Bangles

Whistling she came from amongst the trees and kissed my face. Leaves shied away and whispered among themselves. The lone standing rose bud gaily swayed her body and the yellow ground that spread before me added a few inches to its kingless domain.

Every time, this March wind blew, it took me away to the far off land of love and music, where I knew someone was desperately waiting for me. Her tear-stained face came forth my eyes. I could almost feel her warm hug and hear her voice bidding me farewell between uncontrollable sobs.

The sound of the bell pierced through those heavenly moments interrupting the train of my thoughts. I got up and as I walked, the yellow ground groaned under my weight. I felt sorry for the crushed leaves but I knew that tomorrow there will be new ones in their place. Suddenly my thoughts took a philosophical bent. That's how the world goes on. Everything has a substitute. Even humans. Those of us who cross the threshold of what we call the living world attain true happiness and a life of forever. The void and the wound both are filled, if by none then by time. These fragments of philosophical wisdom were partially created and partially drugged from pale pages between the hard bounds. Ah! But that was years ago when words were understood for their meaning

As time went by the trying and agonizing moments of life comprehended to me the hidden meaning of those words. They were a soothing balm for many bruises of my heart. What is gone cannot be brought back but this line can bring back peace of mind. I had always advocated to others that time is the best companion, best confidant, best doctor and the best counselor. Then there came a day with a litmus test for this utmost belief of mine.

It was 27th of June

The overhead Sun made me perspire like a dog. My legs almost gave way. A couple of minutes ago the ball had landed right on my head making it spin faster than the earth. The effect was still there. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"If you can't then our substitute might..."

"No sir, I....I certainly can."

I was in the highest of my spirits that day. The way they cheered and their confidence in me. It is worth the trouble, I thought. At the most it will show me two nights in the infirmary. In another twenty seconds, I was back on the court, running towards the basket with the ball dribbling under my palm. If we win this inter-college match, I shall write home. Father always wanted me to play. basketball. He will be so happy...we have made the final goal!!!

It was celebration time. My teammates hugged and kissed me. Hardly five minutes had gone by when someone came running to the coach. His hand movement suggested a summon for me.

Kishore Kumar, you are immediately wanted in the principal's office. Run!"

What would it be? My mind ran faster than my legs.

"May I come in?" I was panting.

"Yes please. Dear relax yourself...

Before he could say another word, my eye caught sight of the black words written on a white paper that lay before him on his table.

"Father is no more."

My mind went blank. After several seconds all I could think of was whom would I write to?"

Events of the past flashed back and become blurred as tears brimmed up.

That evening I lay on my bed surrounded by friends and well-wishers. I couldn't cry. I wanted to run home. But the contract forbade me. Since I was here in England on scholarship, I was forbidden to go back even for once before finishing my term. I cursed myself for signing it. I was so helpless, so restless.

How will I ever live without father?

Then my golden words came to my rescue. The void and the wound, both are filled, if by none then by time' and they proved their loyalty. As time went by my life regained its normal course.

The period of my exile as it now seemed came to a close. I remembered father every day but with decreasing intensity. I truly believed that the time has filled the void and the wound, only to realize latter that I was wrong. There are certain things that are beyond time; there are

Voids that can never be filled.

One cold evening the western sunset bid me good-bye and the morning found me on my land.

Stubborn clouds of dust followed my bus as it jostled on the dust laden path to my beloved village. Years ago I had buried my childhood in these delicate layers of dust from where I was about to recover it.

Trees shied away as the winds caressed them, jamuns blushed as if suddenly becoming conscious of their beauty. and of my eyes feasting on them, the green feilds basked in the sun which every now and then quietly smiled from behind its cloudy vell like a new bride.

As I walked the dust rose at my heels

She called from behind. I turned. She was herself so much a part of the beauty around us. Her jet-black hair played with her aanchal like whips of night. Her partially pan stained lips. creased in a smile. Hugging me tight she ruffled my hair with fingers. Her warm enclosure was my heaven. Never before had I ever wanted any thing more, but this time.... This time I missed some thing. No, it was not my father whom I missed. Suddenly the flutter of trees lost the melody, blushing apple looked pale and the shy bride- no more a shy bride. The sun brazenly shone from among the tattered clouds. As if my heaven has lost its music.

An hour latter we were in the kitchen. Chann went the hot oil in the aromatic daal. I loved that sound. But what was it that I missed again. Just as the silent innocent moon curiously gazes the earth every night, I gazed at her. Every row and then she looked up at me as she rolled the chapattis. She hummed that tune which has been gladdening my ears since years. But this time something was missing.

A tuneless day passed.

Morning came over. Leaves, as they bathed in the crimson passion, fluttered to accompany the singing birds.

As she washed, amidst the noise of water that softly tapped on the floor and the clothes that panted under the weight of washing stick I searched aimlessly for another sound. But I missed it.

I put my face up to get the small droplets of water on it as she jerked the clothes.

"You haven't changed," she said as she repeated the performance. Both of us burst into laughter. A burst of hearty laughter the jingles of which sent ripples in the still waters. Once again I relived the memories of my child hood only to miss something desperately.

At night humming my favorite tune she patted me, But this time the lullaby was unmelodious. What was it that I missed again? 'No father I didn't miss you. I cry in your name when I

miss something that you have taken away from me.

I missed the music.

I missed the music that used to sent me to slumbers when I was a toddler, the music which appreciated me when Ma clapped at my success, the music which comforted me when she applied balm on my bruise, the music that bid me good bye each time we parted.

I missed the clinking of her bangles.

The time can fill the wound, but not the void. Two warm drops rolled down my cheek. And another great truth dawned upon me---- we cry for big things when we miss the small ones.