The conflict

The waves lashed the shore.

Yeah, where else can it go? , I ask the little one.

The breeze blew the bird to a different direction. The boats were planning to arrive late. The lights from the lanterns shimmered at a distance.

It’s so near, dada – The younger one murmured.

No, it’s far. So is the oasis of life. But yes, the mirage is near, but unattainable.

Why so?

It is non-existent, that’s why!

If it is non-existent, then how did you know that it exists?

It’s like life. An illusion. You think that the object exists, but no, it doesn’t. You see from your mind’s eye. You create.

"I can’t understand."

See, I will explain. I loved a girl at 21. When life prepared a platform to hold surprises and give results, she disappeared. She left like a mirage. At 24, I liked a girl. By 26, it dissolved…

Dada, I still can’t understand...

I took the efforts and made the younger boy understand with yet another quirky metaphor.

“I had a heart, which throbbed to unite with another feel-alike heart. I did not get to meet a soul so often to merge with my feelings. I saved my love in the little alcove, with a hope that one she would search and like it. I was always hesitant to just give it so easy….”

And then…? the little one was anxious.

“Once she did come to touch the pure little heart of mine. Ripples went through the drops of blood, and the final ripple touched my thoughts. I couldn’t think different. I agreed. But the warmth went missing when the recess was invaded by another hand… “

“Means! I did not understand dada…” the tone tapered as the bigger eyes met the little eyes with disdain. He contained his sense of protest.

“Then, better you leave. I will talk to my self. He will understand me better. He argues. He counters. He tries to differentiate good from bad. But I am the master of my soul. It’s me who decides. I choose what I want to, and not what is right!

I walked to the extreme side of the beach. No tourists loitered. No locals disturbed me with their glances and questions. I stood alone on the farther side of the beach. Solitude had its fun. I sat down to paint a picture of myself. The fingers caressed the warmth of the sand. It dug itself a little deeper. The warmth was the same that he felt when the hands groped her inners in the dark.

Suddenly he took his hands out. Guilt overpowered him, but not me. A shudder disturbed his balance. I fell beside the black crescent. The boat lay lonely. Rendered useless after the last year riots. Muslims and Hindus fought. Love lost in the romance of his beach. No smiles stopped. No sweat toiled to wet the skin. The sand drank drops of curdled blood instead. Past, present to the future. It just happened in a jiffy. People left the shore. So did his little mermaid…

Far ahead, the boats were nearing horizon, with the days catch. Catamarans are a wonderful bet. Someone whispered. He looked up. It’s not the stars, as none are winking in reply to the catamaran’s wink.

“So, is it going to rain tonight?” His question soothed me.

Rains always took me by surprise. The cycle of evaporation had left him awed. The crystal salt I made in school with a hanging thread in saline water was so enthralling. The crystals came out well and I sensed a scientist in me. All he knew was that water was my elixir. Why not? Wasn’t he a Piscean too?

The body and soul lived together or did they wander away as aliens who never met? They had their differences. The cravings survived and won at times. The dejected him stood a mute spectator. Age made him better than me.

The hands swept the sand and the fingers lay tracks for the ants to walk. Umpteen footsteps could be seen on the sand. How many would have treaded the same path again and again. Why can’t they walk differently? He sat thinking wild.

Time is a constrain. I remembered the days he loved the little girl. Age was a factor. But three years…Was it too costly a gap?

He tried convincing her. Yet she had her disconnect.

Intelligence?

No! Immaturity. Let’s not fight again. I decided and then she argued over why we shouldn’t fight.

My hands were tiny when I used to come to the same young beach. I grew older. So did he, the soul. The little hands used to collect sand in handful. Some used to spill out. Still the quantity was large enough for his age. A buffer he had for years ahead. Then as life progressed, beach wasn’t a priority. Neither did he prompt me to collect sand.

Now, when no one understood him, the beach did. Like an old friend, a wise enemy, an intelligent partner, the beach smelt of salt.

Rust I will - The beach whimpered. No it was him who was rusting beyond recognition.

My hands picked a handful of sand. The gaps between my fingers had widened. The quantity that remained was the same that the 4 year old could hold.

Life is short. He realized. The lumps of sand easily slipped through. Like my life, outgripped. I knew the days that waited. An hourglass danced upside down. Time tilt its own balance.

I sat watching. Time was not in his glances, neither in my hands. Love he yearned, but unattained it stood. The mirage reappeared.

The little one’s face appeared mired. Her feelings were incomplete.

So was his complete? He guffawed.

Silence. No answers.

He did love her and love her. The simplicity charmed him. The intelligence bowled him. The care attracted him. Now in these final moments, when the calendar refused to flip further, and the boats almost reached ashore, he realized. He did not tell her. He should have once let her know of his love for her. She is now gone. Gone forever. An eternal loss.

His heart knew that some of the best times of my life were the moments spent with her. She would have known that I loved her a lot.

But did I love her? The body still had a conflict over the soul.

She never acknowledged.

Yes, why should she when she knew her destiny and the certain destination. He asked me.

She used to walk him through the shore adoring the breeze. Her scarf used to kiss him at times. The moments gave him joy unbound. The moments when she used to call.

“Can you accompany me for lunch?” her words echoed in the wind that took refuge in his ears.

It was his privilege too, she never understood.

The petty fights he cared not to happen, yet it did. He loved her for what she was, and what she would be. He respected her for the life in her; he loved her confusions, her genuine concerns.

She never understood, she will never like the little boy who went away disgusted.

Life is too complex for her and for me.

“Yes, you are the culprit and not me. You lost her, not me”- Shouted my soul with glass shattering vehemence.

“Will I get her back?” I asked

No, you blunt side of the blade. You won’t. The hour glass has tilted again, but the shaky wind helped it fall. The glass broke. The grains of sand withered away. The wind blew some with it and spread the rest. My hands tried to stop the wind and caressed the grains of sand. Battered and dead, the glass pieces pierced my hands. The warmth is missing and they have become sharper.

“Don’t treat me so roughly. I don’t deserve it.” – The little palm cried out to him.

He stopped. A realization dawned upon him. He told me – “I am also at fault not to have prompted you enough with confidence. I should have convinced you of your love and then her of your love.”

I realize. It’s not too late. The glass pieces are gone. Time is away. But the grains are umpteen and so are the moulds. Choose one. And choose your time. She will realize your love for her, if not today, but tomorrow, or maybe in the next.

With the hope I sleep, an eternal gaze is unwound. Eyebrows rest forever. At last, life stands still , waiting for the final embrace. Dreams achieved, life's purpose unachieved.

No regrets, she would have realized. He consoled me.

Yes, only he remained with me till the last.