Anxious Heartbeats

The night was dark and the clouds hid the moon.
The maidservant looked out, and was about to swoon.
The wind blew hard, and the tiles clattered,
and the duke heard the gallop -
the distant gallop...
as if above the noise of the wind, his ears had shattered.

He frowned, he scowled and he gnashed his teeth.
In the dead of the night, his sword came out of its sheath.
He put on and buckled his coat of leather,
and then he heard the gallop -
the ominous gallop...
Who was it now, in this unearthly weather?

He opened his window and called his guard.
The panes shook wildly, he fastened their cord.
Down in the sheep-pen he heard a nervous bleat,
and he heard the gallop -
the continuous gallop...
and his heart began to skip a beat.

He bolted from his tower, securing his lace.
His guard came behind him, wiping rain from his face.
The duke stood in the doorway, and scratched his toe,
again he heard the gallop -
the restless gallop...
and he outstretched his sword to face his foe.

The gallop slowed to a canter and then to a trot.
Then there were some footsteps, and then there were not.
All of a sudden, the duke dismissed his guard,
he'd recognised the gallop -
the familiar gallop...
and sent back into the sheath, his sword.

A moment later, the door came crashing in.
He was covered in doe-skin, from the toe till the chin.
He stood there, and brushed his golden mane,
he had come by the gallop -
a black stallion's gallop...
the duke's long lost friend, drenched in the rain.

29VIII00

Loneliness

I stand here, on the edge of the cliff, watching the sea below.
The tides crash into the shore, as if in rage,
then they caress it, as though they were one.
Time has flown and how?
'Tis but true that they wait for none.

I was here yesterday, watching the horizon,
as the sun woke up from his slumber;
wanting to take a step ahead into my dreams,
and as the sun rose, we walked together.

Matching steps, and missing them; missing them, and then matching them.
Together we walked and walked and walked...

Never realised when she went her way.
Never even felt that she was away.
Never got to know when she slipped my clasp,
Never heard a goodbye, a sigh or a gasp.

Here I am now, all alone
Searching for her, high and low.
Each time I seek her, Each time I call,
I get an echo, I see my own shadow.

I am here again today, watching the horizon,
as the sun goes down into the sea;
wanting to take a step ahead into the emptiness,
from where it all began.

29V04

The Lass of Lovedale

Silver lined couds form a cluster,
veiling the moon, sans its lustre.
The cool breeze has a chilling tinge.
Dying embers smoulder and singe.

Owls hoot around, and a lone mongrel barks,
the black, one-eyed cat silently stalks.
The mist casts its shadow, here and there,
the eerie darkness is a bloody nightmare.

On nights like these, in the old birch trees,
the leaves rustle wildly, and the branches wheeze.
And there is a sudden shriek of fright,
which echoes shrilly through the silent night.

She was a lissome maiden, with a face - oh, so fair
matched with awesome locks of golden yellow hair.
Birds would sing in joy, and snails would barely crawl,
when this lass of Lovedale was out for a stroll.

It was then she saw the young man, mounting his steed,
only to gallop away, at a chivalrous speed.
For the lovely maiden, it was love at first sight.
She turned her head, only to see the dust of his flight.

Soon their love blossomed, like trees in the spring.
She gave him, for their love, her only diamond ring.
She told him the truth, she loved him more than life,
and he said he would take her for his wife.

Her father got the news, and seethed with rage,
he threw an ugly tantrum, and called for his page.
He roared, "Tonight, before I go to bed,
I want on a platter, his bones and his blood".

"Why?", she asked her father, but to no avail.
The servants and the butler, wouldn't tell the tale.
Through her loyal maid, she later got to know -
The knight was the only son, of her father's sworn foe.

In the dank dungeon, she had a restless sleep,
she had drained them all, no more tears to weep.
She ran into the woods, puffy cheeks and eyes red,
and near the birch trees, she found him dead.

She sat all day, right there amidst the trees,
shivering and chattering in the freezing winter breeze;
Then she fell dead, after a last shriek of fright,
which echoes, even today, through the silent night.

