The rains came suddenly and in torrents, splashing upon and cascading down from the thick foliage that served as a canopy for the swing upon which Mitra had fallen asleep, startling her out of her deep slumber. Mitra sat up lazily, enjoying the feel as her parched skin lapped up the water, as if quenching it’s thirst. Bringing up her knees to her chin, she encircled her long slender legs with her slim arms as a dozen silver bangles dangling on her perfectly rounded wrists jingled merrily. She sat there, torrents of water showering upon her, giggling with the delight of a child getting her favorite ice-cream. Mitra loved the rains and became a small child whenever it rained.
So enraptured was she, that she didn’t even notice the terrace door burst open and her husband Divesh rush out with a big black umbrella. Holding the umbrella on one hand, Divesh scooped up Mitra with the other, as easily as if she were a bouquet of flowers and not a 100 pound human body, and was back inside the building with a screaming Mitra scratching at his back.
“Let go of me, you giant moron!” she squealed, her small oval face contorted like a ball of red wool as her delicate palms, balled into tight fists, rained down blows on Divesh's chest and back. As he stepped inside the covered lounge on the terrace, Divesh closed the umbrella shut and flung it towards a hook on a corner behind the door and the umbrella, finding its mark, slid down on the hook easily and rested there dripping off the rain water it had collected on its short trip outside. Without missing a step, he carried Mitra into the bathroom and dropped her inside the tub like a bag of hot potatoes. She squealed again, this time in pain, as her bony behind met the hard fiber of the silvery white Jacuzzi tub. Ignoring the angry torrent of words that emanated from her pale, plump lips, Divesh ran the bath with warm water and turned towards Mitra. The words stopped immediately, leaving her lips slightly agape, as the warm water lapped over her and rose around her.
Without a word, Divesh looked at her, passion mingled with anger, and undressed her. He let her soak in the hot water for some time, then pulled her up and wrapping her in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, carried her to their bedroom, sat her down on a stool and rubbed off the water from her hair and finished the job by drying it with a dryer.
Mitra’s indignation at being pulled out of the rain had ebbed away like the rain outside and she could feel Divesh’s silent anger hovering in the room, as palpable as the hum of a bee, as he went about pulling drawers and shutting doors of the wardrobe to take out a dress for her. Finally finding one he liked he went over to her and handed it to her.
As she took the dress from him, he spoke for the first time. “ I’m going to the den to finish my work,” he said, his voice laden with steel. “Dress up and slip inside the covers and don’t come out from there. I’m sending up some hot and spicy soup for you,” he ordered and turned to leave, but was immobilized as her soft hands grabbed his rough one, and with a voice dripped in honey, she called out a plaintive apology, sending a thrill down his spine. Her touch and voice always did that to him. And when that happened, he could not stay angry with her anymore. Turning towards her, he knelt down beside her, wrapped his hands over her palms and with a voice made gruff with pain and passion cried, the long held tears now flowing copiously,
“Why do you do this to me? Aren’t you happy that you sent me to hell once? Why do you want to throw me back there again? And believe me, Mitra, this time I won’t be able to make it out even if you can.” Divesh warned, his throat tightening with fear thinking of the consequences of Mitra’s childishness.
Mitra bent down and enveloped him in her arms, pulling him towards her, hugging him tightly, both crying in each other’s arms.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She kept on repeating softly as the nightmares of the past year came hurtling back whirling around her head and making her sway. The nightmare which engulfed the whole city and wiped it out. The nightmare which had crept up on her, taken her unaware and pushed her into a dark tunnel. A big long nightmare from which her husband had pulled her out with daily fervent prayers and an unbroken fast for fourteen days.
The virus had appeared innocently as a common cold and flu. Brought into the country by a jet-setter. But slowly, it unraveled its viscous fangs and had taken the whole country in its grip. Mitra, a shoe designer was in Guwahati for an entrepreneurs meet, when the virus was engulfing her city within its vicious grip. Divesh, an archeologist, was safely ensconced deep in the Aravalli on a digging expedition blissfully unaware that his world was dissipating. No network connection, had ensured his blissful ignorance. The moment she heard about a possible lockdown, Mitra had returned to her flat in the posh Marine Drive locality, a 5 minute walk from Trident Hotel. Knowing that Divesh was unreachable by phone, she had dispatched her office boy, Lucky, to the Aravalli's to warn Divesh of the situation. By the time Divesh came to know of the situation, the entire country was under lockdown and his whole team, along with Lucky, was stuck in Udaipur.
