PARIJAT-20

Flipping through the pages of those scribbling, John felt deeply disturbed. It emits controversy. But at the same times it opens up newness. Another chapter of newness. More deeper perhaps. Those are simply whirling around his mind with ease and convenience. John had a glance on those scribbling. It says we have defined a good man without defining goodness. We have defined God man without defining God. The derivatives have assumed prominence. God men and good men have come and gone. They have defined the goodness. They have defined the God. In their own ways. In their own styles. Nothing has sustained. The so called goodness has not sustained. Who is God? The question remains. Opinion divided. Who created us? God? Who created human being? God? Then why the differences? Why there is a good and why there is a bad? Should God create the bad? May be, He has not created anything. But definitely He has not created in isolation, only the good. God men have come and gone with their definitions of good and bad. Bad is condemmened. Bad is blamed. But bad survives. The good man or God man does not survive. They vanish along with their futile efforts in defaming bad. Bad remains for the good want it to remain. It knows they are complementary. They are inseparable Siamese. Born together. Live together. They live eternity to eternity. They were together before all the creations. Before that single-celled floated in the wilderness of ocean.

There is no defeat it is always win. There is no end it is always beginning. There is no bad it is always good. There is no sorrow it is always joy. There is no death it always birth. Life continues birth to birth, happiness to happiness, love to love and eternity to eternity.

John felt the heaviness of the thoughts. The village library has become deserted. John is the only person left. The care taker has left the key hanging in the wall. John needs to lock it before the departure and hand over the key in neighbor. He looked outside. The midday sun has assumed the defeat in the crowded presence of neem leaves. The ferocity mellows a lot as the rays kiss the earth. The wind has dropped showing the sign of tranquility, equality and balance. The temperature in river might be seeing eyes to eyes to its friend on land. They have grown equal. They do not push the wind towards each other as sign of respect and acceptance. They are in harmony. The wind has dozed off, tired of moving. Perhaps it will resume its stroll by evening with the innocence of a smiling baby. It will hum and giggle with humming dove of evening. John is still to recover and recoil from that heaviness. It is weighing him down. The quest is on eternity to eternity.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rukshana looked to the portrait once again. It has gathered dust. But the glow is apparent. The deft touches of quill are still singing. The song of love. The song of life. The song of departure from happiness to happiness. It sings, pleads and prays to the Nature to be docile and innocent. Let that innocence in those eyes merge with the innocence of divinity. Let the subtleness of that smile remain intrinsic. Let it emit life. Let it emit continuity. Let it defeat the defeat. Let that smile flows. Let those eyes speak the depth of the ocean. Let those be source of all joys, emotions, elations, exultations and jubilations. It looks all now to Rukshana as it were now. As if the river has stopped flowing for years. The sun has not gone beyond the horizon of that sleepy afternoon.

Yes, it was a sleepy afternoon when the relationship was defined and redefined. It was built on emotions. It was founded on faith. You are my brother, John. She had tied a thread to his wrist. She had looked to John with eyes of thousand glistering stars and whispered, this thread remains as a symbol in your hand as we are tied together for ever by a faith, a hope and a promise. You shall protect me with love of a brother. You shall remember me with smile of a brother. You shall cajole me with touch of a brother. You shall guide me with advice of a brother. You shall be my shadow with responsibility of a brother.

John did not know how to reciprocate, how to bind those emotions of love and how to immerse himself in that relation. A relation, that is much bigger than blood relation for it was never defined, never imposed. A relation above any expectations. A relationship that has awaken by the call of hearts. His both hands got raised automatically by an unknown force of spirituality. Palms, side by side touching each other by thumbs, looking down and bearing sign of protection, have come down and covered the head of Rukshana. As those palms touch the head of Rukshana, John had pronounced, “Long live my sister, be a survivor”. The pronunciation was spontaneous as if it had the glimpse of the future, that unknown and unborn and undefined. What it has stored for us?

The song of the portrait is resounding high. It speaks of those cherished moments of blessed relationship when Rukshana rose in the wave of emotions. She covered her head with the veil of that georgette sari. The kohl on her eyes slightly melted as those dark pearls floated on those bewitching blue lagoons. She folded her hands. The lips quivered in whisper along with the black mole above the upper lip. The folded hands were conveying the totality. There is no duality. I am not a split personality. I am not holding anything back. The both sides of me are together as a totality. Oh, my brother, I bow down to the divineness in you. I surrender my essential nature and very soul to you. Bless me, my brother. Be the protector of my love, my life and my future. She had touched John feet with ultimate respect of divinity.

Rukshana looked to the mirror. She still resembles the portrait in many ways. Time has taken its toll. It has left the marks of every second on her body. It has terrorized her. It was agonizing for her. Still she remains a survivor. She has defeated the defeat. Those hands of protection are still on her head. The black mole on the upper lip is replaced by a scare reminding the spectre of that defeated ghost-Melanoma. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rukshana ran like a child in the sight of John. She lovingly yelled, you fat fellow, still you play Holi. Have you seen yourself in mirror? You look like a big donkey with those colors in your body. John remained stranded with that can of color water. She is still a child, he uttered.

Parijats, this is story of India, a colorful India. All the humanity meets here. All the rivers meet here. All the faiths flow here. Together for ever.