And The Aparajita Blossomed

She stole a glance at the trees, on the rocks, and at the sky as she continued to walk on the empty street under the celestial light. She knew the roads were not safe, but deep within, she had a sense of security, a strange feeling though. Everything had changed, yet nothing was different. The under the constructed road, the poorly built houses by the roadside, the sound of the cicadas, and the clear sky. To visit this place was the most beautiful of her dreams and the most painful of her nightmares. Even today, the streets had no streetlights and she could recall her father saying,” This place will never develop". She smiled cause what she cursed then was what she yearned for now. She knew development was poor but she no more felt the need for it. Time indeed plays its part. Every now and then she would hear sounds, familiar sounds, sounds, which she knew did not exist anymore.

        

There, she could see it. She was almost there. She was at the place she never wanted to visit, but yet longed to see. The mere sight of the abandoned place was enough to rejuvenate her tired feet. She could feel herself pace up. She knew she was running and finally, she knew she had reached. Her mother's Aparajita garden. She remembers her mother saying, “You are named after these flowers, blue and beautiful. Tender but not timid”, whilst her father would argue,” Her name is what she is; Undefeatable". She would smile at them and continue her game of badminton. It was not many years before she realized that her father was wrong. She was not Undefeatable, nor was any other mortal on the planet.

         

But she barely recognized the place she was standing at. It was not what her mother had described, it was nothing like the memory she had grown up with and it was not the garden which was imprinted deep into her soul. Maybe the full moon made all the difference. But the lunar light brings life, even to the lifeless. Then why did the aparajitas look so dead! Where were all the flowers! Where was the garden she longed to see! Where was the beauty, she feared to witness! She could feel herself choking. The lush green vines were gone and what was left seemed to be nothing more than death. She could feel tears building up in her eyes and the next thing she knew was that she was crying, crying hard, she did not know the reason behind her tears but her heart ached.

         

“Aparajita...Aparajita”, a familiar sound called. The call grew louder and louder and reached her within no time. It was Masi, the lady who meant the world to Aparajita. She had simple looks but to Aparajita, she was the prettiest of all ladies, the kindest of all, she was the key to her soul. She was the one who brought her up. The one who cared for her while her parents were busy with their professions. The one she was meeting after 20 long years. Two long decades, but today when Masi was so close to her, it felt like just yesterday when she was pestering Masi for a game of badminton. And in the glimpse of an eye, Masi hugged her. She knew that Aparajita was crying and she knew the reason behind her tears. This is the thing with Masi, she always understands Aparajita better than anyone else, better than she understands herself.

         

 “Dinner is ready. The place would look better in the morning”, Masi said this with an unrealistic hope; the place had not looked better in years. Every passing day only made it worse.

“Good night Apar, revitalize yourself. Then maybe we can have a good game of badminton.” Aparajita reverted with a smile. Masi was 55 but the young girl knew that victory won’t be easy. It has never been easy, not for her at least. Closing her eyes she went back, years back, into the past where the world today did not exist. And if it existed, it was beyond her knowledge and imagination. She knew she was dreaming, for she has seen the same dream for ages now, what seemed to her like an era. The same street, the same garden, but this time, with flowers, beautiful blue, and white flowers, bell-shaped, what Mumma used to say ‘the doorbell of the Almighty’. This time there were people in the garden, there was laughter and there was life. A young, petite girl of 15 with bright eyes and dark plain hairs was fidgeting with her badminton racket, trying to figure out if she could manage to reach the cork, stuck on top of her father's mango tree, which she had always been fond of, but today she shouted,

“Ma’s Aparajitas is way better than this huge Mangifera; at least they don’t interrupt my game.” Ma passed a smirk at the old man who laughed with approval, “Of course the Aparajitas is better, after all, they are Undefeatable.”

