Ankita Baroah

Date of Publish: 2023-03-12

Some Tales of Withered Light

Nothing happened between Anirudha and me. Nothing was profound in between us. But there was definitely something that breathed with us. There was just something like the intensity of feeling between us that stirred our minds. But that was not love. That was not the friendship too.

There was a flame in his eyes- a flame that burns and melts in yellow pattern. I could not safe myself from the blaze of his eyes. I did not know what fascinated me about him. But I dared not to look into his eyes. I wished I were burn myself in the flame of his eyes. I never felt to be averse to burn myself in his eyes. The slumbered Arodhana in me took breath from his sight. My outer self was wrapped in many layers which I never felt to peel off.

Every one’s life covers with a veil. By veiling us we act and regulate our self. We treat ourselves like strangers. We programmed our tissues such an extent that often we would become strangers to our self. We need some occasions for realizing self. Otherwise the emotions like red coral stone would have been immolated. One needs some reasons to understand own self. Therefore, the force gleams of Anirudha’s eyes too have become necessary for me.

Anirudha one day asked : What do you think around the clock?

I was struck dumb. His question shook me. What do I think? Anirudha whom I met just a week ago, what did he look into my eyes- what reflection of truth. How come he could ask with conviction ‘what do I think?’. Truly, I do not know what I think.

Did Rituparna ever try to understand my animate being. Did he ask me what do I think? What make two souls identically different? I have left my home to live with a person. I have decided to share things equally. How strangely I became lonely in his entity. My all emotions, likes and dislikes had become silly to him. There was a light year distance between me and Rituparna.

: Tales, I think of tales.

I walked away from Anirudha simply after giving him a gentle reply. Without a backward glance, I could sense Anirudha was watching at me with his piercing eyes. Our conversations started like stories. It became a habit to discuss about my story getting published in daily newspaper.

Gradually the subject matter of our conversation moved away from the story and became somewhat personal. Yet we knew that the only truth between us was the time that we spent together. There was nothing else before it or after it. There are some moments in life which we adore without any reason.

: Staring to my eyes, Anirudha asked, after having a bite of roast-bread ‘can’t we talk about other things besides stories?’ The intensity of his eyes was unbearable but magnetic too. I felt a kind of chase in his eyes that care no loss or coup.

:You told one day that people are lonely now a day.

:Yes, What do you think?

I shifted my glance from Anirudha’s eyes. I told him looking at an empty space:

You told that loneliness disturb us. One feels empty always. And this is quite painful. May be by then I had truly contained my feelings in a void. Who says that to be lonely means to have become unworthy? The empty space preserves my entire solitude, feelings and emotions; and all accounts of loss and joy.

When I’m alone, my loneliness lies deep in me like an insect. Do you feel the same?

I told you the same thing. Everyone is lonely in some corner of their world. I have found my deep trench in Anirudha’s eyes. I drowned into his eyes. I agreed: What’s wrong in taking deep breath in his eyes. This is how you can let release your pain that keeps you heavy. My words were struggling for an exit. They got a momentum as soon as they met Anirudha. Neither I nor Anirudha could judge how important and theoretical our conversations were. We just stared at things. At one point, I felt that a heavy burden had fallen off my chest. The breath seemed to flutter in the air.

There are many differences between two. Rituparno and Anirudha are two different men. I can’t put them in each other’s shoes. Yet I want to do so. I want to merge Anirudha with Rituparno.

I wish I could reject Rituporna for being excessive rational of everything, and accept Anirudha for being benign to emotion. I just want to think about myself at this point. It is an imaginary luxury to make things easier that appear difficult.

I knew Anirudha was not my love. But what is beyond love that gives a momentum. Everyone must witness such incomprehensible moment in life. Such moments are filled with various factors. They tell us many things that we do not understand. Sometime it seems like I have been waiting so long for Anirudha. But we were not bound together by any such heartfelt desire. We were just happy in each other’s presence without any reason. We struggled to find the meaning of that bond. Our times were like a slow river. The unspoken words left at the end of many things brought us close together. Anirudha said one day: I would meet you again. Tell me where would you go? I naturally left that to Anirudha. I do not mind anything. I did not have to take anything special as my own as I searched for the rhythm of life with Rituparna. So, I accepted Anirudha’s proposal. We will spend some time together. The place and time is not important.’