Meanwhile, in Mumbai, being able to connect with Divesh, Mitra was able to relax a bit. She checked her groceries. Though not full, Mitra was assured that it would last her for at least a fortnight, if she could stop herself from binge eating sprees to see her through her sleepless nights. She even enjoyed having the big flat to herself for a few days, without having to pick up towels and spare shirts and slippers Divesh was prone to leave around in the house. A week crawled by. Another fortnight, before the warm, muscled body and sweat-sheened arms would lull her to sleep. The sleepless nights had decimated her snack and beverage supplies and she began to worry. When she voiced her worries to Divesh, he warned her not to go out for any such supplies. The situation was very bad in Mumbai. Coughing slightly, she promised to be good.
“You have an adequate supply of your inhaler refills, right?” Divesh asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
“Now, no need to be a fusspot! It’s just a cough, not something to worry about.”, Mitra chided, a smile lacing her voice, making it seem husky. It made him yearn to be with her. To see the smile that curved up at the corners in such a delectable way, that he couldn’t resist kissing her. He longed for the luxuriant feel of the luscious, warm, wine flavored lips upon his own. To feel her silky smooth hair caress the contours of his face. He cursed his bad luck and said roughly,
“Don’t be flippant, Mitra! Take care. I’ll be home soon. Keep yourself safe and ready for me. Till then bye!” He blew her a kiss and disconnected the phone before she could return the kiss.
Unbidden tears stung her eyes, and she dropped the phone on her bedside table and picked up the book she had been trying to read the whole week. She was not much of a reader and now the longing for Divesh made her even more unable to concentrate on the tactics the defense lawyer was using to save his guilty client. A spate of coughs racked her body and she reached for the inhaler kept ready beside her pillow. A few puffs and she could breathe easier. But her throat felt hoarse. She took a swig from the water bottle beside her and felt her eyelids strain, indicating that sleep was on its way. She kept aside her book and sunk down into the soft pillows, covered in light pink cottons and let sleep overtake her senses. She woke up in the middle of the night sweating, her throat burning and feeling feverish. Her head felt as if it was trying to split up into pieces. She rose coughing, trying to clear her throat. Fear gripped her as she touched her forehead and found it was burning. She was certain the virus had somehow entered her. Fighting down her panic, she fumbled towards the kitchen, clutching the phone in her shaking hands. She remembered her friend telling that an infected person should gargle with warm water and have some hot tea if possible. She did just that, and returned to her bed and called up the emergency number that crowded her phone from the numerous forwarded whatsapp messages. She dragged herself to the main door and left it open, then called up her neighbor to inform them of her condition and also to call up Divesh in the morning and let him know she was in the hospital. She did not want to call Divesh in this condition and knew she won’t be able to do it in the morning. Soon the emergency ambulance arrived along with municipal workers, who cordoned off the building and put the residents under strict quarantine. In the Ambulance, with a last vision of Divesh's haggard face, Mitra slipped into unconsciousness.
A distraught Divesh, pleading with authorities to let him travel to Mumbai by a private vehicle of the 5 star hotel he was staying in, arrived the next evening, only to be told that he could not even see his beloved Mitra, let alone meet her. Her condition was not good, she being an asthma patient, the doctors informed him, devoid of any feeling coloring their voice. The doctors also seemed like Zombies to him. Thankfully the authorities lodged him in a clean and septic room in the same hospital, following quarantine rules and for tests. A couple of days later, his tests came out negative and he was allowed to return home. It had been disinfected and, thankfully, no other resident showed any sign of the infection. That was the outcome when one followed self isolation religiously like the residents of Aastha Apartments. Divesh was restless during those days. He went on a complete fast and kept praying for Mitra. He would talk to the photos that she had lovingly framed by herself and scattered it all over the house. She said that it made her feel that this was a home filled with happy people. He would talk to the photos and willed her to get well through sheer force of his prayers. A month later, strictly warned that she was to take good care and never indulge in activities that would aggravate her asthma, Mitra limped into their apartment, leaning on the still strong, but highly emaciated body of Divesh.
It had been a year now and they had moved to the suburbs, getting a bungalow at a quiet locality. Mitra was well and Divesh replenished his muscles and abs. But the spark in Mitra had died. The will to live was gone. Only Divesh's intense love burned stronger, trying to reignite her flame bit by bit with each passing day.