12I03

The Triumph

He sat there under the tree, his cheeks hot. His father's angry shouts were still ringing in his ears. He could almost sense the smarting of his cheeks, to slap which, his father had raised his hand. Yet, he did not cry. He was a determined fellow.

The sun began to go down behind the hills. Darkness enveloped the earth. The night air had a deathly eerie smell to it. A freezing cold breeze gently began to sway the branches of the trees. The frogs were croaking in the moist land near the lake. There was faint rustling of leaves, and an owl hooted weirdly in the distance.

He was thinking of death. Of what would happen to his body. His heart would stop beating. Would he sense that? Would he sense the numbness which his mind would acquire? Would he get over the unconsciousness? He realised that he would not. He would not hear his father's shouts. He would not hear his mother's lamentations. Neither the moo of the cow nor the vedic chants. Nothing...

His mind would be blank. Then his body would be consigned to flames. But he would not feel the heat. He had learnt the art of seeing through his mind, but his mind would be numb, and his eyes would be burnt. How would he see? Everything seemed to be going into oblivion.

A sudden fear crept up his spine. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead and slowly trickled down. The water in the lake seemed stagnant. He could not hear the croaking of the frogs. The leaves were not rustling anymore. He suddenly felt very hot. He could not move a muscle. He tried to shout, but he could not. He felt strangled, choked. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids would not open. They were heavy and cold...deathly cold.

He was experiencing death. His body was, probably, dead to the world, but he was alive. Deep inside, he tried to kindle back the embers of his surviving soul. With superhuman effort, he pulled himself into the cross-legged position.

Lightning split the dark sky into two. Violent thunderclaps rent the air. Heaven and Earth shook like leaves in a storm. Rain came down in all its splendour and cooled his hot body. He started his penance. This boy of 12 years had met...and conquered death.

He was Nachiketa.

Nachiketa is not a strange name to us. This young boy is a mythological hero in his own sense. His father, after performing a yajna, gave away everything he had in charity to brahmanas. Upon repeatedly asked by Nachiketa, his father gets angry and says Nachiketa has been given to Yama, the God of death. Later he regretted his decision, and that is another story.

The above is my own version of how Nachiketa might have felt, when he went in search of Yama. After rigorous meditation, Yama appears and gives him three boons. Two Nachiketa asks, keeping his father's welfare in mind, and the third, he asks Yama to reveal the secret of death - What happens to the soul after the body dies.

After much persuasion, Yama reveals them to Nachiketa and takes him to the land of Gods and Immortality.

Fatal Chemistry

They were on the beach the whole day. Early in the morning, they had left their room, to catch the first light. And as the sun rose, they walked, hand in hand, into the water. Splashing water on each other, they played all morning, until the salty air made them aware of the pangs of hunger.

In dry clothes, they sat in their balcony, overlooking the waves crashing into the shore. They nursed the small cuts on their feet as they lunched together under the canopy. There was just enough breeze to ruffle their hair, and he smiled as he watched her push the strands back behind her ears as she ate.

“What?” she asked.
“Nothing, baby.”
“No, there’s something. Why are you smiling?” she persisted, “Does it remind you of someone?” she teased.
He shook his head and smiled.

She came over and kissed his neck, as he was reclining himself on the bed. He ruffled her hair, damp from the shower. She took his hand into hers and started playing with his fingers, the fingers of the first man she was truly in love with. Yes, she loved Mike. Before, it was just about sex.

* * *

She wasn’t one to sleep around, but there was one before, she reminisced. Being in a boarding school all her life, college was like a new world to her. Like the girls in the Mills and Boons stories she and her girl-friends had read stealthily in the hostel, she searched out her own hero among the guys.

She was what you could call a perfect tomboy. Always in jeans or cargos, always hanging out with the guys, she would make no bones about trying a cigarette or a drink with them. No wonder, she was such a hit with the guys. It was around that time, a guy close to her, proposed her. Sitting on the college steps, he had popped the question at her. She was surprised, to say the least. Because, she had had a different idea of a proposal.

