few minutes had passed but it seemed like an eternity.

She enjoyed every moment of it and as he slid next to her, she kept a hold of him while he put his arm around her. The song ended but the tune still floated in the room. She listened to him breathing deeply and felt his heart thumping against her breast, slowly calming down. She kissed him.

She allowed her mind to ponder. She felt enriched, enriched by the knowledge and realization that there existed two women inside her, while one wanted to be pure and devoted to the only love of her life, to be a slave to her ideology, conforming to her values, the other wanted to indulge and get intoxicated in the forbidden pleasure that lured her. And she realized that she had to maintain a balance between the two. She could never allow both of them to meet except in due reverence; otherwise, she knew that there would be disaster as one would destroy the other. She also realized she herself had the key to her freedom, to her pleasure, and she could decide when to let which woman out.

The mountains watched as the spring met the river and the river guided it on its journey toward the ocean of perpetual bliss.

Chapter 20

In the weeks that followed, the ice melted and the fields were ready for sowing. Huge glaciers that formed on the peaks also melted. They fell on the meadows, near the waterfall and wherever they could make way across the slopes. Sometimes they came down with boulders, sometimes uprooting trees. Sometimes they made loud rumbling noises, scaring the cows and the dogs. The snow made the soil rich and fertile. The family shifted to the village. Parvati waited for the Bishu puja, as only after the puja could they sow the seeds. During the puja, each family made wheat breads, which the Gur offered to the Devta for his blessings for a good harvest. The valley once again came back to life. Young greens appeared on the branches of oaks and poplars. The apple orchards showed signs of a fresh bloom. The grass grew tall on the side of the roads, riverbanks, and hills. Small yellow marigolds raised their colorful heads. The river regained its blue-green torrents; it grew in size and slowly expanded in its bed, expanding toward the banks, submerging the exposed rocks and boulders on its way. The wagtails, barbets, and finches returned and filled the ravine with chatter. The pines stood in all their majesty, glistening in the summer sun. The schools opened. The students got new books. The roads were repaired. A gate was put up to mark the entrance to the village. Shankar the Yak Bull groaned and roamed around with vigor, chasing every cow that came his way.

Parvati got busy and discussed a recital by Lamaji. She planned a green flag for the upcoming harvest. They could not afford another poor harvest, as already the stocks were running low. She planned to get two blankets woven from the wool she made and also to knit two pairs of socks for Nisha and Ria. She decided to ask Shevak to put in tiles in the toilet; to ask Chotu to buy her a new pressure cooker and a few rat traps; to ask Diwa to replace the fencing in the backyard; to get a new pair of shoes with a soft sole, like the ones she saw on Jayshree’s feet; to offer puja at the temple, for a grandson and a groom for Ria. She decided to visit the farmland soon, though Diwa and Nisha said it was not necessary. It was difficult for her to get out of the habit. There was nothing much to do at home except for cooking. She spent time reciting hymns and visiting the temple, neighbors, and relatives.

Shevak remained active with replacing and reinforcing the weak and vulnerable poles that got uprooted during winter. He pulled together a team of village boys and with their help replaced large parts of the cable. He explored the possibility of a hydropower unit as suggested by Chotu and spent the rest of his time in the orchard with a hope to harvest the maximum number of apples from whatever remained of the trees after the damage. He bought pesticides, fertilizers, sprays from Sangla and devoted his time with other growers in discussing preventive measures. He also planned to paint the rooms which got dark from the smoke of the bukhari, to change the tin roof with a better slope to make it easy for the snow to skid off, to buy a few fluorescent bulbs for better lighting, a new razor for shaving, and to make a visit to Rampur.

Balbir decided to go out on pilgrimage, his last hope to get a son. He planned to visit at least nine places across the country. He considered organizing a tour. He went around canvassing and his tour filled up slowly. Everyone in the village aspired to see the outside world. The destinations went up to eleven. He decided to make no profit. Dayawanti pestered Lalaji to send her on the tour. Like many others, she also had never gone anywhere beyond Rampur, and even then, it was only for picking up goods for the shop. Lalaji ignored her at first but finally consented. Balbir decided to book a bus. Everyone decided to hold a meeting to fix the date and to offer a puja and sacrifice a lamb to Devta before the journey.

