Bliss and Sorrow
He was listening to his most liked piece of music, a Ghazal.
Suddenly he rose from the place and humming the successive lines of the Ghazal reached over to the music system and pushing the button in what could be said a careless fashion turned it off, lyric unfinished. This manner was the rarest of him; as he himself reckoned it an insult not only of the artist, but the fine piece of a lyric too, being himself a writer of the kind. But since in the morning he had received the phone call his control over himself had been loosened.
His heart, playing always amidst love-soaking lyrics and poems, himself being exceedingly susceptible to it, today strived to sore into the skies of some different sensation. It was as if every coming moment brought plentiful of life for him.
And why, he had met his best friend today, after long five years of having left the college. It was no less a cause for his indefinably intense happiness.
Walking past the bathroom door he came near the bed with somewhat dancing steps, and settled upon it. The open window on his right swayed in the cool breeze. He enjoyed its touch. Some paper-sheets lying unbinded on a nearby desk gave a ruffle upon being touched by the flow of breeze, and in that the fresh-written piece of verses caught his eye. He started to move his eyes, by impulse, through it.
"Brilliant!" At the end lifting his eyes off the last word of it he spoke this to himself. And taking the little bunch of paper-sheets with utmost care he pushed them underneath the bed.
Alas! If one could push off each and every pain of one's heart with such an ease... lamented his destitute heart.
He, and his best friend... It was the very first day of the college they were destined to meet each other on; and whence the best-of-friends brand friendship of theirs was to begin. Then they never realized how those three years had passed. At the end it seemed to them as if all was wound up in a wink! And now he was meeting him again on the lapse of time more than that they had spent together. He remembered well how it exhilarated him seeing his friend after two days' absence. He felt the same exhilaration even today despite having reached a good age of twenty-five. He was still a child eager for a boon.
As if the cool breeze from the window on his right carried in the echoes of the past, the years older familiar bustle of their college encircled his mind.
Of college, various other-than-study activities, celebrations, and especially, the restriction-free environment, all never sustained before, pleased astoundingly his poor contemporaries. He often heard them say: the college life's all about enjoyment... these days are never going to return... let's enjoy the college days... etc… etc... But those poor remarks had never seduced him. Never had he been a part of any such activity. Be it a Rose Day, or a Tie Day, he remained home, trying to divine satisfaction in the guise of holiday. Folks say this age of a life seeks enjoyment. But as for him, he was deprived of this-age-of-a-life itself; and ever would remain...
He was thoughtful and scholarly kind of a person. The boundless desire for embracing knowledge and widespread reading as a result always fueled his thinking to summits. Some of his distinct philosophies and own ways of living contradicted immensely to those of the world; but he believed in himself, and led the life accordingly. Perhaps this was the reason he had not earned many relations; but he never regretted it all the same. Aloofness had somewhat grown a necessity for him.
It was his such state of mind that inclined him keep aloof from his enjoyment-driven contemporaries. He detested bunking classes and loafing in the campus. From the main gate of his college to the door of his classroom, this was all the space his feet would walk upon. Only three instances he bore, in the same number of years, of walking through the rest of the campus; and that too with his this friend only! He was defined introvert. This was all the world could comprehend of him; but the fact it was not. His ever-lasting search for the person he could talk with whole-heartedly had met only the one yet. And needless to say he was the one he had met today after the long five years!
Thus, he was apt to be the happiest person now. This friend of his was the only person on earth whom with he had shared his every thought and feeling. He always gave him the most attentive ear, and tried to understand him. Be it the most philosophical analysis of the gigantic mysteries of life and existence, or verbalized pains of the love-seeking part of his heart, he always found a soothing refuge in his friend's presence.
Assumedly hard and proudly, he possessed a soft and pure heart too, capable of loving inordinately. He had felt profoundly the sensation called love. It was then years he had housed someone in the remote ventricle of his heart, about which knew only his best friend. He had not dared say it to anyone else. Although, every poem shaped by him declared of it. And every Ghazal that maddened him explained his state.
This was where a little difference showed up between him and his friend, despite all the alikeness. He, full of love to shower, a blossom impatient to bloom; and his friend, unaware of the wonders of love, knowing not what an autumn meant!
He remembered the times he used to describe his experiences in love, and his friend would listen with pursed lips, dumbfounded. He gave his ideas upon every other phenomenon, but when it came to love, his friend seemed not knowing the ABC of the subject.
"Not that I don't understand it, but I don't feel it either", his friend would say, and he wondered how a young heart could survive devoid of loving!
Many-a-time his friend would ask how it felt like when love befell; and he, assuming a priest-like air, would orate the philosophy of love from his experiences. And unexaggeratedly, when the words flowed out of his mouth they shivered as a sign of his stirring soul. He could not continue for long those utterances laden with damp emotions. His strength seemingly dwindled.
Experienced as he was, knew well that a true love needed not a pretty face; color, caste, creed, age... all this grew meanest against a true love. One cares not even whether the person opposite thinks the way one does. Not in vain it is said, love never bore reasons. It just befalls, as naturally as the rise of the sun.
One of the discourses on the subject he had had with his friend ran thus:
"You aren’t seeing her for the first time, but now as your eyes rest on her, you feel as if the moment contains some inexplicable yet blissful element you haven't felt so far. It gives a kind of a bruise on your chest. A weird agony then follows. Weird, for it is mingled with a weirder sort of a joy. Out of the lust for this joy you'd readily accept all the agonies of the world, and the next she crosses your way you'd feel inclined to look into her eyes.
