SANDS OF TIME - PART 2

I have fever, she said and walked away. He had gone to the library hoping to sit opposite her and watch her as she read, playing with her hair with one hand, engrossed in the book, oblivious of the fact that the person sitting opposite was reading a book on pathology and writing something in Hindi. He could sit still for about thirty minutes before he dashed out of the library. He found her sitting huddled in a corner with one of her friends. She was being admitted.

He knew what that meant. For a person, averse to taking medicine, staying in a hospital was scary. She joked that it was past her sleeping time and she needed to go back to her home, but the joke was as pale as she looked. Not exactly pale, her eyes were glowing but her usual flushed face was drained of colour. He walked with her to the ward, walking as they did every evening, silently. At the door, he hesitated but she held his hand and walked in, past the sleeping patients, past the tired nurse to the allotted bed. Her friend excused herself and said will return in the morning. He sat next to her looking at her, trying to imagine how she felt right now. Her eyes were heavy as she tried to keep them open. Silence had been their veil for a long time. He put the cold wet cloth on her forehead and a sigh escaped her dry lips.

She started to talk, talk about things they had never discussed, life, herself, him. He joked that her fever had gone to her head, but he knew what was happening. She had not left her hand ever since she had held it tonight. He had always been the reserved one, not speaking much, not sharing, letting her lead the way they walked, even what they ate sometimes. And tonight, she was saying things for which he had no explanations, no answers. Too young to commit, too shy to admit. He realised she was crying, and thought it must be due to the illness. He asked her what she was thinking and she said, "Don't leave me". He could not think of anything to say. He just smiled and told her to try to go to sleep. Meaningless words.


She smiled and in that instant her face lit up and he could feel and understand what they felt for each other. Here he was, in the middle of the night, sitting in a female ward, holding a hand of the girl who had just asked him not to leave her and he was speechless. She saw through him and added, "Even if you leave me, I will never leave you". He could feel his eyes burn, his hand gripped her hand and he choked on his words. The faint orange glow from the window taunted him. It was dawn and he had to go and change for the morning lectures. It was a saturday.


He could not say good bye. She had left before he could come back and meet her. The next seven days were a cycle of hope and misery. She finally came back after ten days. She looked slimmer and quieter. Definitely different. He waited and waited. It seemed she had changed her routine, no more evening walks, no library reading time, no fever. He was confused. He had been like a farmer waiting for the rains, and all he could see was parched land from his feet to the horizon. He finally walked up to her one evening and asked her if she was well. He did not hear her answer. All he could see was a face, a face he had not forgotten since she had held her hand, a face he has not forgotten even after so many years. What she had answered did not make sense and he left. For him, it was one of the most difficult decisions in life. To be in the same place, but not to be together. He wondered how long he would be able to live like this. 


He lived. And moved on... but did she???

(Leaving you with a different version of the same ghazal. I hope you can appreciate the different styles of the two grat ghazal singers, Ghulam Ali and Jagjit Singh. Do not miss the rendition of Heer by Jagjit.)