Destiny.
The Star Dust reporter felt that the Man
had a love-affair.
All is news for her that is fit to print
for her magazine, the Star Dust.
The Star Dust magazine is the carrier of
scandals and spicy news items.
The reporter caught the whiff of smell of
love news in one of his following
quotes in his blog. She tried to get a story from him but she
failed.
She kept all her options open. She is a veteran. She do not let go easily.
He met
with a piece, one he had not dreamt of.
At a
friend’s villa in Manali he saw her.
It was
at a family-supper that he attended.
He was
not keen to go but his friend dragged him.
The
place was the Military Cantonment Bungalows.
The host
was the captain of the army.
She was
the hostess.
There
were no other women present except her.
The
three trio were made to sit in the patio for drinks.
Then
they entered the dining room.
She was
slender, silken hair, the hair plucked back from
the
natural hairline of the eye-brow as the fashion goes.
She
moved with a delicate sensuousness, every slight rhythm of the
arm and shoulder
and the leg as smooth as music.
It was
pleasurable. She appeared to be one of those rare
creatures
whose every breath was made for love.
Sketching
her frame in her mind, he found a wholeness in her.
There
was an undulant softness of manner, voice gesture, motion.
From the
beauty of neck and shoulder and bosom, she was an
artist’s
imagination of painting her as the female-nude; not to love,
but to
paint. She had much of her loveliness resembling a
Fairy
lost her way from Heaven. Her face was rarest of rare.
She was
unlike any woman he had ever seen.
He was
all through out the dinner aware of her not merely
through
his eyes but through every pore and part of his body.
Her presence in the room before she moved or said a word of mouth,
sent his
blood pounding through his veins, shot his back and the
shoulders
upwards, thrust his pelvic structure alive with new life.
In
short, she was love in its ultimate form.
Her
welcoming smile for him had encouraged him.
In fact
she liked company of men-not any one in particular.
Her
movement had a captivating grace and it was a delight to see.
Though
an inner drum was pounding in his ears, he heard
the soft
music of her voice that shocked him to intense awareness.
After
dinner while the two others were involved in some serious talk,
his legs
involuntarily moved in the inner room.
In spite
of his protestations that he had no interest in the female form,
that he
found no excitement worthy of painting, he could not tear
his eyes
away from her bodice clothed in a fine woven silk which
accomplished
the harrowing miracle of seeming to expose her breasts
while at
the same time keeping them under cover.
The
harder he looked, the less he could actually see, for he was confronted by
a
masterpiece of the dressmaker’s art, designed to excite and intrigue,
yet
reveal nothing beyond a suspicion of white doves nestling.
She was
amused at his interest in her.
She: “Are
you an artist? “You look like one.”
She: “A
music-man?”
He:
“I am a painter.”
He: “I do off-hand landscapes.”
She: “Will
you paint me in your style?”
He:
“You are already a painted picture of natural beauty.”
He:
“I have not the ability to reproduce your grace charm
and beauty by my brush.”
They
laughed together. They leaned towards each other.
He:
“Will I see you again?”
She: “If the Captain invites you.”
He:
“Not otherwise?”
Her lips
parted in a smile.
She:
“Is it that you wish me to pose for you?”
She
laughed heartily.
Her movements
tightened the net over her bosom.
Once
again, he found himself watching the lovely shapes beneath her bodice.
It was a
nice evening.
That
night he writhed in fever.
He found
himself turning and twisting in an effort to bury his face
between
her breasts, he realised what had happened to him.
He was
incapable to stop the burrowing in the pillows.
He was
hit with a Thunder Bolt.
The next
day he passed her in the Market, the street of clothes and drapes
with an
older woman. She was wearing a wreath of
flower-garland
through
her hair and moved in the crowded street with the same effortless ease
and
comfort.
She
bowed and smiled slightly and walked on leaving him
standing
there rooted to the brick pavement.
That
night when again he could not sleep, he began to write on a plane paper.