"Then after every moment would contain the trace of her sojourn. You'd feel at some time like changing your attiring-fashion, at other the hairstyle would go obsolete! And every movement of your body will then be modulated in a way as if she was always observing you from some corner unknown.
"Such is the love. And in one way or the other it happens with everybody. One needs only identify the happy moment. If not now, someday you'll surely believe that love exists for everybody."
But as it had been, his friend never felt it anyway. Not until their college years of close acquaintance marked the end.
It pained him when, afterwards, he concluded that love might not have been for everybody. How was it possible otherwise to stay unaffected of it! Could any human being stay without ever falling in love? This was the question still ambling in his nerves, mystifying, unanswered.
His friend, having got refreshed, as after-supper, presently came out of the bathroom and settled in front of him. Minutes passed. His wide open eyes were swallowing in the cool breeze.
"Thinking what?" was all could be asked by his friend.
Wiping the moist off his eyes with a slow-motioned blink he turned his head, perplexed, as if trying to gather the dispersed vibrations of sound and hear the question.
His friend point-blank looked into his eyes. It spread an unspeakably pleasant peace in his mind. After years someone was sitting in front of him to speak to him, to listen to him. As always had been, things did not come to his mind at once. But he wanted to speak of too-many-a-thing, and his best friend would not fail to perceive it.
"Recalling those days," he answered after what seemed an interminable period, "and trying to understand what hasn't been understood in its time."
"Aye, haven't you done away with your perplexing airs yet! Why not say clearly in non-artist's tongue please." Said his friend banteringly.
"D' you remember the college?"
"Of course, I do. But why do you, after five years, can't guess! For you never took fancy to any event, nor had a friend group. And don't say it’s the professor of Economics you're thinking about... Your favorite? And why, you're going to board the same boat yourself, eh? A poet... and Economics, hee...hee..."
He blushed, and his lips outlined a nimble smile that had after years non-presence of artificialness in it.
"So you were saying something about the college," started his friend, shoving away the quietude.
"Nothing. Just thought about Economics," he retorted, tricking off his friend's inquisitiveness, and stayed dumb.
Again some time lapsed in quiet. At last, impatient, his friend beckoned him beseechingly to utter something, and a thing lingering behind his lips rolled out.
"Today, as I peeped into the college times you won't believe what I saw." He looked into his friend's eyes.
Replied those eyes, "What...?" filled again with inquisitiveness.
"I saw the girl... Her eyes full of dreams of the love-blessed life... And in the depth of those eyes, where the world would not reach, I saw a face..."
"Whose face?" asked his friend, straightened.
"I thought you'd rather ask who the girl was."
"Who?" his friend said, settling down again.
"The one with the long jet-black hair... And big round eyes... And..."
Though it took some time for his friend to from a picture out of the hints given by him, he succeeded at last.
"The one who took know-not how many boys' breath away, and cared not a pence for any of them. Yeah, how could one forget her."
Upon this he grew serious, and said, "Now that as you've remembered her, you might as well have remembered further that however she cared not for anyone of them, she tended always to stay near you. Remember, whichever bench in a classroom you chose she always joined you behind..."
His friend's eyes he saw widening bit-by-bit, and continued, "And also that whenever she saw you, a sweet hye made way through her lips, and without waiting to have replied her invaluable piece of smile from you she walked rapidly past you..." Saying this, he paused and waited for his friend to speak now.
"W...what are you trying to fix...?" The words limped out of his friend's mouth.
His deep-drowned eyes turned to normal, and then whatever he spoke took the consciousness away from his friend for a while.
"That's love, friend, that you never perceived," he declared, and added, "And the nicest thing is that the love for you is still there, all for you... The same love..."
Yes. Had he not seen the girl a few days ago on the neighboring street he too would have remained unknown of it. The same long jet-black hair... And big round eyes...The same girl! How her eyes had shone as she saw him! And then those joy-filled eyes had passed upon every area around him in search of the sight of her beloved face! But how could she dare ask him? He had never talked with her in the college.
When again, after two days he saw her, she didn't care looking about him. But his eyes of experience, having digested everything of love, deciphered it all. How could he, in the depth of her eyes, where the world would not reach, fail to identify a face of his best friend, himself not being of this world?!
The minutes went by. Hours. Four hours had now passed. The sleep was striving to merge in his eyes, but he did not want to rest now. He felt the great bliss! He looked at his friend's face who was now asleep, and saw his mouth curved into a smile. It was not impossible for him to guess what his friend was dreaming. His question was answered. He was right - love existed for everybody!
Rising from the bed he walked to the window. As soon as he opened it the cool breeze that was watching him from outside all the while embraced him from all sides. He saw his face reflected in the window glass. It was then he knew his cheeks were soaking with the marks of his sorrow!
"Seek her the most today, don't you?" whispered the breeze.
"Who...?" Although his lips never parted.
And before he heard any further, shut the window.
"Sh... sh..." his breath escaped tremulously. Had he had the strength to endure her name uttered?!
And in the stirring sight, as one piercing through vapors, hovered outside the window the thirty-year-old face... Upon whose name the poet in him breathed.
THE END