3 .Quietude

"...these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang.”
-Herman Melville

He closed the door of his bedroom, leaving the lock open, threw his sack on the bed and strolled around. He looked at his wedding picture, beautifully framed. It hung on the wall only to make him realise that he was a loser. He never realised what he had got into. Nor did he realise what he had lost.

He looked for his phone in his pocket. Silently. Then becoming panicky.

He hit his thigh, where his pocket ended. Hit his chest where is shirt pocket was placed, neatly stictched, holding nothing.

 

He checked his back pockets and hit his buttocks hard turning towards the table and taking out the frustration on the table. He knew he did not have his phone with him.

He just was just taking a chance. And this time, there was no hope, no chance that his phone would be with him. He had is life back and he wasn't thankful. Or was he?

He found himself reliving a conversation from the past.

"The day I die, and if I know I would be dying, I would have 3 people called for", said Jenny.

"Who?", Pratham asked.

"The three loves of my life", replied Jenny creating a mystery.

"Who are those three?", Pratham sounded curious.

"You will know you are one, if you get a call. Don't worry", Jenny chuckled and hit him on his chest.

"Ouch. That hurt, Jen", Pratham played with Jen's face.

"And what do you think will I do when I die?", asked Pratham looking into Jen's eyes, looking at her lips time and again and then pushing her hair back.

"The day you die, I am sure you will have no one around", Jen laughed as Pratham joined her too..

This shook Pratham. He indeed had no one when he had decided to die. Not even himself. His conscience seemed lost. His mind had no sync with his heart. It hurt him. He sat silently and looked for something.

He looked for himself. Was he indeed dead? The real self?

He lay on the bed and matched his thoughts to the rhythm of the screeching fan. He wanted to stay quiet. He couldn't. A lot of voices spoke.

"Daddy, what will you get for Soham when you return from Singapore?", asked Sania

"I will get him a karate suit, so that he learns how to fight and be strong", answered Pratham as he hugged Sania.

"And for me?", Sania asked, "Get me a barbie doll", she answered her question herself.

"I will sweetheart, and what else?", asked Pratham.

"For Mumma, get a hairband. I threw at the street dog yesterday and now she puts this hair clip and it hurts, when she sleeps next to me", Sania demanded.

Pratham looked at her with care and replied, "I will", then he looked at Akanksha, giving a pale smile.

"Daddy, come back soon. I will wait for you", Sania said.

The look in her eye shook Pratham. Something stirred him and he began to weep. He let the tears flow. He tried to remember what gift he had brought for the kids. He couldn't remember.

He thought he mustn't have brought anything. His toddler son and 4 year old daughter were not the apple of his eyes. He loved him as much as a dog loves his pup, or even less.

He realised all this and lay on the bed allowing the tears to flow.

The solitude reminded him of his shallow heart, his selfishness and his insensitivity. He decided to put and end to the sound of his breathing and disolve himself in the quietude.

But beneath this resolve, there burnt a fire to prove that he could be brave, atleast once. He wanted to prove to no one else but himself that he could do it.

He realised he was falling asleep. This time he didn't wanted to sleep over anything. He woke up, sat on the bed and threw the pillow away. He started crying  loud, then louder, until Akanksha heard it.

She knocked on the door, shaken. She had never heard him cry. She had always heard him speak in one specific tone, with not much modulation or change in emotion.

She opened the door, understanding that it wasn't locked. She came inside, not knowing what to say.

She went closer to Pratham. He looked at her.

"Come here", he gestured.

She went closer, not feeling a thing, wondering what was wrong.

"Sit here", Pratham mustered all the courage to say these two words.

Slowly he held her hand, as she looked cluelessly at his face gauging the intensity of his sorrow, analysing the reason for the tears.

Shivering, shaking, he slowly lay in her lap and cried profusely. This was a surrender for him. A surrender of Ego.

...to be contd

Back to Chapter 2: Retreat

Onto Chapter 4: Pyrrhic Victory