We were sitting on the sand of Brahmaputra River under the cloudy sky. In the darkness of the night, the river in front of us looked like a black snake. My heart was shaking along with the aanchal of my saari in the stirring river wind. A few flickering lights flowed along the river and became absurd at one point. There were many stars in the sky; despite there was no light. A swarm of fireflies illuminated my heart.

I wanted to sit with Anirudha, leaning my head on his shoulder for a while. I wished to put my hands in his fist. I really wanted him to hug me. I took a deep breath. A familiar perfume was floating in the air. I could detect the aroma of his body amongst fragrances.

:Anirudha.

: Yes.

: I want to talk about love only. You have any objections?

: No, not a tall. why do I object. Okay, today we are going to talk about love and comfort.

: I’s wondering how to start.

: Take your time. But you must be able to deny your loneliness completely. You must be able to say the unspoken things that are stirring your heart at this moment. Can you?

I stared into his eyes without blinking. In the darkness, I saw in his sharp eyes a wonderful hypnosis I had never seen before. I don’t remember how long my eyes were trapped in his eyes. I regained consciousness at the soft tap of his fingers lying lightly on the sand. I felt uncomfortable that he knew my mental state.

: Don’t you say anything? I asked Anirudha to make myself easy.

:Do you know the love of men?

:As a woman, I believe in the love of my beloved man

:Men first look at the geography of a woman’s body.

:Everything should not be generalized, Anirudha. I am very attracted to the Men’s intellect and the depth of the eyes. You cannot make the world of the mind of a woman and man the same. The more a man starts to take the feeling of love as a simple habit, the more a woman’s love for him intensifies.

:You might be correct as you said that all men look at the geography of the women’s body first. What about you?

For a moment, Anirudha’s eyes brightened like a meteor.

:I’m not a person who believes in love very much. May be that’s where you and I differ. Just like the different mental worlds of men and women I mentioned a little while ago. How can you talk about love without kith and kin? Body is the medium to fall in love.

:How can you express love to a body. A kiss does not imply a desire for physical touch. Kisses are not limited to lovers. Do you believe that the kiss that fathers and mothers give to their children contains physical touch?

I said the last thing with some roughness. Anirudha seemed to be looking for the truth of my words in the darkness lay ahead. I touched by a sense of guilt. Such roughness with him does not suit me at all.

:Your words are like a story.

Anirudha said, ignoring the harshness of my words. I was embarrassed.

: Perhaps

: What do you think? Who actually carries the stories? Either protagonist appears or the story teller finds out?

: This is a very diplomatic question for me.

: Why?

:Things are not so easy for me. I can’t write a story if I want to write.

: I see thousands of stories before my eyes. Which of these stories you pick up will depend on your mental state. This is also a story that you and I are talking about.

:Probably yes. But my imaginary world may be somewhat different.

: What is your world?

: Color. Lots of colors

: Ay, I’m jealous. I forgot the colors.

: Nay, you are wrong. Just as we have thousands of stories, colors are all around us. You have to try to see it.

: Where is. I haven’t seen it. I’m color blind.

: Take a look around you. Everything is smitten with colors. There are many stories created with color. Green too changes its color at a time. The leaf too falls down as a yellow story. The story turns a new shape. The river flows embracing the sky. Everything in this world has color.

In fact, I think, colors and stories complement each other. Where there is color there is a story. Or you can say that a colorless story can have a colorful past. And one more thing

: What

: People without colour can not love any one. And you are not colorless. Why did I say that? The answer is in you.

: I don’t understand

:I’m waiting for your unwritten story. Your story may tell what you don’t understand. I know your story will be about two butterflies. The seven colored rainbow, will come down to your story, flows in your wife’s mascara eyes. Good luck to you.

Anirudha said on his way back after spending the evening on the bank of Brahmaputra. There is no need to say everything. Unspoken words are like a river. It flows silently from heart to heart, from you to me.

We were sitting on the river bank under the darken sky and talking. We became silent for a while. That was the last time he and I met. Then Anirudha seemed to disappear into the air. The wind Anirudha gave now flows silently between me and Rituparna.

Ankita Baroah

Translated from original Assamese by Amitabh Ranjan Kanu.

About the author

Ankita Baroah is a shortstory writer from Assam. Her recently published collection of shortstories is Joonbilor Venus.

About the translator

Amitabh Ranjan Kanu is an Assistant Professor, Dept. of English, Pramathesh Barua College, Gauripur. He can be reached at [email protected] or 6003846659.