Water on Stone …. Story 1 by Uma Sharma

How do I pretend that nothing has happened? I can’t! I tried not to think of the grave, dark thoughts, but they are my constant companion. Like a loyal pet quietly waiting in the background while I thought they were gone. I can’t describe them as lurking in the dark; they are docile. They were waiting to be acknowledged, silently waiting for their turn, which they deserve as I have created them somewhere in the past. They were born in those moments of anger when I clouded my mind with myopic judgments. I took a few deep breaths and looked outside my window. A round ball of the orange sun looked back at me. A silentious breeze passed my face ruffling the strands of hair falling loosely on my face. The queued thoughts started to trickle like children in the park. It’s no stopping them; I gave in.

It’s miraculous how we fall victim to our misgivings—denying ourselves the gratification of our purpose and aimlessly moving from one doubt to another. It is indescribable how gradually we become worthless in our own eyes. I walk to the kitchen to take yesterday’s leftovers from the refrigerator to re-heat. Rahul is out of town, so cooking dinner is unnecessary. I can eat my dinner quietly and fall back into my reverie. It’s nice to be alone. The lamp on the side of the sofa gleams, its shadow creating patterns on the wall. No matter how much I try to forget about him, he finds his way into my thoughts. It’s been a year since I last met Soham. His face still lingers in my thoughts. Sometimes I call his name. There are times when I don’t feel anything except anger for him—the sick hot feeling in my gut. I want to cry, but tears seem to elude me like him.

Is love perishable? Can it fade with time? It does sometimes seem that we can’t incur. The grief of separation is unbearable. How to pick up the pieces of your heart blown away by indifference? The bland state of affairs that does not pique your state of mind. It’s either briny or saltless. You move from one state of mood to another inharmoniously. It does feel like a see-saw. The memories that put me on high once now take me to the darkest pit of hell. I have no use for them. They are rusting in some dark corner I do not want to touch. At night I try to reach out to some oblivious hand to hold in my dreamless sleep. It comes back untouched, like my messages to him. How to understand those endless hours of waiting, frequently checking messages for one reply that never comes? Only a blank screen staring at my face. I want to tell him how I feel. I want him to know how vitriolic I felt. How much it hurts.

I woke up in the middle of the night, breathless. I looked around, and mute darkness stared back at me. It wasn’t easy to breathe. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths to calm myself. It was another dream of his, another barren dream that had spun its tentacles of unrequited hope around my desires. I dreamed of Soham, my Soham! He felt distant, like the moon in a dark sky, real but out of reach. It felt like I’d walked on a journey with him though he had returned. I’m still searching my way back home. It’s always fascinating to realize that our recovery hides in our darkest thoughts. The downward spiral is the path to return. This lowest pit of hell showed me the way to heaven. In an instant, I realized I was grieving not because I lost Soham, I was suffering because I lost myself.

I stepped out into my garden. The yellowish, almost dry grass reminded me that I did not water it for a week. The day was bright and sunny. I felt relieved. It is wearisome when you feel a part of yourself is living in a parallel world. This realization woke me up at night. I met the missing part in my dream. A knowing that it’s arduously on its way to join me. The sadness I felt when I met myself in the dream. That left me breathless. In a heartbreak, we don’t just grieve losing another; we grieve because we lose a part of ourselves too. I realized it was time to meet myself again!

I picked up the water bucket and started spraying water on the grass. The drops of water trickling through the arid soil, making it moist, somehow soothed my thoughts. The thoughts seem to drift away like clouds on a windy day. My mind was clear, and so was my heart. I put the water bucket and pulled the chair lying neglected at the garden’s edge. I felt light. There was ease in my movements as if a burden was lifted from my shoulders—an unspoken obligation of my commitment to Soham even when he was not bound by it. Sometimes spoken words hold a silent obligation with which we bind ourselves. I have bound myself to Soham. A part of me kept moving towards him. I looked at a blade of grass drenched with water, and it looked greener and more alive, as if the water was the long-lost part it was searching. I was parched and yellowish and heavy. I was thirsty for my lost part, which was shouldering an unsaid obligation that does not exist. I was indifferent towards it. I was distant myself, in a dark corner trying to forget it while craving it all this time. Now, I will call it back. It is waiting for me to call it. I remember.

Six months later

I opened my door, and it was Rahul, my brother. We have been staying together since my breakup with Soham. The dinner table was ready, I made his favourite pasta. It was time to watch a horror movie. Rahul switched on the TV while I went to get my glasses. I passed the mirror; I stopped to look at my reflection, and a smile came on my face. I rise!