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A Tale of Love and Loss
by BS Murthy Bookmark and Share
 

An excerpt from Benign Flame – Saga of Love by BS Murthy

‘Oh! What a lass she was!’ he thought, and reflected upon that incredible incident.

During that early winter, he went to Khajuraho to study the erotic architecture of its sandstone temples. After a weeklong stay there, that evening, he boarded the Ganga-Kaveri Express at Satna to reach Madras to present his seminar paper. After exchanging pleasantries with a Father on the side and the trade unionist opposite in that four-berth coupe, he went about polishing his seminar paper well into the night.
 
Next morning, he was lazing by the window enjoying the refreshing landscape of the wilderness. At around eight, two girls came to greet the Father who was engrossed with the Bible. The one, who was almost in, was rather plain but the other behind her seemed tantalizing in her grey saree. With a black shawl draped around, she was a shade darker and an inch taller than her companion. Directing his gaze upon the charmer, he found her graceful though tentative in her flowing frame. As she surveyed the scene, she found him intently staring at her in wonderment. It appeared to him from her demeanor that the craving she espied in his gaze synchronized with the longing his persona insensibly induced in her mind.
 
While her companion was conversing with the Father, the young thing at every turn was espying him compellingly. He saw her enamored eyes enlarge as though to accommodate his admiring stare fixed on her. On occasion, when she intruded into the ongoing conversation, his ears danced to the tune of her soothing tone in Malayalam that was alien to him.
 
In due course, the train halted at some station requiring the unionist to alight. Having had to crouch all along, the girls grabbed the space thus created with great relish. But having lost her senses in the ecstasy of their mutual attraction, she kept mum while her friend blabbered. After a while, as her friend got up to leave, the charmer too stood up as if in a reflex action. However, having come back to her senses, she let her friend go out of the setting while she stayed back to savor the moment further.
 
Having taken her seat opposite, she readily got up and sat in the space between him and the Father to continue her tête-à-tête with the latter. The proximity of her person and the proclivity of her posture triggered an emotional upsurge in his soul that occasioned a craving to caress her frame. Goaded by his desire to feel his love on her body, he gained her midriff left uncovered by her saree. The response of her flesh to the sense of his touch seemed to have induced warmth in her frame that provided solace to her soul. Imperceptibly she readjusted her posture as though to help him explore her state to the core. Enthused by her accommodation that enabled him access her recess, he surged on eagerly bustling about her buttocks as if they were the mounds of her essence. At length, as though to address her heart, he reached for her breast from underneath the shawl. Just as he felt her pulsations, she gave a turn and dropped the book in hand. And that invited the attention of the Father.
 
To forestall an inquisition, he then initiated a discussion on Gibbon’s views on the growth of the Christianity. Oh, how the Father found that enthusing that spared her an explanation! Having diverted the Father’s mind to his favorite subject, he tried to take stock of the state of her mind. He found her blue in the face as she sweated in her palms. Seeing her thus, he cursed himself for being the cause of her fright. He reached for his notebook and scribbled his sorriness, and gestured for her forgiveness. She seemed to have felt his impulse, even in her nonplussed state, and glanced at his message only to ignore him thereafter.
 
Shortly she left, still dazed, and he remained remorseful. He was too perplexed to follow her to apologize for his rashness. When he recovered from the shock of her hurt, he ventured through the vestibules to locate her on the moving train. At last, he sighted her, still in a state of shock, and at that his heart sank into the depths of agony. He got vexed even more as he found her pixilated in spite of all those apologetic gestures he came up with to soothe her soul. Her indifference made him feel worse for her sake. Feeling wretched himself, he thought only his love could alleviate her hurt and their souls couldn’t be solaced but in their embrace. Oh, how was he to convince her about that! Where was the privacy to pressure her into a love-saving embrace?
 
Not to embarrass her further with his forthrightness, he sauntered in the aisle to attract her attention. As she failed to yield, he riveted near her to make her relent. At length, as though responding to his body language, she looked at him with a vacant look that suggested all was over between them. So as not to compound her misery with his embarrassing presence, he left her with a heavy heart.
 
Back in the coupe, he sat distraught in her thought. As he cursed himself for his misdemeanor, his craving for her pardon was accentuated. While his remorse helped nourish his love for her, he suffered on that score even more. However, he didn’t dare venture to see her again, fearing he might make her suffer even more. And thus, he never knew where her journey had ended and when her ordeal was over. But that incident, however, haunted him for weeks on end.   
 
‘Wasn’t it a case of love at first sight that induced a sense of mutual belonging in us,’ he reminisced presently. ‘No denying it, though. I should’ve befriended her before proposing, and she couldn’t have refused for sure. Maybe by now, we could have been expecting our first-born. Who knows?’
 
‘But, why did it all go haywire?’ he thought in regret all again. ‘I lost my head and went wayward on her body, didn’t I? What led me to mislay my hand on her? Was it owing to the craving of my flesh or the urge of my love? Didn’t I know that it was the passion of my soul to possess her that triggered it all. Until it all ended in a huff, didn’t we enjoy a smooth ride on the silken path of love? Wasn’t my urgency to close in on her breasts that alienated her heart, once and for all? Maybe, I was compelled to feel the rhythm of her heart beats rhymed by the emotions of her love for me. What a fall it was, after a dream start! Oh, what an ignominious end it was after that ecstatic beginning.’
 
‘When she was as receptive to my caress at her seat,’ he always thought in puzzlement, ‘why was it that she found my hand on her breast so offensive? How she should’ve expected me to envisage the borders of her sensitivity in my state of excitation. True, she would have felt that I transgressed; yet she couldn’t have failed to feel the pulse of my love in the nuances of my touch. Didn’t my heart descend on my hand to vent its love on her frame! Oh, how it rushed to my mouth seeing her disjointed! Why did she choose to punish me with banishment for the failings of my love inspired by her own looks? How she thought I deserved the deserts! Why didn’t she pardon me, finding me repentant?’
 
He racked his brains for an answer that he never got but was sunken whenever he recalled that episode, ‘Had she pardoned me, how rejoicing it would have been for both of us! Seeing me ecstatic, she should’ve been deliriously joyous, and what a triumph of love that could have been! But that wasn’t to be. What should’ve been a fairy tale romance ended as an unmitigated disaster for both of us.’ 
 
‘What could be her name?’ he often thought. ‘What a pity that the most ardent love I’d ever experienced should remain a nameless memory! Why not give her a name? Why not I christen her Swapna, the dream one?’
 
 He pondered over the proposition and gave up in the end realizing that even the most evocative name wouldn’t move him since she didn’t lend her voice to it.
   

16-Mar-2012
More by :  BS Murthy
 
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