***

Ria went to school and managed to get a group of admirers who subscribed to her colorful episodes about city life. She also advised her friends on applying lipstick, wearing make-up, and plaiting hair. Soon she became a star in her group. She had a few meetings with Jeet who found her more attractive now. She kept a good distance from him, which, as per her sister’s advice, was supposed to make him more desperate for her. She stood firm on her resolution to settle in the city and decided to go it alone if he lacked the courage.

Diwakar and Nisha spent most of their time on the farm, tilling the land, sowing seeds and removing weeds. Shevak bought two kid lambs, which accompanied them. Parvati went with them sometimes but they did not allow her to do anything. She simply sat under the tree with the lambs, where she knitted socks and served lunch. She watched both of them in amusement as they worked in the field, sometimes chatting, sometimes chasing, sometimes fighting. Both were lost in each other’s company and enjoyed every moment. In their spare time, they roamed around visiting the hidden meadows, the waterfalls, the valley beyond the village, the pine forest near Mastarang, the slopes on the sacred peak, the bridge close to Dongri, and the gorge down below. They took pleasure from the small things the valley presented them. From the pebbles on the river, the white anemones, the marsh marigolds, the yellow and blue poppies, the wild rose bush, from the barbets, finches, wagtails, the green grass, the dew drops on them, from the clouds, wind, and the sky. Some days they skipped the farm and went to the dongri. They cleaned the courtyard, the roof, the cowshed, the balcony, removing the dried leaves and the dust. They planted marigolds, rose bushes around the courtyard, and creepers around the fencing. Sometimes they lit the bukhari and sat next to it listening to songs and sometimes they made love.

Nisha enjoyed life as she had never enjoyed it before. It was a totally new and unexpected world for her. Maybe it was the world she had always wanted, the world she wanted after her marriage to Pravin. She experienced a strong sense of belonging. She wondered sometimes what would have happened if she had married Diwakar in the first place.

Over a period of time, her feelings of guilt lessened and her ideologies and wisdom receded further. She doubted if they really held any meaning for her, as all along the only thing she earned out of them was distress. She started enjoying life and revered each moment, each day, looking no further, thinking no further. A wild sense of freedom engulfed her as she realized her happiness belonged to her and no one could make her unhappy unless she allowed them to.

***

Pravin came home with Raju two months later. All the while he had worked hard and sales had doubled at the shop. Gangaram was happy and provided one more helping hand. He increased his salary and even gave him a percentage of the profit. At home, he gave them a small TV set with a cable connection. Pravin kept sending regular amounts home. He also saved a part of his salary in a local bank; he still cherished his dream of owning his own shop one day.

At home, everyone was delighted to see him. Diwakar decided to stay at home with his aaté. Parvati decided to cook meat and rajma dal. Even Shevak greeted him with a smile. Nisha was overjoyed when he gave her a mobile phone.

Raju quickly became friends with Diwakar. Both went out and explored the village. Diwakar showed him around the temple, the river, the meadows, the stream, and the orchards. Raju chattered constantly, telling him about Rampur, the market, about how he and Pravin had spent their holidays, where they went, what they ate, and more. Diwakar treated him with noodles every day at Lalaji’s shop. It was as if two lost brothers had met after a long separation. Raju relished the home-cooked food, Diwakar’s company, and the care and affection from Nisha. He felt as if he was with his own family. He felt homesick and decided to drop by at home on his way back to Rampur.

“Now I can talk with you anytime I want,” Nisha said when both of them retired for the night.

Pravin watched her. She did not seem to be as distressed as she had been when he was with her last. She was calm and it seemed she had made peace with her mind. She sat close to him but somehow he felt that the Nisha he knew, the girl who had belonged to him, was a bit different from the one who sat next to him. He did not feel bothered; instead, he felt a strong desire, as if it was the first time with her. He was in no mood to talk, but rather to act.

He made love. Wild love. He rode her like a bull quenching a thirst not satiated over the past two months. Nisha relished the hurricane that passed over her. She felt pain but also felt proud in the fact that she was desirable. She tried responding but he took no notice and went on rampaging, as if to prove his superior manhood, establish his expertise, his authority. And then he lay drenched and exhausted. Nisha wiped off sweat from his face and chest and kissed him. He smiled. And Nisha knew it was a smile of contentment.