The Garland
“What
joy hath you glad wreath of flowers that is
Around
her shining hair so deftly twined,
Each
blossom pressing forward from behind,
As
though to be the first her brows to kiss,
The
livelong day her dress hath perfect bliss,
That now
reveals her breast, now seems to bind,
And that
fair woven net of gold refined
Rests on
her cheek and throat in happiness.
Yet
still more blissful seems to me the band,
Gilt at
the tips so sweetly doth its ring,
And
clasp the bosom that it serves to lace.
Yes, and
the belt to such as understand,
Bound
round her waist sayeth,
”Here I
would ever cling!”
What
would my arms do in that girdle’s place?”
He
suspected that this was not the kind of sonnet that did justice to her,
yet it
cooled him down, and he returned to his bed and slept.
A few days after, as luck would have it, he happened to be
invited
to the same place. She sat alone before the window
involved
in her own thoughts.
He
watched her face in the deem light, the features so fragile,
yet with
such implicit passion.
She: “It
is pleasant to talk to someone of my taste to talk to.” she said.
He: “You do not have friends?” he asked her.
She: “Not any more, but I am happy the way the
things are.”
He: “I don’t know miss, but you seem to be out
of my quarter.”
She: “Just what is your quarter, besides sculpture
as you said once?”
He: “Poetry.” He tendered a soft smile.
He: “It cost me two night’s sleep before I could
reduce it in writing.”
She: “You wrote a sonnet for me? For me only?”
She: “Could I hear it?
He
flushed.
He: “I will bring a copy sometime. You can read
it in privacy.”
She: “Why are you so embarrassed?”
She: “It is good to be desired by some one like
you.”
She: “I take it as a compliment.”
He cast
his eyes down. How could he confess that he was new to this sort of game!”
“How
could he explain the fires burning in his loins?”
He
looked up. He found her eyes on him. She
had read his feelings.
She put
her hand in his, studied his flushed face.
These moments of perception
changed
their relationship.
She: “Have you ever been in love?”
He: “……..I have not been lucky.”
She: “Her body stirred in her gown causing a
tremor.”
She: “We are two friends and like each other, why
should not want each other?”
His
feverish frame was no longer content to nestle his face between her breasts,
now he
was pulsating to enter all the way. He
kept hearing her words over and over
and
again and again in the darkness of the place with an unbearable urgency.
No
sooner he reached home, he took out pen and paper to write scraps, phrases
lines as
they came tumbling into his head.
“Kind to
the World but to itself unkind,
A worm
is born, that dying noiselessly,
Despoils
itself to clothe fair limbs and he,
In its
true worth by death alone divined,
Oh,
would that I might die for her to find,
Raiment
in my outworn mortality!
That
changing like the snake, I might be free,
To cast
the slough wherein I dwell confined!
Nay were
it mine, that shaggy fleece that stays,
Woven
and wrought into a vestment fair,
Around
her beauteous bosom in such bliss,!
Although
the day she would clasp me, would I were
The
shoes that bear her burden! When the ways
Were wet
with rain, her feet I should then kiss!”
After a
few days he again visited the place. But he did not see her.
The
scene had changed. The captain’s wife and children had arrived and the
house
was full of family humdrum and noise. But not her.
Alarmed
and afraid, he left abruptly under an excuse of being late and all that,
His feet
carried him swiftly up to the road to her villa. He did not know what he
would do
once he got there. What he would say how
he would explain when some one
of her
family might open the gate for her.
Trembling himself, he half walked,
half ran
up to the foothill road.
The
front gate was unbolted. He went to the
front door, knocked again and again.
Just as
he was beginning to think that none was home, and that he had acted stupidly,
the door
opened a crack. She stood attired in a
loose gown, her hair hanging down her back, without cosmetics or jewels
smelling of shampoo and her face looked to him
more
beautiful, her body more desirable because it was unornamented.