Mitra loved the swing in the terrace. It was her favorite place. Immersed in the fragrance of the beautiful fauna adorning the terrace, as well as the perfume of the flowers that wafted over from the garden below, she could lose herself here and be free from the nagging feeling of incompleteness. The first rains after she came back from the hospital and they moved in into the new house had brought her alive. Divesh was ecstatic to have his Mitra back. But it was short-lived. That very night they had to rush her to the hospital as she succumbed to a severe Asthma attack. The doctor was furious when told that she had been in the rain. The doctor explained to Divesh to be very careful and avoid Mitra getting exposed to the cold as it may trigger a reversal and this time it could be life-threatening. This was enough to send Divesh into a frenzy and he strictly forbade her to go out in the rain again. But the rain water on her skin felt like a balm and she was not able to resist getting wet.
So, when the rains started that afternoon, Divesh knew instinctively that Mitra was in the terrace and he rushed out and brought her in. For some time now, Divesh had reached the end of his tether. It was becoming very difficult to handle Mitra. His gentle Mitra. Today had been the limit and his perseverance snapped and the tears came hurtling out. Bringing himself under control, Divesh stood up abruptly and stepped back away from her. As he was about to leave the room, her timid voice, once again stopped him on his tracks.
“Please don’t leave, Divesh. I’m sorry. I thought you’ll stop loving me soon. I believed that I cannot hold you to me any longer. This has been killing me inside slowly. I thought it was better to die than lose you. But I now realize your love is not superficial. You love my soul and not my body. I realize that as I died I was killing you too. Please forgive me. I want to live. For you. For the family we dreamt of. Please help me come back to life as you once did. Please!”
Fresh tears breaking through, Divesh turned and reached her in a single step and pulled her into his arms kissing her tears away, and hugging her in a tight grip.
“Thank you, God! Thank you for bringing back my Mitra back again!” he cried and kissed her deeply.
You see, last time, Divesh’s prayers were answered, but it was not the same Mitra he had left behind, who came back with him. That Mitra had won the battle against the deadly virus, but at the cost of the beautiful eyes, clear as the stream water, in the depths of which he had once sought solace. The Virus had not only taken her eyes, it had also robbed her off her zest for life and will to live. She felt incomplete and this had snatched away her faith in Divesh, in his love for her. But it could not diminish Divesh’s faith. He was sure that his Mitra would be back. And here she was, whole in the embrace of his arms. Whole in the power of his love. She was complete with him beside her. She did not need her eyes to feel complete any more.
So enraptured was she, that she didn’t even notice the terrace door burst open and her husband Divesh rush out with a big black umbrella. Holding the umbrella on one hand, Divesh scooped up Mitra with the other, as easily as if she were a bouquet of flowers and not a 100 pound human body, and was back inside the building with a screaming Mitra scratching at his back.
“Let go of me, you giant moron!” she squealed, her small oval face contorted like a ball of red wool as her delicate palms, balled into tight fists, rained down blows on Divesh's chest and back. As he stepped inside the covered lounge on the terrace, Divesh closed the umbrella shut and flung it towards a hook on a corner behind the door and the umbrella, finding its mark, slid down on the hook easily and rested there dripping off the rain water it had collected on its short trip outside. Without missing a step, he carried Mitra into the bathroom and dropped her inside the tub like a bag of hot potatoes. She squealed again, this time in pain, as her bony behind met the hard fiber of the silvery white Jacuzzi tub. Ignoring the angry torrent of words that emanated from her pale, plump lips, Divesh ran the bath with warm water and turned towards Mitra. The words stopped immediately, leaving her lips slightly agape, as the warm water lapped over her and rose around her.
Without a word, Divesh looked at her, passion mingled with anger, and undressed her. He let her soak in the hot water for some time, then pulled her up and wrapping her in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, carried her to their bedroom, sat her down on a stool and rubbed off the water from her hair and finished the job by drying it with a dryer.
Mitra’s indignation at being pulled out of the rain had ebbed away like the rain outside and she could feel Divesh’s silent anger hovering in the room, as palpable as the hum of a bee, as he went about pulling drawers and shutting doors of the wardrobe to take out a dress for her. Finally finding one he liked he went over to her and handed it to her.
