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Arvind Sharma

Tragedy

4  

Arvind Sharma

Tragedy

The Story of Love Lost

The Story of Love Lost

3 mins
387


“I was fourteen when I first saw her,” he said.

His friend who was keen to know the story, asked, “What happened then?”

“Nothing, but my mind carried her image till I saw her next after one year. I did not think much about her during that one year.”

“What was her age, when you first saw her?”

“I think she was about twelve at that time.”

His friend was aghast, “You started very early.”

He replied, “You forget I did not start at that time. Secondly you are thinking when we have lived more than two decades after that. You cannot imagine that somebody could like a twelve-year old girl. You forget I was also fourteen.”

“Ok,” his friend conceded. “Continue.”


“I saw her next after about a year. As you can imagine, one grows fast at that age.”

“Yes,” his friend agreed. Perhaps remembering his own growing years.


….


“After a year, I was sitting in a school library. I was just going through some children’s books. She came and sat next to me.”

It was becoming interesting. His friend’s interest had aroused. He indicated to him to go on.

“She looked at me, I looked at her. I don’t know if it was love at first sight. Remember I had also seen her a year ago.”

His friend impatiently indicated that he remembered it.

“I looked at her, thinking she wanted to see which magazine I was reading. I passed on the magazine to her. She started reading it while I kept on looking at her surreptitiously. We could not talk much. Remember it was a library.”

“Is there anything else about the story? His friend asked.

He ignored the question or the sarcasm inherent in it. Just to tease his friend, he asked. “You want to know what happened later.”

In spite of himself, his friend pleaded for him to continue.

“Most of the time, we met in the library, where we could talk very little, that too when we had common free periods.”

His friend said, “Was it serious from both the sides?”

He replied, “I guess so. At least I can say that about myself. It was as serious at that time as it could be at that age. Do you want to hear further?”

“I wonder if there is anything else to the story. But once I have started listening to the story, I might as well hear the complete story.”

He said, “Let us continue the story tomorrow. That will make sure that you meet me tomorrow.


….


His friend came the next day much earlier than the usual time. He busied himself in making and serving the tea.

Once they were well-ensconced on the sofa, his friend looked at him.

He understood the question and continued.

“I have told you that ours was a conservative society. Still we managed to snatch a few times together on various pretexts, like going to a friend’s house, going for a movie or any other pretext which worked with our families.”


His friend asked, “Ok, continue.”

He was pensive for a while, “Then I had to go to another city for studies. When I went back home after a few months, it seems her family had relocated.”

“Is there any further addition to this story?” His friend asked.

“No, that is the end. I never saw her after that.”


….

His friend was silent for a long time. “This is not much of a story. You have managed to waste two days of mine on a story without end.”

He replied, “Not all stories end. Some continue for ever.”

His friend was quite after that.

As he was leaving, he suddenly turned and asked, “Is that the reason that you never married?”



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