          

She woke up to the sound of the doorbell, which was still the same, the irritating, persistent sound of a bird of some unknown species. Apar had always insisted on changing it but Masi never approved and, for some reason, Aparajita was glad she did not. Time changes a lot as it passes, doesn’t it? She ran out to see if the uncle who delivered milk was still the same, but to her dismay, he was not. She wasn’t surprised; he was an old man when she had left. She did not ask Masi about him. Maybe because she knew the answer, and did not want to validate it. Very quietly she moved in for breakfast which was quite predictable. Masi was ready with her ‘Aloo ka Paratha’ with buttermilk. The meal lightened up her mood and, though Masi was unwilling, they left for the garden.

          

Her expression was predictable; Masi knew the daylight won’t make things better. After all, the daylight wakes up asleep, not the dead. And the garden was definitely not asleep. The Mangifera was not breathing and the bright, blue flowers were just not there. Masi did not want her child to witness this. She turned pale, the hope she had instilled in Apar's heart was dead, dead like the garden.

           “Is the racket and cork still there?” Masi heard a voice. Apar was in the middle of the garden in her favorite position, what she called ‘Victory Spot.’ Masi knew her words were not honest but ran into the outhouse to fetch the rackets and a brand new cork. Apar knew she had failed in her purpose, and that if at all anything was impossible, then it was to conceal her emotions from Masi. But the last time Masi looked so miserable was when they were leaving, leaving the house which Masi inhabited before Apar was born. Masi was 10 years old when Apar's grandparents brought her with them and since then Masi and the house were inseparable. Except for that one day, 20 years back, when Masi lost her reasons to live in the house.

           ‘

When we left, we lost our house and our town but Masi lost us. This ever-chirpy lady cried for the first time. She had already endured a lot, bore a number of losses, and losing us was among her worst nightmares that eventually came true. We shifted, but with our family; She shifted, but to a family unknown. She moved to our relatives’ as we moved to a country where we adjusted and adapted but could never belong to.’

             Lost in her thoughts, unintentionally, Apar shed a tear as Masi came back with the black and red rackets and the brand-new cork. Masi unmistakably noticed her tear but spoke nothing of it. The game started and continued for what seemed like an age. Time never stops, but this time it did, it ceased for the two souls separated by time itself. The game ended when Masi could no longer breathe, she gasped for breath but could not help laughing. It was after years that she laughed, that she lived and that she enjoyed it. And it was after years that Apar had seen something which she used to enjoy the most; she saw her Masi laughing. Her Masi was to her what a mother is to all the kids. All her important days were reported to Masi before her Ma. This time she could not help. Apar burst into tears, straight into her Masi's arms. Masi was ready for this, she knew this would happen and somewhere in her heart, Masi wanted this to happen. She wanted her life into her arms, holding nothing inside herself. The two people cried that noon. They laughed and cried again, spilling all their emotions on the ground that was now barren. The slideshow of emotions came to an end with roars of laughter. The last time such roars were to be heard on this ground was two decades back, a week before the upheaval in their lives, a week before Diwali.

              

‘The house was in a rush, Diwali preparations were up and the entire house was busy. Mumma was preparing the shopping list and dad was busy shopping whilst Masi looked after the dishes. I was free from all responsibilities and was hence responsible for all the random mischief going on in the house. For the past few days, I could notice the frequent arrival of some strange men who, for some reason, I did not happen to like. A few days later I sat on the sofa, with Masi, discussing my future plans with her whilst she just smiled and kissed my forehead. I recall my mother coming up to her and asking, “What have you planned for Aparajita?” to which she said, “I do not plan didi. All my plans have been epic failures. But as of now, I have planned a game of badminton with her but only when she is done with her homework.”

             

Time is kind and time is cruel, but above all, time spares none. It didn’t spare us either. I could see our curtains burning and I could hear people shouting. “Throw her out,” was what they were shouting. “Take Aasifa inside,” was what my father continuously said. I did not know who Aasifa was. “Give her what they want,” I said crying. Everyone was crying. The night was dark and it was long. But time is kind. It was very kind to pass with all of us safe inside. The forces were on time.

