The Definition of Pain

There is a sudden gush in the air. The windows are trembling from the strength of winds. The clouds have begun to form a canopy in the sky, and one can see that it will begin to rain soon. The street vendors selling vegetables begin to cover their stalls. Students exiting their school buses at the bus stop run towards their homes, while their mothers remove clothes hung on balconies to dry. Drivers are rushing to avoid traffic on the street, which is already too narrow to accommodate two rows of cars driving smoothly. The clouds are about to cry, and the entire planet is scrambling to escape from their wrath.

The first drops of rain fall on Priyank's windows. He's there, gazing out the window with his love, a cup of chai, a cup of tea. The street becomes congested with traffic and noise, which is unavoidably painful to the ears. Two men, each of whom is prone to fits of irrational anger, are bickering over the dog that just barked unreasonably in front of their house. They both believe they have been treated unfairly as 'thieves' in the eyes of the dog and are perhaps too mature to blame themselves and fight over the issue.

Priyank looks at the trees that shelter birds, avoiding the unbearable noise and bickering. The little sparrows on the trees find their way to welcome the uninvited drops of rain by singing from their nests. The leaves begin to warble as the rain pricks their veins. The roots are overwhelmed for their mother, the rain, has now irrigated them. The petals are all moistened, and the garden is twirling on the sound of the drops. He smiles as he sees the land drenched - in love, in moisture, in bliss. The aroma of tea leaves pervades the street, for the tea stall at the corner is now flocked with the people seeking shelter from rain.

Priyank's gaze is drawn to the snail on his window pane. He had been watching it for the past half hour, and he knew it had moved nearly ten metres since then. The snail, unlike all other creatures on the street, was completely unaware of its surroundings. The rain didn't bother it; its steps were enough to keep it engaged. Priyank gets reminded of his own self - too slow for the world to comprehend, too interesting for the world to become involved in.

Priyank had always found the people and their world absurd. He was never able to comprehend how people worked. Deceit, theft, and dishonesty were not the words in his vocabulary, and he had no idea why people used them as if they could be used indefinitely. He had a pure heart - one that is hard to be found these days. He was as innocent as a puppy who would run if a human showed it an empty first, mistaking it for a ball. He was sensitive too – he would smile at the smallest of things, like the slight sound of water he hears when it is poured into the glass, the air he feels on his face when he cycles at a high pace, or the tail wagging by dogs when he feeds them biscuits. He would usually restrain from talking to his classmates, but he would help them if they were ever in need. When one of his classmates fell down the stairs while rushing to class because he was running late, Priyank was the only one amongst all who volunteered to miss lecture and take him to the hospital last December. He believed in remaining neither attached nor detached from the world – he preferred to remain neutral in all aspects. He wouldn't participate in many college activities, but he would be aware of them all. He preferred sitting in one of the classroom's corners, reading a book or scribbling on the back of his notebook. But there was one person in the entire college with whom he never hesitated to spend time - Meera.

The rain begins to pour down heavily, and he opens his diary and pens down his thoughts.

It's raining. The street is crowded, just like my mind. I remember the last time I saw rain like this. It was the last summer, and I had returned home from my hostel. I was in the second year of undergraduate studies then, and was returning after a long time. My grandmother had prepared milk for me, with an extra flavour of chocolate. Oh, the chocolate – A blend of cocoa butter, cocoa mass, milk powder, sugar and lecithin – the best way to give your teeth cavities and satisfy the bacteria in your mouth. I didn't talk to Meera much then, but I knew she was in the same class as mine. It's been exactly an year and I am again at my home, and the only difference between this summer and the last is that I'm thinking of Meera this time. I wish I could make a sugar-free sweet chocolate. I would present it to Meera. I know she loves chocolates more than she loves me. I can imagine how elated she would be to have it in front of her. She would be happy. And I would see the most beautiful sight in the universe: her smile.

Perhaps I'm finally realising that I love her as much as she loves me. I can recall the day, the fourth day of the second semester, when she confessed her feelings in front of me, bubbling like a child and bringing me a chocolate, saying she's ready to spend the rest of her life eating chocolates with me... ah, that day! She'd make excuses to sit next to me in class and talk to me. She would call me after dinner to go for a walk, and I can't tell how many times I refused to spend time with her. I've definitely been a fool in the past for focusing on novels rather than her.

