"Ishita slowly and stealthily raised her head from my shoulders. In the process, she planted a soft but perpetual kiss upon my clavicle. The kiss and the remnants of the crimson of her lips upon it, penetrated the tissues, the muscles, the bones, the veins. It swam and ascended through the capillaries. It journeyed westward. It planted itself in my heart.

"The perimeter of the locality bore no witness of the magic. But my heart did. The grandmother whose countenance had I painted upon the gleaming face of the moon smiled from within. She heard, she tasted, she felt, she treasured. She tasted the love bestowed upon my heart within which she dwelled.

"I lifted Ishita's palms and the warmth within them. I put them within mine. They gnarled and interlocked, and formed a knot. I took the knot and kissed it, reciprocating Ishita's feelings.

"Ishita rose from my shoulders gently. She freed herself of the grasp. She wanted to muse now, muse over the moments—cherish her present in the paracosm of her past—the moments we had shared and memories we had made in the past hour—she wanted to indulge herself with the mellowness in the paracosm of the memories, perhaps. So did I.

"We then sat hand in hand and heart in heart. The chords of the melody was audible no more. However, its magic still did linger.

"The melody had abandoned me like the many who did. She abandoned me like my grandmother, the mother whom I loved, and the affection they had encompassed. It now, was only bestowed from above.

"An unfathomable melancholia wrapped me. A sheer sense of guilt joined it. It reminded me of the perversity of my act. A sudden whirlwind of chaos shook my soul. I felt drowning in a whirlpool of guilt, and happiness, pleasure and anguish-a whirlpool of contradiction!

"They apparently guided me astray. Perplexities devoured upon my cortex. Questions, queries, quandaries!—a quiver of arrows of qualms pierced me, my existence. I felt them quarrying away my sanity.

"Ishita! Vaishya! Shudra! Harijans! Castes! Sins! Qualms! Quandaries!—an overwhelming array of emotions ballooned my heart. I felt burning upon a pyre of discrimination. For, I loved a Kshatriya!—what a petrifying treason had I committed!

"A burnished passion flooded the other facet of my soul. It was the morbid passion of perverseness— I wanted to love Ishita, live with her, without shame, without being slandered shameless. I wanted to wed her.

"They pierced me! You might regard it as a consequence of wine, of insobriety-but, wine I never tasted, for it was forbidden to drink for us. But the night intoxicated me? Yes. It led me astray-the strings of my mind, my sanity.

"I looked round me. A panorama of the scene floated before me. It captivated me.

"The streets remained barren, solitary, forbidden. An eerie kenopsia pervaded through the once populous streets—now left desolate! The white of the moonlight traced the islands, without beings. A few headlights and horns established their existence from afar. The street was haunted by its own apparition. She was the witness of a treason and thereby, had banished herself from localities.

"A few foreign vehicles hustled past the islands. But the street was engrossed. She was engrossed in a meditation. She was silent, solitary.

"I and Ishita were mere captives of the scene. I bore within my soul an immense vehemence. I pensively mused, hoping to reach an island, a decision amidst the stormy sea of uncertainty. But obtained I speculations, allibis and surmises. Hypotheses I retreated from it all. I could not establish a firm conclusion.

"I felt like the street perhaps, barren, desolate, bearing burdens-immense burdens. A dilemma was I caught between-Ishita or my roots?

"The street maybe had been crowded one day. But had it witnessed the assassination of a man, the quintessential persecution of his life, and that of his family's. The street one day, was drabbled with blood—it was the blood of innocence, slandered to be of inferiority. Autocracy, corruption, in the name of God—Casteism had she witnessed.

"The grim tapestry of life had left her refashioned forever. She wore the dress of white—of tranquility, remorse and sacrifice—the unsullied moonlight. She had forsaken her monotonous life, her pride and taken the path of solitude.

"She was remorseful about the death of the beings in the name of prejudism. Tinctured was her bosom with the crucifixion of innocence.