She also knew he was different; he lacked the gentleness, the tenderness of his brother. But somehow she enjoyed the change. She enjoyed the tempest. Her submission. She did not know if it helped her reduce her sense of guilt but she felt more free and devoted the rest of the days to satisfy him as best she could. She was thankful she could stay away from pretension, as her responses, which came naturally, were enough to provide him the necessary confidence and reassure him of her commitment.

Pravin left after a week. And Nisha missed him. She realized her first love would always have a special place in her heart. Much like the first rains of monsoon. And even the distance did not have any effect. She thought once again about the true meaning of love. She remembered the days when she first met Pravin, the days of courtship, and then the days immediately after marriage. At that time, she thought she knew the meaning of love and that she had found love in him—that he was the true symbol of love. His embraces, kisses, words, the exchanges, the pleasure was what love was all about. The sense of possession. The sense of belonging. The memory of pleasure.

But after the first few months when the nighttime ritual became routine and when she surrendered night after night to mindless lovemaking, she had thought once more. And it was then that she realized that love was not just a momentary feeling and the pleasant memory of a sensual pleasure. It was more than that. It was something else. The memory of pleasure always led to expectation and if it was not met, it led to frustration, despair, and depression. It could not be love.

Then she came to know Diwakar with his warmth, affection, understanding, and care. And his innocent smile. His dreams. The fire. The flames. The song and the silence. It was a different world she entered every evening. She became aware of a new kind of desire that extended beyond her physical entity. That made her want to be close to him, just to be near him and nothing more, and that gave her happiness. Immense happiness. And though the inevitable did take place, it was not important. It was just a form of embrace. Mutual. There was no sense of possession. Neither of them wanted to possess the other. She felt free to choose whatever she wanted to do. She had felt confused once again about the meaning of love.

With Pravin, it was different. And though the sense of submission was pronounced, she relished it. As if it made her really free in a different way. With him, she became aware of the many sides of human nature. With him, she shared her wild side. The mind slept and the body engaged in mindless primal pleasure. She did not know if other women also took pleasure in sex, as such discussion was taboo. Women taking delight in sex was forbidden. They were simply expected to provide pleasure and bear children. She thought that probably no one took pleasure in the suffering, the pain, and the humiliation, but still everyone aspired, and then found justification in such sacrifice from the respect they earned from their husbands, family, and society.

She wondered how Jayshree felt. On the outside she looked like any other woman of the village. She could never ask her. She remembered her cousin who was married to three brothers. She wondered if she also remained a slave of the system and took it as her duty to serve three men. She thought about Draupadi in the epic and her five husbands. While three of the brothers were old enough, the twins were much younger. She wondered if she could love them all the same. She knew she was supposed to be married to only one initially. She tried to imagine her mental state and how she had made peace with her fate.

She realized it was difficult to break away from this sense of sacrifice and maybe that was the reason she found Pravin’s company addictive, the sense of self-denial overwhelming in keeping with the custom and tradition. In earning his respect, in letting him know how loyal, dedicated, committed she was, listening to the appreciation all around even if it meant forfeiting her own pleasure in the process.

She remembered the first time he proposed the common marriage. She had felt troubled and her world fell apart. At the time, she saw such an arrangement as a sacrifice of her ideals and destruction of love. She felt her own values crumbling under the profound weight of family values. Her very existence as an individual was at a grave risk and it did not matter. She felt threatened, humiliated, and disgraced. She couldn’t find any justification in that sacrifice. Rather the justification it provided did not address her sense of happiness or well being. She was confused, and she was terribly shaken.

And yes, sacrifice was there. But it was not a sacrifice of her dignity or self-respect. She had to sacrifice her understanding, her notions, her expectations about love and life. She sat every night next to the fire. And in her mind, she made a bonfire of past knowledge and burned everything. Everything she knew and remembered until then, the sense of possession, the memory of pleasure, the concept of love so deeply engraved. Finally, she was totally free. There was nothing left to compare, to judge, to evaluate.

That was when she learned to live every moment. It was as if she was a brook flowing down the hills. Every slope seemed to be new; every gorge held the promise of excitement; every crevice held the surprise of chatter; every bend had the assurance of a thrill. She learned to be aware without the interference of knowledge and thought. She realized that like the brook, which could choose its own way, each day she also had the power to choose the truth with which she wanted to live. Like the brook, which washed down dirt and rocks in its path, she also could wash out age-old concepts and values on her journey to rediscover life.