She deserves to know that she has not only brightened, but has also become my universe. Today, I will tell her that I am in love with her too. I'll tell her that her smile is exactly what I want to see every day. I'll tell her…

 

He is suddenly interrupted by a phone call. He does not bother to pick it up at first, for his thoughts on Meera were certainly important than the phone call. The phone rings again after two minutes. He keeps the cup of tea on the table and answers the phone call.

"Hello?"

"Is that Priyank who is speaking?" A voice from the phone speaks.

"Yes… Who's there on the line?"

"Meera's mother this side."

Priyank feels terrified for a moment. He had only ever spoken to Meera at college; he had never spoken to her at home. She had introduced him to her mother as her best friend, and he had met her mother on occasion when she visited Meera at college. He always greeted her and inquired about her health, but he never spoke to her beyond that, and receiving a call from her in a terrible weather like this was unusual. He begins to wonder if his mother discovered Meera's feelings for him, but he sets his thoughts aside for a moment and responds.

"Yes, what happened?"

"Are you there at your home? Is there someone beside you?"

"No – no one, nobody."

"Listen to me, dear. I have got something to tell you. Promise me first, you will not be terrified on hearing it. You will simply listen. And yes, please don't be scared. Just please don't get scared. Please..." Her voice is filled with fear and grief. Before Priyank can ask another question, he hears Meera's mother sob. He is at a loss for words. He'd never seen an elder cry in front of him before. He'd always cried alone, never in front of others, and seeing someone cry fastened his heartbeat.

"Aunty, why are you crying? Is there something wrong" Priyank is unaware of the proper way to handle such a situation, but he responds in the manner he considers the most appropriate.

"Son –"

"Yes, aunty?"

"Son, Meera is no more."

The ticking of the clock's hands used to make Priyank smile, but today it was nothing more than a sound that filled silences. The wind in front of him appears to have stopped blowing. The rain appears to have ceased. He feels as if his veins are no longer pumping blood. His breathing comes to a halt. He feels an ache in his chest, or his heart, that his brain cannot explain. All of his synapses appear to be disconnected. The terror of the situation causes his throat to choke. He tries to speak, but he is at a loss for words. It is the grief of separation, the grief of loss – a grief he had never known before.

He looks out of the window, seeing the tea vendor selling chai to his customers. He sees one couple, both smiling, seeking shelter at the tea stall. He looks at his windowpane – the snail has moved another five metres at the same pace as before. The rain hasn't slowed down, and people are shouting on the streets for the street is getting more congested with traffic. Priyank sheds a tear drop, but he doesn't have the courage to cry. The pain had pierced him right through the heart - the heart that had begun to beat for Meera; the heart that was about to confess the unspoken emotions today.

"Meera is no more. M-M-Meera is no more. Meera is n-no more. My Meera is no m-m-more…" He keeps on murmuring the same phrase on phone, fumbling each time with different word. He could not interpret the pain he was going through.

"Priyank, you need to come here... We need you. Please c-" Meera's mother speaks again. Her voice breaks in between. She was broken, too.

"I-I- I will not come." Priyank cuts the call in between.

Meera was the only child in her family. Meera's father had died thirteen years before, on the day before her eighth birthday. Meera had been cared for solely by her mother since that time. As per the destiny's will, she lost Meera too. She had no one. Priyank could have, perhaps, assisted her at a terrible time like this, but he chooses not to. There was no reason for this. He didn't know if he was correct – he didn't want to know. He had felt it for the first time – the pain of death.

He opens his diary and erases the words he had just written. He begins to write, again.

Meera, there had always been enough platelets in my body to stop the blood coming out of my wounds. However, you were the breeze that came, silently, to heal them.

Unlike me, you never complained how painful they were. You blew gently against them and cured them all, as if you carried all the joy existing in this world and they were nothing except some mere pieces of plight for you.

I never waited for you, but I wanted you to come. You were a relief - an unrecognized relief - to all the burns my heart had suffered.

 

All that I never knew was, you would stop flowing someday. I know you will never return. You have discovered a new sky to blow in – the sky that exists in heaven. It is an end – an undecided end - to our unspoken journey.

 

My scars are whispering your name right now. They can remember how you had once cured them. I can ask all the winds about your presence, though they will prefer acting oblivious, the way I had been to you.

 

Out of all the failures that I have ever attained in my life, Meera, the one of not being able to achieve you, despite you were there right beside me, haunts me the most.

 

I am sorry I could never be enough. For you. For me. And, for us.

If I ask you to forgive me, I know you won't do that ever. 

But out of all those broken promises that I have ever made, 

I swear, to remain eternally just yours.

 

 - Yashika Mehta