He
stepped inside the door. There was no
sound in the house. She closed and bolted the door. Then they were in a passionate embrace, their
bodies merging knee to knee,
breasts
to chest, their mouths moist and sweet, glued and drinking each other’s saliva,
and
their arms with the power of unquenchable vigour and urgency crushing each
other in
a total pulsating time and place embrace.
She led
him to her bedroom. She had nothing on beneath the robe.
Her
slender body, the red pointed breasts the grey Mount of Venus were
as if
his eyes had known them all along, a full female made for love.
It was
like penetrating into a wet valley of love which opened up to its full
like a
balloon opening up to receive him in an urgent welcome and he felt his thrust
entering
in a warm channel of bliss and happiness waiting eagerly to bathe him
with her
thin liquid surface, penetrating deeper and deeper until he reached
the
explosive climax and all of his fluid strength, love, passion, desire, got
poured
into
her, made to love the hand of the true companion he felt proud for life,
had
responded likewise with equal vigour and eagerness to swallow each drop of his
energy
into her.
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“She is so lovely, when she
laughs! When she looks with her
eye-balls up in the sky, I am sure she is dazed of me. She is such a darling and so good! She is
happy and surprised that I am not a bit superficial as I look. She must have grown to love me as a friend.
That is enough for the time being. I
have just jotted down whatever came to my mind.
I have the feeling that she and me share a secret. We look at each other only when mother is not
around. In mother's presence we do not know each other. If she looks at me with
those eyes which wink and laugh, a little light lights within me giving me
happiness. I hope it remains like this forever.
There must be something she has guessed about me. She certainly can not
love me as I appear. She does not know
the inner me. I doubt if she is able to
look beyond and penetrate the concrete-armour I am wearing to project a
different self to the world. Will she
ever reach there? It is said love often
springs from pity. Will it happen? No I don't love her. I only want to talk to her and pass my
time. Mother thinks that she is in love
with me. She also says that she keeps on
looking at me." " I am in a
very difficult position. Mother is
against me. She is against her. But I am not against her. I don't know of her. But she closes her eyes not to see the silent
battle between mother and me. Luckily I
am quite used to hiding my feelings.
I manage myself well not to reveal my inner feelings about anything to
anyone. She does not understand
us. We are happy just sitting together
and not uttering a word. When she lies
with her arm under her head, as if sleeping, she looks like a child. When she plays with the pet, she is lovely
sight to see. When she plays the shots
on the field, she looks full of stuff and energy.”
“When she is plucking the roses
or running in the forest after the pet animals, then she is live. When she is
so awkward and clumsy with mother, she is a darling. Of the numberless steps to my heart perhaps she
climbed one or two.”
Today, She was alone.
It was late evening.
She had a hectic day at the Studio.
She was on her chair making efforts to
locate her message-board.
She tried to decide what action to take
about her personal affair.
The breeze from the river-front coming
through the open window was refreshing.
As she rolled her chair here and there
aimlessly not knowing what
she wanted or what course of action she
liked to take about her path in life,
she sat still statue doing nothing in the
end, her mind working in all sides in turmoil.
It was hard to imagine a famous small
screen-TV star, as she was, caught
in such an embarrassing situation
helplessly involved in future course of action about
her life.
Generally Mary the companion cum secretary used to be with her.
Today she was detained at a social
gathering and being alone gave her a
chance to think about her personal course
of action at the cross-roads of
her career on the one side and her love for
him on the other, and decide about her personal choice about them.
Most girls experience such a stage in life
after the age of puberty.
She had not allowed physical demands to
interfere with her progress
in life. She had mercilessly killed her
feelings dreams about love affection
and all these things in pursuit of her
profession. She had not experienced
the mental agony and pain a girl feels when
she sheds her childhood life
and enters a stage of life, a damsel in
demand by all and sundry and ultimately
confronted to be a victim through the
process of womanhood.
After College days, after her performance
in College-dramas and her
bright record at the dance academy, Z-TV
engaged her as their anchor
interviewing famous Film-Stars and world
dignitaries.
She was the host of many popular serials
and TV shows which were
famous and rated as first class with five
stars.