"She abandoned, she mourned, all for them. She lay desolate ghosted by her own ghost.

"Could I be as bold as her, to banish and abandon the mysteries and brutality of life-solely for love?" Arnav stopped.

The listeners of the tale and the beholder of the incidents spent a few moments of silence, perhaps to mourn. The tale had left impressions upon them of awe and surprise.

The excitement within the storyteller was indeed eminent. He was breathless, and silently mourned the age old wounds and woe. He had again descried his shadows—the gloomy facets of his past which much to his oblivious accedence, had been crafting his forthcoming days in doom, gloom, and stupor.

He, having discovered his shadows, had stepped once again to light. The glory emanating from the blazing flambeau now helped him discern his shadows again, making him feel alive. The flambeau was lended by the listeners. A beacon of hope enlightened the gloomy shade of the ghast.

Much to the carelessness of the sojourners of the room, a third entity had emerged at the door. It was an aproned woman, stout and dark. She was bespectacled. She held a little tray in her hands consisting of a few plates and bowls. It was the lunch for the man who resided within.

A sudden vigilance grasped the trancing men.

Sameer, in a voice of haste said, "Sister, why didn't you give us a call? From when are you there? Come in please. We are really sorry for the inconvenience. Please come in and pardon us."

"Oh, it is not a problem at all. I have been here for the past few minutes. I was engrossed in the tale Mr. Lohar was narrating. I am sorry too." the nurse uttered a quick reply.

A motherly gaze emanating from her eyes, hastily hovered over the room.
She came in with an amiable smile.

She said, "Here, Mr. Lohar, your lunch. Here I have for you chicken stew, some rice, and veggies. And oh, the soup and the juice to be taken into consideration. You must have gone thirsty by now. The juice would quench your thirst."

A soft thud was made as she let down the plate upon the tabletop. She conjured up a quick smile and hastily vanished out of the scene through the door accomplishing her business.

"This is another lady", said Sameer, his vision growing sharp with pensivenesss.

"This is another woman. She is Asmita Manna. She lost her family at infancy. She was brought up at an orphanage. Emerging from a background of meagre vividity, she worked as a nurse at several institutions and prestigious hospitals. She had crafted her own establishment from scratch. But the tumult of life had more grief in store for her. She loved children Arnav, more than anything. However, she won't be able to bear any!"

"Why?" Arnav asked surprised.

"She has endometriosis." replied a remorseful Sameer.

"Endo...endo..metori...." Arnav endeavoured to pronounce the term.

"Endometriosis. It is a condition of reproductive inhibition. The tissues of her uterus are misplaced and she won't be able to bear children, any at all." said Sameer eyeballing the path by which which the woman had departed.

"Oh!" said Arnav. He let out a sigh of disappointment and regret.

"But she never stopped her pursuit. She serves patients, and also visits the orphanage daily. Her amiable nature never obstructed her from being demure. She would never compromise her dignity." said Sameer.

"She truly is an inspiration." Robin added.

"You know, Arnav, she could never wed someone because of these pitiful reasons. The groom's side forever criticised her appearance and infertility. They never judged her soul. They never did." Sameer said.

Arnav mused over their words. He pondered over the woman's miseries. She was someone so lonely— perhaps, as lonesome as him.

"Have your lunch Arnav. We shall visit you in the evening. And yes, your story-telling skills are fabulous. They managed to keep maniacs like us engrossed in your tale. We would love to know more but now thou shalt eat thy lunch." Robin smiled.

"Indeed it was. Good bye." said Sameer.

The men departed with Arnav's burdens and solitude. Arnav was left in a state of awe. He was in awe of how he had descried a wee bit of hope, blazing within his realm of hopelessness.

Arnav had discerned his shadows. He wished to tell more. He wished to live once again, in vigilance and not in oblivion and in the pursuit of hope than within a damned conviction of hopelessness.

And perhaps, did ruminate this man of forty-five, what if he gave himself a second chance?

****