The next day, no one was allowed to visit the gardens. I insisted but was scolded. I knew that something had seriously gone wrong. Gathering courage, I asked my mother, “Ma, who is Aasifa?” She did not answer, no one did. I went to dad and asked, “What were they asking for? Why did you not give it to them?”’

             

Aparajita was glad that his family did not fulfill their demands because if they had done so, Aparajita would not be here, crying in Aasifa's arms. Aasifa was her Masi. She was never told her name. She never felt the need to know her name. The grown-up in a religiously liberal family, Apar could never imagine the upheaval that can be caused by a name. She had never thought that names could determine the community and that the community could determine people’s right to live together. Masi who was loved by everyone around suddenly became the victim of their hatred. The house which was a part of them, wherein resided their souls, had all of a sudden become unsafe.

 

 ‘Dad decided to leave, he decided to leave the house, to leave the mango tree and to leave the Aparajitas. He decided to leave our souls within the damaged walls. I remember my mother watering her Aparajitas for one last time with tears in her eyes, injuries on her soul but an encouraging smile on her lips. Time had defeated us and our Aparajitas. The vines looked sad as if they could sense their fate already. Time had defeated me and my family.

We left for the station, together. Boarded the train for the capital, together. Deboarded, together. Waited, together in the waiting room. After some time, what then felt like ages and now feels like seconds, I saw my aunt coming. She hugged us. But she was not happy. Maybe she knew something which I didn’t. Masi hugged me. She was pale and she was crying. This was the first time I saw her cry. She hugged me tight as if for the last time. I laughed, “Why Masi, you are choking me. Let’s go now.” As I started to leave, Dad held my hand and I held Masi's. Masi shoves my hand and left. I could not process what had just happened. Masi left, she left me. She left me for the first time in 15 years, the first in my life. She did not turn back. I cried or maybe I did not. I do not remember but I remember my Ma saying, “We will meet her soon.” She lied. We did not meet her. 20 years is not soon. Those riots separated us, separated us for 20 long years.’

 

Today sitting in the garden, in her Masi's arms, Aparajita knew why her Masi never planned. The mortals don’t have the right to plan. Mortals can just imagine. Those imaginations might or might not come true depending on what the time has planned for us. Time is almighty and omnipotent, and planning our future, in simple words, is underestimating the Supreme. The past is gone and the future has never existed. The only tense that has an identity in the present and planning the present is what the wisest of minds do. Apar had planned to be a teacher in the school in her locality. But the school, today, does not exist. It was reduced to an abandoned building, years back while Apar was busy adapting herself in her new place.

               

Today in her Masi's arms, Apar knew that they were not separated by the riots. They were separated by time and time alone had united them, cause time is kind and time is cruel, but above all, it spares none. After, what seemed like a peaceful night's sleep, Apar opened her eyes, only to witness an Aparajita bud at a distance. She did not go closer but smiled and closed her eyes again, only to feel the warmth of her Masi's arms.

The life left behind cannot be lived again. It can only be recalled and missed but the time bygone can never be brought back. Apar's happiness was ephemeral and she had to go back to the life that time had chosen for her. Masi packed her luggage and a tiffin filled with ‘Aloo ke paranthe', they closed the door and locked their souls within the walls once again. Once again they were uncertain as now none of them planned. They set out to leave, but as they crossed the garden, Aparajita looked back, maybe with the hope that the bud would blossom. It had not. It was not the right time for it to blossom. Aparajita and Masi left the place, together. They boarded the train for the capital, together. Deboarded, together. This time Masi did not hug her. She did not cry. This time Aparajita knew everything. This time no one lied to her. Everything was the same and yet so different. Masi left for her destination, Apar left for her’s, and the APARAJITA in the garden blossomed, while no one saw it blooming. Maybe this is what time had planned for it, a solitary bloom, cause time is kind and time is cruel, but it spares none; neither nature nor its beings.

AND THE APARAJITA IN THE GARDEN BLOSSOMED...