Her charisma was so captivating that she
had been nick-named as Venus, an incarnation of
modern age Venus.
She had never entered into the dirty lane
of scandals to her name.
She had remained normal healthy young
damsel with no health problems
like acne, weight-gain or any other disease
and she was never at the mercy of the Fate.
It appeared she was born as one of the
luckiest persons on the Earth.
Everything had come to her naturally
without asking and in due course of time
without any toil or tears.
She had wonderful parents and a loving
younger brother who worshipped her
as an image of idol for him in his
life. This encouraged her in every walk
of life.
They adored her beauty and did everything
in their power to educate her Mind.
It was during her studies in the college
that she got acquainted with Him.
It happened the way it happens to all
girls. No is no negative to a girl.
She never wanted to involve with any one
emotionally or physically.
But it happened naturally and normally
without her knowing that she
was in the midst of cross-roads tonight
serious about making a choice
between him and her career and profession.
He had a manly and dominating personality.
He could not be called quite handsome.
He could not be called ugly or bad looking.
He was the best orator and a good student
of human psychology.
During the rehearsals of the college-celebration
function, she came in
touch with him during the rehearsals of the
English Shakespearian one piece
of Merchant of Venice
immortalised herself in this difficult task
for her memorable performance.
Ultimately it happened as it happens with
everyone. She fell in love with him.
He was few years her older. He was the student’s leader in the University
and all other colleges in the university campus.
He was from the family class of teachers
and professors who had devoted their life
in the field of education. The family had a name in the social circle as
public workers.
Both got attracted to one another like a
magnet attracts a pin. Their attraction
was real.
After graduation and also a law degree, He
had joined the law offices of Homi-Wadia & Sons. Here he gained experience
and maturity about legal aspects of life.
He worked very hard. He projected himself as an authority on the
intricate subject of Human Relations and Family matters and family problems and
disputes.
He also worked as an advisor and legal
representative of film TV actors including her.
They were friends but whispering tongues
poisoned the truth.
People said many things about him.
No one could say that he was not
handsome.
He was tall slender and
graceful.
He had a sort of an animal type of
grace that attracted the ladies despite their unwillingness to involve in any
relationship. He had a seductive youthfulness.
He was a flatterer. He had the
inborn quality to make out tales after tales which the ladies liked to hear him
narrate again and again.
He often wondered how people swallowed his
crap, and how he managed to escape himself unchallenged. He simply had no
idea.
It was luck or his instinct to make
the right acquaintance at the right time, and make exit at the right
time.
His gestures were calculated with
mathematical precision and his every smile wink handshake were well
rehearsed. He had the knack to find out the families who would be useful.
She felt deep pity for him She saw him as a helpless captive in the hands
of religion.
She also felt something else.
She could not explain. It was an impulse but she experienced a physical
need to touch him. This urge was so strong that when she spoke to him, She
pat him on his hand or put her hand on his thigh etc.
Such innocent gestures very deeply
kept him disturbed. Something really tangible happened. He had
finished his routine work and was about to retire to his place.
She crossed the path and stood
invitingly mocking.
She was absorbed in her game but at
ease as she had seen him completing his outdoor job and returning on break
for rest and lunch. She laid her hand on his shoulder dragging him near as
if she intended to reveal a secret. He listened. Both, thereafter,
with their hands entangled, departed towards his room on the top of the mansion.
His hand came to rest on her shoulder. It moved down her
back. She felt it went still deeper. She had a jittering of her body
unknown to her. It came with an intensity which she never knew it was
possible. It had lasted about a minute. It was total. It was so
full and all-encompassing that it had an effect of an explosion she felt for
all the time, she had lived and of all the years yet to be lived.
Now she was certain God
existed. Now she could die without regret.
There are two tragedy in life.
One is not to get your Heart’s desire.
The other one is to get the Heart’s desire and feel still
unhappy.
On his part, he was torn into two.
He was a victim of his own ego.
A life time of happiness, no man alive could bear it.
It would be Hell on Earth.
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