As she took the dress from him, he spoke for the first time. “ I’m going to the den to finish my work,” he said, his voice laden with steel. “Dress up and slip inside the covers and don’t come out from there. I’m sending up some hot and spicy soup for you,” he ordered and turned to leave, but was immobilized as her soft hands grabbed his rough one, and with a voice dripped in honey, she called out a plaintive apology, sending a thrill down his spine. Her touch and voice always did that to him. And when that happened, he could not stay angry with her anymore. Turning towards her, he knelt down beside her, wrapped his hands over her palms and with a voice made gruff with pain and passion cried, the long held tears now flowing copiously,
“Why do you do this to me? Aren’t you happy that you sent me to hell once? Why do you want to throw me back there again? And believe me, Mitra, this time I won’t be able to make it out even if you can.” Divesh warned, his throat tightening with fear thinking of the consequences of Mitra’s childishness.
Mitra bent down and enveloped him in her arms, pulling him towards her, hugging him tightly, both crying in each other’s arms.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She kept on repeating softly as the nightmares of the past year came hurtling back whirling around her head and making her sway. The nightmare which engulfed the whole city and wiped it out. The nightmare which had crept up on her, taken her unaware and pushed her into a dark tunnel. A big long nightmare from which her husband had pulled her out with daily fervent prayers and an unbroken fast for fourteen days.
The virus had appeared innocently as a common cold and flu. Brought into the country by a jet-setter. But slowly, it unraveled its viscous fangs and had taken the whole country in its grip. Mitra, a shoe designer was in Guwahati for an entrepreneurs meet, when the virus was engulfing her city within its vicious grip. Divesh, an archeologist, was safely ensconced deep in the Aravalli on a digging expedition blissfully unaware that his world was dissipating. No network connection, had ensured his blissful ignorance. The moment she heard about a possible lockdown, Mitra had returned to her flat in the posh Marine Drive locality, a 5 minute walk from Trident Hotel. Knowing that Divesh was unreachable by phone, she had dispatched her office boy, Lucky, to the Aravalli's to warn Divesh of the situation. By the time Divesh came to know of the situation, the entire country was under lockdown and his whole team, along with Lucky, was stuck in Udaipur.
Meanwhile, in Mumbai, being able to connect with Divesh, Mitra was able to relax a bit. She checked her groceries. Though not full, Mitra was assured that it would last her for at least a fortnight, if she could stop herself from binge eating sprees to see her through her sleepless nights. She even enjoyed having the big flat to herself for a few days, without having to pick up towels and spare shirts and slippers Divesh was prone to leave around in the house. A week crawled by. Another fortnight, before the warm, muscled body and sweat-sheened arms would lull her to sleep. The sleepless nights had decimated her snack and beverage supplies and she began to worry. When she voiced her worries to Divesh, he warned her not to go out for any such supplies. The situation was very bad in Mumbai. Coughing slightly, she promised to be good.
“You have an adequate supply of your inhaler refills, right?” Divesh asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
“Now, no need to be a fusspot! It’s just a cough, not something to worry about.”, Mitra chided, a smile lacing her voice, making it seem husky. It made him yearn to be with her. To see the smile that curved up at the corners in such a delectable way, that he couldn’t resist kissing her. He longed for the luxuriant feel of the luscious, warm, wine flavored lips upon his own. To feel her silky smooth hair caress the contours of his face. He cursed his bad luck and said roughly,
“Don’t be flippant, Mitra! Take care. I’ll be home soon. Keep yourself safe and ready for me. Till then bye!” He blew her a kiss and disconnected the phone before she could return the kiss.
Unbidden tears stung her eyes, and she dropped the phone on her bedside table and picked up the book she had been trying to read the whole week. She was not much of a reader and now the longing for Divesh made her even more unable to concentrate on the tactics the defense lawyer was using to save his guilty client. A spate of coughs racked her body and she reached for the inhaler kept ready beside her pillow. A few puffs and she could breathe easier. But her throat felt hoarse. She took a swig from the water bottle beside her and felt her eyelids strain, indicating that sleep was on its way. She kept aside her book and sunk down into the soft pillows, covered in light pink cottons and let sleep overtake her senses. She woke up in the middle of the night sweating, her throat burning and feeling feverish. Her head felt as if it was trying to split up into pieces. She rose coughing, trying to clear her throat. Fear gripped her as she touched her forehead and found it was burning. She was certain the virus had somehow entered her. Fighting down her panic, she fumbled towards the kitchen, clutching the phone in her shaking hands. She remembered her friend telling that an infected person should gargle with warm water and have some hot tea if possible. She did just that, and returned to her bed and called up the emergency number that crowded her phone from the numerous forwarded whatsapp messages. She dragged herself to the main door and left it open, then called up her neighbor to inform them of her condition and also to call up Divesh in the morning and let him know she was in the hospital. She did not want to call Divesh in this condition and knew she won’t be able to do it in the morning. Soon the emergency ambulance arrived along with municipal workers, who cordoned off the building and put the residents under strict quarantine. In the Ambulance, with a last vision of Divesh's haggard face, Mitra slipped into unconsciousness.
