Will Ahalya walk the burning embers?

As Gautam mulls over…

It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back and hastened up to the door, and laid my hands on the knob, with a slight quiver and turned it open with quick deftness.

There was no one at the doorstep! It must have been the pesky kids, playing in the corridors, while taking shelter from the rain. I settled down, lit my cigarette and waited for the plumes of smoke to rise. It was the perfect smokescreen for me to sink into a reverie. So, adrift I was, that I did not hear the door clicking open, my wife stepping in, the sound of the shower turning on, or the shuffle of the many things in the shrine. Not till I woke up with a start to the grating noise of the grinder in the kitchen!

“Ahalya!”, I called out. “I did not hear you coming in. When did you return and why so late?”.

   “Oh, there was one of those unscheduled meetings and it dragged on”, she replied.

She was making dosas and had prepared the chutney and in a quick few minutes, the dinner was ready. She served with the customary suave smile.

Dinner was not the typical ‘family time’ with us, it was rather ‘follow the mundane routine’. Exchanging pleasantries, share the updates for the day, login for late night calls and plonk on the bed, as a plane in distress would crash-land! That is how it had become. Quality time seemed jaded in the bottleneck work routines we were through. We had become mechanically driven with our goals, that we had opted out of the baby-making endeavours. Even our physical relationship had become the rare sexual encounters. I wonder, how Ahalya thought about the whole thing, as I cleaned up my plate and settled down for work.  She seemed more distrait these days. It could be the work pressure with her writing assignments and sometimes she would tunnel out, altogether. Well…From somewhere, a gust of the cool wind, derailed my thought processes. I got up from my work desk and went to the hall, where I saw the balcony doors open.

Ahalya was standing in the balcony, leaning slightly against the railings. Her wavy hair let down, seemed to meander along the many curves of her body. We had felt each other’s contours, once and, that seemed like ‘once-upon-a-time’.  Those passionate moments came flashing back to me, just like the streak of lightning that lit up the indigo sky. The rumble of thunder seemed to awaken all that was dormant, all this while. I walked up to her, rested my hand on her shoulder. She turned around, shocked, surprised as if shaken up from her moorings. Before she could utter anything, I let pressed my lips against hers. Stumbling over the threshold, we walked into the hall, and crouched on the nearest possible cushion. We consummated, in the barest. Though we never indulged in pillow talks, a snuggle would always follow the act. But this time…it felt suspended. Ahalya just slipped out of the room. The snapping on of switches and the sound of gushing water told me that she had headed for shower. The rains lashed against the window panes. I could hear the rustle of the leaves, the wind howling through the tiny gap of the windows. I wondered how the mango tree was braving the storm.

Does Ahalya turn into stone?

The tap in the bathroom would have been left open for quite some time now. Her fists clenched against the slab, Ahalya looked pale and stricken. She was stark naked and staring into space. The bathtub lay a few steps away. She stepped into the tub and settled down. She wanted to scrub every bit of her body, and if possible scrape the skin too. The skin, which bore the tattoo of another’s man touch, seemed to leer at her. The skin was more like a hide, a camouflage to shield her from the glare of the society.  She felt the cold press of the bathtub floor as she lay crouched there. She wanted to cry out loud but everything in her seemed frozen. The warm sprinklers from the shower trickled down her body, and how she wished to forget all that had happened and move on with the flow.

She thought to herself “If only…”. Her thoughts raced back to when she had joined her present company as a writer. It was out of sheer passion for writing that made her take up this job in the travel industry. She was part of a very young team, much junior to her age-wise, with an exception of the team-lead who was about her age. Invariably, he was the only person at office, to strike a rapport with.  What started off with small talks in the professional domain, slowly diffused into deep engaging conversations-about the society, the world, paradigm shifts of the young mindset-in terms of values, integrity, relationships, binding, commitment, marriage… It was the topic of marital ties that took Ahalya and her boss-Indrashan, who was also a writer, to explore the grey zones of the human mind.

He had questioned her mockingly once “Ahalya, do you hold on to your relationship, just because of a thread around your neck?” And, Ahalya’s repartee was ever “A thread, which is also a sutra of tradition, ingrained in all values and, worthy of all respect?” They would argue over it a while and it would end and more often with Ahalya’s signature smirk. There were layers and subtleties in those conversations that stimulated her. She would be as eager for these talks, and down the line, she sensed that he was too. She found stark similarities between the two of them. And, the mind games, word play (her boss seemed to her like a conjurer, who knew to read her mind and aim the dart right at her ‘hotspots’) and his spontaneous wit, made an introverted Ahalya, open up to this man! What started as a platonic relationship took shape as a mushroom cloud that hangs thick after an atomic explosion. It took the turn of an explosive love affair- not in the boorish sense, but the intensity of two minds engaging with each other in their deepest realm-the dark and the grey zones with thinning boundaries. The allure of the ‘new’ world was irresistible, for the two. So lost was Ahalya down the labyrinths that it was hard to fathom the real and the fantastical.