She had tried to talk to Mike about it. After all, Mike and she were friends. From childhood. Though he had never come to meet her, he would write loving letters to her. All her adolescence, he was the only one she discussed everything with. Her crushes, her first cigarette, her first drink, her periods, her bra size…everything. But Mike was out of the country on some assignment.

Though she had not agreed to the proposal, it was understood that they were a pair, because of the fact that they spent most of their waking time together. And then, one day, she had stayed back in his apartment, while returning from a party. She remembered it like yesterday. He had sneaked up on her while she was changing, and she just froze, caught unawares. He came up to her and drew her close. She shuddered at the foreign hand exploring the length of her back. She wanted to say something, but her mouth was dry. Unable to do anything, she had just closed her eyes, when he brought his mouth on hers. The rest of the night went like a dream. Each thing he did was a new sensation, each touch of his was magic, and she just let her body surrender to his whims and fancies.

But it was only that once she enjoyed. Later, it was all about himself. They made love on many occasions, but she always ended up feeling used. This became a weak point in their relationship, if it was one, and they had broken up soon. In any case college was coming to an end, and everyone was excited about their jobs.

She returned to her hometown, and to Mike. Mike, the man she loved. Mike, the first man who made her feel like a lady. Mike, for whom she wore gowns, skirts and dresses. Clothes which she wouldn’t touch in college. Mike, who treated her like a goddess in bed. Mike, who was holding her close now. She snuggled deeper into his wrap, and slept.

* * *

Mike could not forget that evening. It was the week she had come home from college. For two days, seeing her clad in unisex attire, he had given her a piece of his mind. He gave her all that he could think of about girls of marriageable age, lady-like behavior and feminine finesse. Strangely, she lapped up whatever he dished out. Her affection for him was such. Had anyone else said the same things, she would have jumped like a cat, but if Mike said it, it was law.

That Friday, he saw her dressed in a gown for the party. It was her first party in the town, which she had left as a child. Now, after boarding school and college, all memories had gone bleak, and there was hardly anyone she knew personally, let alone in her age-group. So when he saw her feet tapping to the music, Mike asked her for a dance, and she readily agreed.

And what a dance it was. As the speakers churned out the latino, Mike had to bring out all the steps in his repertoire to match her every move. Her grip was tender and delicate, and he let her twirl all around him. And as he bent her down for the crescendo, the hall burst into a roaring applause.

That night, at his home, she asked him for one more dance. And it was the best dance he had ever had. Better than the one at the party. He remembered how he was taken aback when she had ended the dance with a long kiss. It was sudden, and before he could think, he was responding.

Later that night, he had stayed awake in his bed, thinking on his actions, and had kept distance from her, citing official reasons. But he could not forget the kiss. And when she saw through his game of avoidance, he had to admit that he had had feelings for her.

Feelings. That was when it all began. He discovered a new person in her. He had known her for so long, and knew every little thing about her, but this was a revelation. Each time she batted her eyelids or pouted, he felt his heart go weak.

All restraints broke loose when she followed him, when he went to the Capital for a tour. The more time they spent together, the closer they were drawn, and one night, high on drinks, they kissed each other goodnight. The kiss ended after the night did. All night long, they romped. And in the morning, all they could find on their bodies was a graffiti of teeth and nail marks.

* * *

Mike remembered the unforgiving guilt had embraced him that day in the shower. The same feeling began to envelope him now, and he disentangled himself from her. He walked onto the beach, into the sunset, and lay down on the beach, looking at the orange-red sun go down.

This was his favourite place in his beach villa. No one to disturb. No one to help even if he called out at the top of his voice. It gave him a eerie sense of loneliness, and solitude. He dozed off watching the sun dissolve into the sea.

He awoke when he felt her straddling him. The reddish sun, shining weak in the dark twilight, gave her supple body an inexplicable radiance. As she began massaging his temples, he let her touch reign supreme. They made passionate love under the starry night. And when they rolled off each other a long time later, Mike started to say something he always said.

She put her index finger on his lips, and quietened him. “Sssh”, she said, “I know, Dad. Mom will never hear about this.”