A distraught Divesh, pleading with authorities to let him travel to Mumbai by a private vehicle of the 5 star hotel he was staying in, arrived the next evening, only to be told that he could not even see his beloved Mitra, let alone meet her. Her condition was not good, she being an asthma patient, the doctors informed him, devoid of any feeling coloring their voice. The doctors also seemed like Zombies to him. Thankfully the authorities lodged him in a clean and septic room in the same hospital, following quarantine rules and for tests. A couple of days later, his tests came out negative and he was allowed to return home. It had been disinfected and, thankfully, no other resident showed any sign of the infection. That was the outcome when one followed self isolation religiously like the residents of Aastha Apartments. Divesh was restless during those days. He went on a complete fast and kept praying for Mitra. He would talk to the photos that she had lovingly framed by herself and scattered it all over the house. She said that it made her feel that this was a home filled with happy people. He would talk to the photos and willed her to get well through sheer force of his prayers. A month later, strictly warned that she was to take good care and never indulge in activities that would aggravate her asthma, Mitra limped into their apartment, leaning on the still strong, but highly emaciated body of Divesh.
It had been a year now and they had moved to the suburbs, getting a bungalow at a quiet locality. Mitra was well and Divesh replenished his muscles and abs. But the spark in Mitra had died. The will to live was gone. Only Divesh's intense love burned stronger, trying to reignite her flame bit by bit with each passing day.
Mitra loved the swing in the terrace. It was her favorite place. Immersed in the fragrance of the beautiful fauna adorning the terrace, as well as the perfume of the flowers that wafted over from the garden below, she could lose herself here and be free from the nagging feeling of incompleteness. The first rains after she came back from the hospital and they moved in into the new house had brought her alive. Divesh was ecstatic to have his Mitra back. But it was short-lived. That very night they had to rush her to the hospital as she succumbed to a severe Asthma attack. The doctor was furious when told that she had been in the rain. The doctor explained to Divesh to be very careful and avoid Mitra getting exposed to the cold as it may trigger a reversal and this time it could be life-threatening. This was enough to send Divesh into a frenzy and he strictly forbade her to go out in the rain again. But the rain water on her skin felt like a balm and she was not able to resist getting wet.
So, when the rains started that afternoon, Divesh knew instinctively that Mitra was in the terrace and he rushed out and brought her in. For some time now, Divesh had reached the end of his tether. It was becoming very difficult to handle Mitra. His gentle Mitra. Today had been the limit and his perseverance snapped and the tears came hurtling out. Bringing himself under control, Divesh stood up abruptly and stepped back away from her. As he was about to leave the room, her timid voice, once again stopped him on his tracks.
“Please don’t leave, Divesh. I’m sorry. I thought you’ll stop loving me soon. I believed that I cannot hold you to me any longer. This has been killing me inside slowly. I thought it was better to die than lose you. But I now realize your love is not superficial. You love my soul and not my body. I realize that as I died I was killing you too. Please forgive me. I want to live. For you. For the family we dreamt of. Please help me come back to life as you once did. Please!”
Fresh tears breaking through, Divesh turned and reached her in a single step and pulled her into his arms kissing her tears away, and hugging her in a tight grip.
“Thank you, God! Thank you for bringing back my Mitra back again!” he cried and kissed her deeply.
You see, last time, Divesh’s prayers were answered, but it was not the same Mitra he had left behind, who came back with him. That Mitra had won the battle against the deadly virus, but at the cost of the beautiful eyes, clear as the stream water, in the depths of which he had once sought solace. The Virus had not only taken her eyes, it had also robbed her off her zest for life and will to live. She felt incomplete and this had snatched away her faith in Divesh, in his love for her. But it could not diminish Divesh’s faith. He was sure that his Mitra would be back. And here she was, whole in the embrace of his arms. Whole in the power of his love. She was complete with him beside her. She did not need her eyes to feel complete any more.