She was brought back to the present, when the light flickered and the power went off. In that pitch darkness, flashes of lightning shone through the bathroom window. The shadow of the boughs of the mango tree fell right on the bathroom floor. The tree whose fruits spelt sweetness and light of her relationship with Gautam…once upon a time. Had she become estranged from him to such an extent, to have gravitated towards Indrashan?

A blinding lighting flash followed by a thunderbolt, made her shudder. The same quiver had run down her spine, when she sensed Indrashan’s closeness (that must have been the umpteenth time), while they were lunching in the office balcony. “Was it characteristic of humans too to emit pheromones like animals and exhibit sexual attraction?” Or, was it that her basal instincts had surfaced to feel drawn to his aura?”  Ahalya found herself answering these questions on that stormy evening. She had stayed back later than usual as she wanted the rains to subside a bit. And when the lashing sheets took a surprise dramatic turn to a mild drizzle, Ahalya darted out of her office only to face the gusts, bringing in more water. It was like a cloud burst over her head and she was dripping wet.

“Arghhh, now what?” Ahalya muttered from between clenched teeth. “Nothing, you just need to hop in for a ride”, a voice piped in from behind. Incidentally, Indrashan had also started for home. “Don’t think too much, you may run into a fever if you stay in those wet clothes for long”, he continued in a deep baritone, his accent as polished, intoning the demeanour of a gentleman.

“Well, I am on slippery grounds, and I do not want the wind to sweep me off my feet”, Ahalya tinkled with a laughter.

That laugh seemed to resonate in the air, in the bathroom that now felt like cold steel. The swaying branches of the mango tree appeared to shadow her in mockery. Her chin rested on her knees, her fists as tight, she bit her right wrist, while letting her palms run through her upper arm (in an act of rubbing off something). But how much ever she would have tried, she would not have been able to erase that blue-black mark that still looked raw and fresh. Those moments of rapture with Indrashan, had left behind a tattoo – dark, raw and wild.  She had strayed into wilderness, crossing the threshold of norms, traditions and society. By doing so, she had chosen to breach the sanctity of marriage. The sacred institution that had withstood the ravages of time, appeared jaded to her. The hand given in marriage to Gautam, was now creased and tainted with the touch of another man.

She opened her palms with the hesitancy of a night bloom that would rather droop before dawn.  But will she, could she?  In the face of it, as she retraced those criss-cross lines of destiny -  the fateful episode with Indrashan. But was it fateful? She had not withheld or resisted one bit, when they had decided to take shelter from the rain, for fear of risking a motor breakdown on the flooded roads. She had not shied away from his intense gaze when he had remarked about a prospective night halt too. She had willingly let him disrobe her, even before he actually did. More than submitting herself to him, she had surrendered to her fiercest desire.

 She had desired Indrashan who had courted her demons of darkness. And, they both had sought the shades and shadows of the dark, together. She had not let out a whimper of protest, while he held her close, his bated breath, sending that hot flush in her, making her wet, swoon and sway to the rhythm of coupling. She had felt the universe through him, as the contours of Indrashan were pressed against her body, trying to break the boundaries of physicality. 

What was breaking her now? She had revelled in the victory that was his, the spoils of which was her threadbare self. She had peaked in the pleasure of consummation and she would have lied to herself, if she had denied that. It had exalted her – to being a woman who could be desired… “Then, what is making you shrivel in shame?”, her mind seemed to question her. It continued, “No, you did not brook the society or Gautam, when you chose this path. It was a conscious choice.  You can shrug aside the judgement of right and wrong. You can choose to quell me when I question or persecute you. It is left to you.”  Ahalya whispered to herself in a slow, conscious manner, “I was torn between being a wife and a desirous woman. I chose the latter to live the moment as a human. Was it sinful? I cannot rewind and undo what has happened or turn myself to stone, to redeem myself of this guilt. I am not the Ahalya of Ramayan(whom I have defended in debates, arguments and intellectual discussions).  I cannot confess about the episode to Gautam, either. As for Indrashan, he is married, with a family and, today’s episode was just a one-night affair. He was quick to respond, when I had gathered the crumpled sheets, by not holding me back.”

She sighed deeply, and reaffirmed to herself “I can pick these shreds of me to make a new beginning. I will heal. I need to let go of what has happened and move on. Gautam is the reality of my life. If peace is to prevail, I need to release the Ahalya who was Indrashan’s paramour, into this stormy night.”

She wiped her face and no sooner she stood up, she heard a rap on the bathroom door. “Ahalya, are you alright? What are you doing for so long in the bathroom?”. Ahalya replied “I am done, almost”. She turned on the basin tap, foamed the face wash in her palms and scrubbed her face with it, with the hope that the reminiscence of the night will flake off.  She quickly slipped into her bathrobe, flung open the bathroom door, only to see Gautam still waiting at the threshold. Just as Gautam was about to speak, she hushed him with her hands and brushed his lips with hers.  She paused, the silence only broken by another thunder clap. As she turned sharply to the window, her robes slipped off her shoulder. She could sense the moistness of Gautam’s lips roving down her neck. She stiffened for a moment, with a flash of memory and then, let go with the flow. Much to Gautam’s surprise, Ahalya had held him in a tenacious grip. Each had unleashed the other’s beast to devour the night out in deep, dark sensual pleasures. Gautam, from his side, was drawn to the hereto unknown yet irresistible side of Ahalya. And as for Ahalya, she wanted to be consumed in the heat of passion that would annihilate the guilt and its cause…

By the time, they drifted away to sleep, it was early dawn. The window panes were covered in mist. The pot on the window sill sported a tiny bud of lily, bedewed. Dew drops glistened like pearls as the first light of dawn streamed through. Almost ready to trickle down, like the tear Ahalya was withholding, when she squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the light. And as she did, a tear rolled down her cheek, just like the dew drop from the bud, which fell to the ground, moistening the virgin earth with an air of freshness. Would Ahalya wake up as fresh as the morning dew?

The box of chocolates

She opened her bleary eyes when the cat, all seven pounds of squirming flesh, climbed onto her belly. Squinting into the sunlight streaming in from the open window, she discovered that she was now the weary possessor of a pounding headache, and at some point, had managed to lose both a tooth and a spouse. 

She sighed as she lay back in her recliner to avoid the blinding glare of the sun.  it is not that she did not enjoy the warmth of those dancing shafts of light, sitting by the window side. They reminded her of the gentle summer breeze, the swaying blooms of her pretty garden, the sprinkles of the fountain of youth, which always welcomed her, whenever she chose to bask in the morning sun or go for evening strolls. But now, the light, its brightness seemed to peer through the dark chamber of secrets, that she had shut from the outside world.  She closed her eyes tight, as if she was holding on to the latch of a door that was desperate to fling open and, release all the prisoners within.

But would she, Marriot, wife of the honourable Colonel Jones, who expired not too long ago, open her secrets some day? She took a deep breath, as if breathing in the sun-soaked scenery outside the window. She could not admire it visually, thanks to the searing pain in her head her but at least she wanted to take in the outdoors-the sounds, smells, and all that was living ,with one long breath! As she did so, stroking her blissfully ensconced cat, it purred in complete contentment. She ran her fingers through the coarse fur of her pet, which had been her companion for more than 3 years now. It did not make up for the loss, she had faced in life but the companionship prevented her from plummeting into a vacuum. The cat’s complacence always reminded her that she had preserved enough to sustain the bare necessities of life – shelter, clothing and food to indulge her whims and fancies, once in a while. Those whims varied from buying chocolates- despite the ostentatious senility-to her favourite hobby of buying books- anything readable she could lay her hands upon.  Though at present, she was handful with her fingers getting stuck in the knots and tangles of the fur on her pet cat. Tufts of silver grey and black of fur also reflected her aging in progress.  She was five decades and a half, more than 5 feet tall, with a slight crouch but lively with all the youthful fancies.

As she continued dreaming, the bright summer days filled with joy and laughter, with once companion and life partner, Jones,  came to life. She had been married for more than 20 years. But Jones was no more, only his memories lingered, like the fragrance of the summer blooms, in the garden. She sighed thinking of how they got together on weekends, especially during his sojourns home once in a month. Jones being posted in the army was away most of the time. But when he could make it home on weekends, they chose this special summer getaway, far off from the clutter and chaos of the city. The speciality of the summer home was a pretty garden, which for the couple, was like an oasis. Both Mariott and Jones had taken special care to source exotic and indigenous plants for their garden. Their efforts paid off well. There were plants, which would bloom for every season. For the couple, it meant a lot symbolically – that their lives would remain in bloom, in every moment, of their togetherness.

Marriot fondly reminisced the Saturday picnics with close family friends(Jones’ army friends, that is). It gave her an opportunity to create a special holiday bake and share it with her friends and folks. Marriot loved baking, one among the many creative things, she indulged in. Fun ‘n’ frolic laced those get-togethers. Women in pretty summer frocks and sun hats would pirouette gayly, as the men would clap to their steps. It was during one such get together she happened to receive a box of chocolates. The box was tucked into her study, with a secret letter of admiration. But it did not have any sign on it. She took it as a friendly gesture. Probably one of those wee-little mischevious happenings that was always taken as camaraderie in their group. But the incoming of chocolates persisted during every get together. However, She did not let it sway from her loyalty to Jones. But those letters with their verses kept pouring in promising the fluff of a delightful summer bake. Marriot was curious about the sender, her secret admirer. And she was sure that he was one among her close circle of friends, to have been able access to her study and surreptitiously slip in that box. Though she loved the chocolates, which had an irresistible nutty flavour(she had a sweet tooth), she could not help feeling guilty in this indulgence. After all, she was married and committed to somebody else. And this pursuit, however sweet ‘n’ melting it seemed on the outside would embitter her relationship with Jones. But she was hellbent on finding out about her ‘secret admirer’.  So, during the next family get together in their summer home, she decided to take a walk alone. She excused herself by saying that she wanted to check on the sapling that she had planted last week. When others were revelling in wine and goodies, she stole away to a secluded patch of newly planted saplings in her garden! She knew that this act of hers would definitely  attract the attention of the sender of chocolates! She hung around in the patch for a while, dropping a neatly folded white paper in the grove- visible enough for her follower to pick it and read the message. Her note read ‘ if you do not reveal yourself, not only will I dismiss your chocolate boxes but also have you tracked through a professional’. 

The note served its purpose, the message was delivered, read and responded to. For the box of chocolates that came Marriot’s way, the next time, bore a message in poetry format. “You shall find me, in the masquerade ball; we will dance, hand in hand, taking every step big and small”. it was signed,  ‘Yours secretively ever’. The masquerade ball was a grand affair in town, where the army personnel gathered with their spouses. It was about to take place in a fortnight’s time.  “In another two weeks, the secret sender of chocolates will materialise before me”, said Marriot to herself.  

When the D-day arrived, Marriot was all set, petite and pretty as ever. She put her arms around Jones’, and stepped into the ballroom. The vividness of the ball always cast a spell on her. the fancy dress, the music and the air was filled with magic. And of course, this time, the element of suprise made her look forward to the event,  more than ever. As she ambled around with Jones, exchanging pleasantries with other members in the room, she was expecting that ‘Mystery man’ would turn up. As she looked hither and thither, an announcement came in prompting the couples for the King’s and Queen’s.  And, the couples were to choose a partner other than the one who had accompanied them to the ball. Marriot assumed her position. No sooner, she did, she saw her would-be dancing partner stepping in by her side.  He wore a mask like others and he bowed to take her hand, and dance in togetherness to the music. As he did so, Marriot could sense the nutty flavour that usually emanated from the chocolates, that slipped into her study. So this was him! But she could not place him among the known folks in her circle. He smiled in acknowledgement of Marriot’s discovery. Before Marriot could utter anything, he put his finger on her lips and carefully put that dangling lock of hair behind her ear. They swayed and danced to the music. The swirl was as enchanting as the man who held her tight to his chest. And all that Marriot remembered of that night was the closeness, to a total stranger. 

She had woken up the next morning with a splitting headache and a nutty chocolate flavour in her mouth. Her ball gown was lying on the floor. From the open window, blew in a gentle breeze and she got up to refresh. As she picked up her gown, a scent reminiscent of the previous night wafted through. But she could not recall more than the dance and the intimacy with which her ‘secret admirer’ had held her in his arms. She could not unravel him but something prodded as the headache pounded her, as if trying to break open the iron doors that Marriot had shut close about the night. She held her temples in desperation when Jones brought in a tray of scones with coffee. Marriot was relieved and refreshed to begin the day anew. She then called out to her help “Charlotte!”

“Yes, Ma’m”, piped in Charlotte, standing next to the recliner, where Marriot was seated. Marriot woke up with a start, startling her cat, who just happened to catch sight of a butterfly, settled on the window sill. He sprung with a rigour, eager to catch his prey, and leapt out into the garden. Marriot''s eyes followed the wings of the butterfly, as colourful and flitting as those moments of melting chocolates and cakes. She did not forget the crunch of the nuts either. She got up, holding her temples and asked Charlotte to make lemonade for her. She proceeded towards her study, and opened her drawer. It had a beautifully encased diary and a chocolate box that was dropped one last time at her study.

She took out the diary and dipped her pen in the inkpot. She opened it, as if feeling a close confidante, right in front of her- expecting to be accepted without question. Her frail fingers quivered, as did her lips. All that was frozen and buried deep in her, was waiting to flow out, in ink. She, Marriot Jones, would write the story of that night, sprinkling it with chocolates, nuts, cream and more…sweet indulgences that cost her, her tooth!