❝Who is even more sadistic than a human being hurting their own self?❞

1st April 2009

I was drunk for the last time when I first saw Kashi.

Kashi, the place which was the epitome of spiritual abode. A place that every soul sought to emerge from, as well as disperse into. There was a different kind of electrified buzz in the air, which we could undeniably feel ever since I and Siddhant stepped down from the train. That too after a forceful nudge from the train catering staff.

It was a dangerous thread that we were binding around our necks.

Roaming around the busy streets of old Kashi with glossed-over eyes, empty pockets, and snuffed cigarette smell that engulfed us both constantly. I was aware of the judgements that were being passed on us; and why wouldn't they be judging? We were outsiders, without any aim, wandering on the streets in a scorching afternoon in a lightly drunk state.

For a moment I almost felt sobered up too, out of the sheer guilt. Only I was responsible for how I had come to be. I was merely a man who had just entered a year more than the mid-twenties, and I had a family behind to support. I should've completed my college with rigorous attention and then should've gone for a job in medical field. After all, my widowed mother had refused to acknowledge day and night and worked continuously to back me while I--a twenty-year-old youngster back then--continued to fail in all the exams that strolled my way.

Three years after finishing my schooling, I kept on working hard to have myself enrolled in medical college. Maa made sure I had my ears covered all the time, all the brunts and taunts that were thrown at me, she took them fiercely on her back. But for how long was I to be shied from their words?

Even when I got into the prestigious medical college, and completed my MBBS degree, for the next five years it was the addiction that I shook hands with, not the hard work and ambition. My downfall began when I entered my twenties, and I never got up again.

At least, until I found myself facing Kashi.

I didn't realize where we were walking, or how far we both were from the station. The sane step would've been buying two tickets to Dumraon, where we were supposed to be, and wait for the next train. We had no business here, our setup had been made in Dumraon only. The photography agency that we worked for had invested the minimum possible amount for this namely the last adventure of ours, and here we were in an entirely different city with not enough money to buy a decent living, or even afford a proper meal.

Money, again, was a mischievous game. We made some scarce, scraped amount from still-life and portrait photography, but all would always be rolled into getting ourselves plunge deeper within the dark, addictive abyss. I didn't know what was stopping us from going back home or travelling to Dumraon, but I simply knew we couldn't leave yet. I wanted to be there, anywhere, for a while longer.

"You got any money on you?" I asked Siddhant, after a good few hours of walking in silence here and there.

We made our stop by the top stairs of the ghats of the Ganga river. A broad cemented base stretched in stair shape, till the bottom disappeared into the deep water body. The holy river was calm that night, only a few waves rushed to crash with the stairs, those newly formed tides which were aimlessly emerging and flowing with time. There were a few iron benches rooted by the bottom stair, upon which the flower petals remain scattered. Some incense sticks burned by the edge of the benches. It was a peaceful sight, to say the least.

I gazed at my friend, when he didn't reply for some time, and found him staring in the opposite direction. Following his line of sight, I found myself smiling with a married couple. The woman rocked a little figure in her arms. Seemed they were recently blessed with an addition to their small family.

With the realization, my smile instantly dropped, the gloom now settling heavily in my bones. The mood dampened further when I saw a small tear slipping out silently from Siddhant's eye.

It was the seventh month after we both had finished our MBBS degrees when Siddhant married the girl his family had chosen for him. It was an arranged marriage, but anyone could clearly see the love, respect, and adoration he had for his wife from the first day itself. For some time, we thought it was even mutual and that this would be one of those happy, successful arrange marriages. The seventh month, after the big day, I was the first one to receive a call and Siddhant screamed into my ears. He said he was going to be a father, and I an uncle.

Seventh month after the pregnancy news, his little boy came into the world, born one month before the predicted date and highly underweight. That night in the hospital, we were convinced the child wouldn't be able to survive, except for Siddhant. He stayed on his knees when the tiny, red figure remained hooked to wires inside the ICU for next six days. And, it was the seventh day again when the nursing team happily got the baby out of the machines and handed him to Siddhant.

It was his faith that won in end.

Ironically, it was again the number seven that shattered everything. The seventh month after Siddhant held his baby boy in his arms and cried for hours, his wife left while he was on a two days trip to another city for a hospital appointment. The only thing that waited for him back at home was a little note stating the child was never his and that he will be receiving the divorce papers the next week which either he signs or gets himself dragged into the court.

I knew if things went to court, Siddhant was at the winning end, he didn't do anything wrong. Ever. But he refused. He had refused to fight ever again.

That day was the end of him. The person who came out of that room the next day when divorce was finalized, was the man with disheveled stature, an empty bottle of wine in his hands, and a tired, lost smile on his face. None saw the old Siddhant ever again.

"Siddhant?" I pressed again, forcing him to snap out of whatever dark past he was residing into.

He looked over and then blinked rapidly as if to scatter the hazy thoughts. I opened my mouth to say something, then stayed back when he sniffed, rubbed his eyes with the palm, and shook his head rather furiously before responding.

"Yes, I've some money left. What do we do next?"

I respected his silent request to not ask anything else. We both always said if one needed to talk, the other will always be available. But neither of us ever went for an outlet. Why? None could gather.

"I don't know, really. At least we can stay the night here, then maybe tomorrow morning we can go back home or Dumraon," I paused, needing to assure myself that I was going right, and then continued, "for now, though, give me some money to buy water. I'm thirsty as hell after walking in sun whole day!"

Siddhant still looked slightly lost, but he pulled out a crumpled note and pushed it into my waiting hand, again staring off into the distance. I didn't reach out to him this time. Instead, I walked up to a small shop nearby and bought two water bottles.

It was possibly the longest we had gone without any alcohol or weed intake. Possibly, that was the reason we both felt so painfully aware of our pitiful conditions and also the sudden flashbacks of our own doomed journey. Feeling my pockets, I countered we still had a pack left if we wanted to get out of reality, but suddenly I didn't want to turn away.

I simply wanted to see how much this craving, the itch, the burn was going to destroy me, and until when I could resist.

Returning to the stairs where Siddhant sat, I placed one uncorked water bottle beside him and tucked mine in the black backpack I had. The only possession of mine--my identity cards, a broken credit card, a few pairs of clothes, and my Nikon-D850 camera. That was all I possessed for a year.

One more hour passed, or so I guessed. I had settled on a wide, flat stair, lying on my back with bag beneath my head and arms folded over my chest. Siddhant also moved slightly and stretched his legs in front, still in sitting position though. None of us had phones or any way to contact our families, or even to entertain ourselves and pass the night. The night had started deepening already, it was possibly nearing midnight now, and the only thing that accompanied us in heavy silence was the sound created by crickets and the old songs playing on a radio somewhere in distance.

"कहीं दूर जब दिन ढल जाए,
साँझ की दुल्हन बदन चुराए
चुपके से आये..."

The song: