Forbidden Flower: From the ‘Cradle of Mankind’ Comes a Meteoric Novel About Healing a Debauched World…

By Ashiq Sufiana

Forbidden Flower might well be that elusive Great Indian Novel.
It is philosophical, artistic, and even exotic with a spicy Indian flavor in spite of being played out on a global scale, touching geographical locales like Miami, London, and of course, select parts of a colourful and vibrant India.
The narrative is rooted in the dramatic confrontation between Immunitis,
a modern disease deadlier than AIDS, (reaching pandemic levels in the West),
and Ayurved, an ancient Indian system of healing, inherited from the gods
and the sages.
It is also the saga of conflict between cutting edge modern science
and sacred ancient wisdom. Between, momentary arrogance and enduring values. Igniting and sustaining the hope for a return to sanity through an eventful path
of insane turbulence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491892602

Book preview

PROLOGUE

No one knows what the full moon did to the swelling waters of the Ganga all night. At dawn, when the eastern sky at Varanasi began to blush with a pink glow, the black waters were still seething with an insane undercurrent, pulling everything afloat within its embrace. On its waters, a small boat rocked precariously. Partly in response to the great river’s passion and partly owing to the passion aboard. For, on the creaking wooden planks, under the open autumn sky, lay a man and a woman making love.

Just a while ago the woman was strolling absently in the garden of her hermitage, plucking flowers for the morning puja. The darkness was fragrant and misty. The only flowers visible were white and she was plucking them with an aloofness that hurt. As her cane basket was welling up with dew-kissed flowers her dark lotus eyes were scanning the mist beyond the bamboo hedge of the garden, looking for the familiar yet alien form of the man who had changed her tranquil life in the past few days into something that seemed to be in total defiance of everything that had shaped her eighteen years of existence so far.

Her man was late. A brisk run from the campus of the Banaras Hindu University to this ashram at the banks of the Ganga took him longer than estimated. But having arrived, he lost no time. The white flowers lay heaped and limp on the moist grass as he pulled her away towards the water, and found a boat which could be easily unmoored and pushed downstream. The urgency in his manner seemed to suggest a tearing impatience. As if he would not get to see her again. In reality, and he alone knew it, it was quiet so. The morning light was fading in fast, and soon it would tear into the veil of darkness that seemed to wrap them with such tenderness.

Right opposite, across the great breadth of the river, a small crowd had congregated towards the southern tip of the state of Ramnagar. It was a quiet, awe-struck gathering of villagers scattered with a few saffron-clad sadhus. At the centre lay the frail body of a dying man.

Nityanand had announced last night that he would die this morning soon after sunrise. The news had spread fast and people trickled in all night at least for a glimpse of his last moments if not his blessings. Their devotion, however, was rewarded with an even greater surprise. Bhavanand, the great Guru had suddenly arrived at the scene as if in answer to some private prayers!

Speculations as to the reason for Bhavanand’s descent from Devprayag, situated at the dizzying heights of the Himalayas, seemed sharply divided into two possibilities. Some hoped that he would wrest Nityanand’s life back from the realms of imminent death and bless him with a new lease of healthy life.

But the others, and they were mainly the sadhus from the ashram, knew that Nityanand’s Guru, the grand old sage, had taken on this journey just for a last meeting with his disciple.

Nityanand’s frail body at his own behest had been carried to the Ganga sometime in the small hours of the morning. Hewas placed in a position where the lower half of his body was immersed in the lapping waves at the shore. Bhavanand, with his expression buried within his profuse white brows and beard, sat facing the pink glow marked out by the rising sun. The attention of the crowd shifted back and forth between the faces of the Guru and his disciple. Someone in the background had begun to chant a few hymns which Nityanand loved, but was soon too choked with emotions to continue. The silence then was disturbed only by new arrivals at the fringe of the gathering.

Nityanand appeared to be in delirium. Innumerable times he had contemplated this moment of his life. The twilight. The great, fluid merging between the finite and the infinite. If he had ever wanted all his faculties at their sharpest, it was now. Yes, She had finally come very close. She danced around his consciousness in soft, silent, musical steps. She was wooing him, and he wanted to respond with all his senses intact. With his own hands he wanted to unveil the Enchantress before She took him in her arms merging with him in that soft, magical, irrevocable embrace. The eagerness on his face looked like a burst of naked anxiety and pain.

Samudra Gupta, the local Ayurved practitioner, who had been treating him for the last year or so, picked up his wrist and began to check his pulse. He cast a quick, anxious glance towards Bhavanand who was believed to be one of the greatest living geniuses of Ayurved. But Bhavanand seemed to be lost in deep meditation.

Samudra Gupta reached for a copper goblet which contained a herbal potion, a potent pain-killer. He put a few drops between Nityanand’s lips which had parted as he was murmuring something. As the drops touched his tongue, his eyes opened wide. His vision was clear and compelling. He stared Samudra Gupta in the face, shook his head and smiled.

‘She’s too alluring, Samudra,’ he muttered, ‘and your skills are limited. Besides, this body is old and worn out. Look at me. Don’t you think I need a new garb?’

Samudra tried to smile. ‘I was only trying to alleviate your pain . . .’ Nityanand raised his palm a little. His fingers trembled under the strain. He found it strange that his physical faculties were waning just when his mind and spirit were flooded with great energy.

‘I’m not feeling any pain,’ he said, ‘nor can I distinguish it anymore from pleasure. It’s bliss beyond feelings. And I’m floating in it at will. Or… is it illusion?’ He closed his eyes again.

Samudra Gupta cast another furtive glance at Guru Bhavanand and leaned closer to Nityanand’s quivering lips. To him Nityanand looked delirious again. His words were barely audible. ‘I’m being drawn in her wake. I only hear the jingle of her anklets…’ his lips arched into an ethereal smile. ‘I want to… I want to unveil her and see! Whether She’s the Mother who’ll take me in her lap and put me to sleep. Or… She’s the Lover who’ll rouse me into oblivion… I want to see… I want to feel her breasts…’ Samudra Gupta’s ears, which were already strained to the limit, began to turn red.

The sun was almost visible now on the eastern horizon. The mist had caught a few oblique rays and had turned a warm pink. The young man had rowed the boat a mile upstream with quick, long strokes of his muscular arms and then had allowed the boat to drift downstream in a steady turmoil which matched his own state of uncontrolled passion. The woman had sat watching him in silhouette.

There was a robust rhythm and a sense of purpose in the rising ripples of his tense and taut muscles. She longed to touch his arms and his face. But the display of his power seemed to generate a strange weakness in the pit of her belly. She sat still until the man stopped rowing and let the boat tumble downstream.

He began with a gliding leap towards her. The boat swayed dangerously. She screamed and clung to him in fear and clawed at his ribs. A splash of water hit her on the face. He used his arms, knees and feet to spread her body squarely across, and soon the rocking of the boat struck a regular rhythm. As he crushed her with what seemed a force far beyond the sheer weight of his body, she screamed again. But she was afraid no more.

Guru Bhavanand opened his eyes and bowed to the rising sun. He then got up and walked slowly to Nityanand’s still body. The murmur in the crowd dies down into an ominous silence. The Gurus knelt and held his disciple’s wrist feeling his pulse. He then sought his pulse in the neck region, gave it a few moments and then ran his fingers lovingly through the tangle of hair that resembled a halo around Nityanand’s placid face. Nityanand opened his eyes and looked at his Guru. ‘I have to come again, have I not?’ he asked with smiling, calm eyes. His voice was distinct and without tremor. The Guru nodded and kept smiling until Nityanand closed his eyes for the last time. His face looked so much at peace, even the women around didn’t dare to sob aloud.

A little later, when the funeral pyre was being laid, about half a furlong away, the wood bearer noticed a small boat tumbling towards the bank. One of them swam out and pulled it ashore. There was the body of a young woman lying on her back. She wore a white saree which was wet in most parts. Her complexion was fair and her face looked curiously flushed. She was unconscious but the heaving breasts beneath her wet and clinging attire left no doubt that she was starkly and dramatically alive. She wore no ornaments. And she was strikingly beautiful.

When the surrounding crowd parted down the middle to let Guru Bhavanand walk in, the woman was still unconscious. Bhavanand bent down and felt her forehead. He ran a searching glance along the length of the figure. He then looked at the worried face of Samudra Gupta and smiled teasingly.

‘Just feel her pulse, Gurudev! I’ve never seen a faster pulse than this!’ Samudra Gupta whispered in a tone laden with frank anxiety.

Bhavanand looked around the crowd and asked whether anyone knew who the girl was. When no one came forward with a clear answer, he asked a few disciples to take her to the ashram right away and let her rest.

‘Don’t look so worried, son.’ He spoke mysteriously in Samudra’s ears. ‘Leave her alone and let’s get back to the funeral.’

‘What’s happened to her, I wonder!’ Samudra’s words trailed off into a soliloquy as he straightened up on his feet. Bhavanand had heard him. He turned around in his stride and spoke with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘She has fainted.’ He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘But how?’ Samudra Gupta’s voice was still high-pitched.

‘In sheer ecstasy.’ Said the old man.

Two months later one morning, when Swati was plucking flowers in the garden, Bhavanand sat watching her. Having given her refuge in the ashram since the day she had drifted ashore, Bhavanand had increasingly grown fond of her. He even liked her name, Swati. The distant star marked by its unwavering, soothing brilliance in the winter sky.

Swati was lost in her own thoughts. She was remembering that fated morning which had begun with the picking of white flowers, and was comparing it with here and now. The flowers seemed to symbolize the sudden colouring of her life as well. That day the flowers were white; today she plucked blood red Hibiscus, the only flowers to be offered to Mother Kali, the residing goddess of power. The white flowers were forgotten in a neglected heap on the ground. The red ones today will be offered at the dark goddess’s feet by Bhavanand himself. She loved to watch the grand old Guru in his worship rituals. The deep throated chanting of hymns, the passionate devotion in the man’s eyes that seemed to breathe life into the deity itself. And the electric presence always seemed to invade the scene enkindling emotions that were once sacrilegious and pious.

And Swati wasn’t the only one to feast her eyes and soul on all this. The entire ashram was in a state of elation. No one had hoped that the grand old tantric would stay on even for a day after Nityanand’s death rituals were performed. Something was surely in the air, though no one knew what.

Drifting along the tenuous thread of her thoughts Swati suddenly became aware that she was being watched. Looking back she saw Bhavanand who raised his hand and beckoned her towards the temple steps where her sat. She walked up and sat a few steps below his feet.

‘You were thinking of me, weren’t you?’ Bhavanand asked with a smile.

Quite unnecessarily, Swati was flustered. In spite of this great affinity, speech with this man was never easy. The ashramites say, he reads the mind like an open book. Perhaps he even reads the subconscious. Swati quickly assumed the safe position of a naughty adolescent.

‘I was wondering what your exact age would be! People say you are over a hundred years old?’ Her eyes displayed genuine wonderment. And as the old man’s eyes narrowed to a broad smile, she almost jumped up and began to clap her hands in sheer joy!

‘Oh, I have at last been the lucky one to get a glimpse of your lips and teeth!’

Bhavanand broke into a loud laughter! His white moustache and beard were thrown outward in its impact. By the time his laugh died down, Swati was thoroughly embarrassed and regretted overdoing the child act. There was already a hint of flush on her ivory cheeks.

‘Hundred years, my dear, would well be the difference between your age and mine!’ Bhavanand leaned over and touched her head with fondness. ‘But don’t ever let it come between us!’ He gave another hearty laugh.

A few ashramites had begun to materialise here and there, curious and smiling. Swati’s flush deepened.

‘I want to learn your Tantric way of Kali puja!’ She said in a sudden, serious tone.

‘What for? You are the great goddess of power, yourself! One could worship you without hesitation!’

‘Blasphemy!’ She shouted in mock reproach. ‘I want to learn! Will you teach me, or won’t you?’

‘And what happens to your Lord Krishna? Where will he find such a beautiful devotee?’ Bhavanand refused to get serious.

Swati ignored the compliment. ‘He is already angry with me…’ she said casually.

‘Why, pray?’

‘Because I’ve renounced his temple and the hermitage!’ ‘Ha! And what about absconding with a mortal lover?’ Bhavanand asked with a smile.

‘I didn’t mean to. It was the turn of events…’ Swati’s voice was misty when she spoke a few moments later. ‘And now where’s that mortal lover? Absconding alone, isn’t he!’ Her words trailed into a whisper.

Later that evening, when there was a flaming orange glow on the horizon, and the entire city of Varanasi looked wrapped in a holy saffron robe, Guru Bhavanand sat with Swati in a puja where there was no idol. After the ritual, he said to Swati in a gentle yet ominous voice that Prajapati Brahma, the creator of all beings, had just granted them his blessings.

‘I will not induct you into Tantra. When a Tantric of my stature and Sadhana is still groping in the illusive mirage of Moksha. Instead, I will begin today, what I’ve come here for. And what I’ve waited for, over the last two months.’

A thousand questions came rushing to Swati’s mind, but a voice within her advised complete silence. She looked Bhavanand in the eye and waited.

‘I shall begin to teach you Ayurved. The fifth Ved. The art and science of the Gods for worldly healing. By teaching, I mean, I will only impart knowledge and you will receive it. All knowledge is meant to be passed on in due course, at the fullness of time. But in your case there’s a difference. The time is now.

‘What you absorb will be instantaneously passed on. The subtlest of nuances in diagnosis and treatment, the vast and deep universe of medication, and the intuition to size up a patient and his illness, everything will flow through your consciousness and assimilate in your child.’

‘Child?’ The word echoed several times within Swati’s brain before her lips could release it.

‘Yes. You are pregnant, and you know it.’ Bhavanand’s eyes had a sudden softness which resembled a smile. ‘What you don’t know is that it’s a boy! And as far as I’m concerned, already a man…’

Without her effort or knowledge Swati’s right hand glided along and moved over her flat abdomen in a caress. Her mind kept grappling with the flood of emotions that wrenched her nerves. Bhavanand watched her solemnly and then continued.

‘Ayurved is too vast for one person to learn in a lifetime. And it’s true even for your son who will receive a head start. But thanks to the miracles of modern clinical medicine and surgery, he can skip vast portions. A luxury which the ancient masters did not have!’

The stupor on Swati’s face began to melt as the truth, however incredible, began to seep through her consciousness.

‘We begin tomorrow, early morning. Samudra Gupta also will attend a few sessions. Pay him the least attention. In fact, pay no attention to anything but Ayurved for the next seven months.’ The worldly, casual tone was returning to Bhavanand’s voice. He recited a sloka in a curiously musical rendition:

‘Sharirendriyasatwatmasanyogodharijivitam

Nityagaschanubandhaschaparyayairayuruchyate.’

‘But that’s Sanskrit!’ Swati said in a high-pitched voice.

‘The entire Ayurved is in Sanskrit! The Language of the Gods.’ Bhavanand smiled.

‘I don’t know a word of it! How will you teach me?’

‘You don’t need to know a word. You’ll just listen. And concentrate. Focus your mind on my voice in absolute surrender.’ Bhavanand paused a little and spoke again. ‘There might be a dull pain around your navel. Let me know if it ever gets too uncomfortable.’

There was a long pause before Swati spoke again. Bhavanand’s eyes were closed, as if he was reading her thoughts. Swati finally asked the question that was at the back of her mind.

‘Why did you choose me? Are you sure I won’t let you down?’ Swati alone knew, it took great courage to ask.

Bhavanand opened his eyes. ‘Have no doubts. Can’t you see it’s all preordained!’ They kept staring at each other until Swati spoke again.

‘One last question. And only you can answer it!’ She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. Bhavanand smiled benevolently and ran his fingers through his white, flowing beard.

‘Where’s the father of my child at this moment?’ Swati’s eyes looked moist with a sudden urge.

Bhavanand’s face hardened. His tone had a strange mix of compassion and anger as he spoke.

‘Forget him. He won’t share his destiny with you. Or anyone else. Besides…’

‘Besides?’

‘He is heading for hell.’

CHAPTER ONE

The Pan Am flight from New York touched down on the tarmac of Sahar Airport, Bombay, bang on schedule. Raj Sinha’s fingers kept drumming gently on the buckle of his seat belt. The exit was far and the aircraft was full of people. The hostess at the near aisle, the only brunette in the squad, whom Raj had chatted up many times during the flight, caught his eye and smiled indulgently. She knew his impatience.

Ten minutes later he was trailing the queue for baggage, cursing under his breath, and straining his mind, trying to invent some method of speeding up this slow drudgery. Several ideas presented themselves instantly but each one seemed to run into some snag or the other. Annoyed, he abandoned thoughts of improving airline operations, and embarked on fond visions of a more personal nature. And soon he was able to detach his presence from the serpentine queue that inched along one step at a time.

Maria. What does she really look like these days? Would she have her hair in a pony-tail like when he first saw her, or would she leave it free and wild, as in the latest photograph she had mailed to him at Syracuse? Raj closed his eyes for a while to sharpen his vision. The radiance of her face was almost physical and Raj felt his heart race. His arms, his loins, his feet ached to gather her in a tight embrace and keep her captive forever.

Banish the vision, he said to himself as he approached the customs counter. God alone knows when this country will be liberated enough to let lovers embrace at airport lobbies and railway platforms, without feeling embarrassed almost to the point of guilt! This reminded him that there might also be a whole load of relatives, a fairly spread out family waiting out there to receive him. His heart sank a little until it was somewhat revived by the vision of the smiling face of his mother. Gentle, eager, even tearful, hers was one face he could sketch from memory down to the last detail, had he been an artist. Yes, mother is great, he thought in a simplistic admission. He took a deep breath and felt her essence in the warm, humid air. But will she be there? Or would father and the others have left her behind saying that the car would be too packed, and the journey to the airport would be a strain? Heck! Why the hell do people gang up at the airport for a reception anyway? The entire scene could more easily be duplicated at home with much more decency and decorum. And that would have given him a free two hours with Maria, fresh on arrival…

The customs officer was brisk and competent. ‘Your baggage and your papers are okay,’ he said in a friendly tone, and Raj gave him a look of approval. As he was about to walk away, the officer spoke again.

‘Please proceed down the corridor for the ELISA test.’ He pointed to a passage at the right and turned his attention to the next passenger.

It took Raj a few seconds to get over the assault. ‘ELISA test? What for?’ He asked with a frown.

‘Just a formality, Sir! To make sure you don’t have AIDS.’

‘Now, wait a minute! You just saw my papers, didn’t you!’ Raj quickly opened his briefcase again, looking for his papers.

‘That’s fine, Sir. But everyone coming in from the West is tested here again. The Indian Government insists on a local clearance.’ The officer seemed to relish what he was saying and Raj decided he wouldn’t lose his cool. Just then he spotted the dark, Pan Am airhostess walking by with three of her blond colleagues. She smiled and waved at him without breaking stride. Raj beckoned her with a zealous shake of the hand. As she changed course and approached him with a politely intrigued smile, Raj took a theatrical bow.

‘Would you do me a favour, ma’am?’ he asked in a manner that clearly indicated that he was playing to the gallery. Pointing to the officer he continued, ‘Would you tell this officer on duty, ma’am, that I am not suffering from AIDS?’ The brunette giggled and decided to walk away. Whatever she tried to say was drowned by the collective laughter of the three customs officers and twice as many passengers.

His act over, Raj picked up his Samsonites with a perfect poker face and marched along the corridor which led to a white, poster-laden push door, in front of which waited a short and silent queue.

Another five minutes later, having memorized all that the posters had to say about the blood test procedures, Raj finally had the dubious pleasure of pushing open the white door expecting no more adventure than a needle prick on his finger tip. There was a buxom and matronly nurse parading the square, over-lit hall in a manner that greatly amused him. She seemed to walk in one direction, with her ample rump haughtily thrown back in the opposite direction. As a result she didn’t seem to make as much progress in her stride as her energetic movement should have normally achieved. Nevertheless she seemed to lend a certain character to the hall which otherwise looked no more real than some of the diagrams in the posters pasted outside.

‘I hold the pricks around these parts!’ Raj imagined her saying that in the classic style of the Western movies as she approached Raj with an erect needle in her gloved right hand and a couple of observation slides in her left. What Raj hadn’t expected however, was an extremely warm smile that she flashed and which didn’t seem to mix at all with the strong whiff of antiseptic that lingered around.

‘It will only take a minute,’ she said, anticipating Raj’s question. Raj smiled and surrendered his middle finger to her soft and firm fist. ‘How long were you in the US?’ she asked. ‘Long enough to pick up a degree in Nuclear Engineering and a Yank accent.’ Raj smiled. ‘Tell me, since when have these tests been a part of the welcome ceremonies in this country?’ He winced a little as a drop of dark red blood oozed out at the tip of his finger. He hardly saw the needle in action. ‘The ELISA was made compulsory about eighteen months back. And now we’ve just introduced the T-Balance Scan to detect Immunitis.’ She said with an air of seriousness, picking up a syringe.

‘Immunitis? But there’s no Immunitis in India!’ Raj said stupidly.

‘And you bet your baggage, the Government would do anything to keep it that way! Right?’ Her words sounded slightly harsh but her smile was still disarming. ‘Now if you’d kindly lie on that table… it would only take a minute.’ Another nurse, a younger and more silent one this time, walked up and joined her.

A full hour had elapsed between the touch-down of the aircraft and Raj’s final, almost triumphant emergence into the crowded lobby of the airport. A host of relatives and friends, complete with a bouquet or two, rushed at him tentatively. Raj had a fleeting thought that a loud heraldic music in the background wouldn’t have been too out-of-place. The thought left him amused all through the full 3 minutes of embrace, touching of feet and handshakes that followed. Mother wasn’t there, and he was told that she waited at home. And as Raj looked around searchingly he also realised, with an increasing feeling of pallor, even Maria hadn’t come.

Raj had a wheat brown complexion with a subtle glow of its own. He had dark and well-shaped eyebrows which joined together above the bridge of his chiselled nose without thinning. There was a facile fluidity to the corners of his mouth which fellow students of the opposite sex at Syracuse University found curiously appealing. And if an average girl would manage to resist him thus far, he had a pair of hypnotic dark brown eyes sure to down all defences. He had long dark hair with the hint of a curl at the tips and it partly concealed his small ears which had a habit of turning red at the slightest excitement.

His ears were red now, as a pair of moist and firm lips were nibbling directly at one of his ear-lobes. The lips belonged to Maria who sat beside him with her arms around his neck. Raj felt the gentle pressure of her right breast on the back of his left shoulder.

They were sitting on grass at the edge of the water. There was the usual good monsoon this year and the Vaitarna lake, which supplied water to the city of Bombay, was rippling to the brim. They had been sitting there for the last thirty minutes or so, reminiscing and catching up with the lost moments they had lived separately for the last three years.

Sporadic short sentences, a smile or a glance, a gentle pressure of the hand and an occasional sigh seemed to weave themselves into a patterned web in which past moments could be recaptured. At least they believed it for the moment and felt happy that they did.

Raj had learnt with a sharp pang of regret that Maria had actually been to the airport to receive him. But she could only see him from far without being seen. The overwhelming majority of relatives that had gathered at the lobby and who ultimately whisked him away after the long wait, never gave her a chance. And she didn’t want to be rash and make an appearance ignoring their presence. She knew will enough it would only promote their disapproval to hostility. Raj reached over and put his arms around Maria’s waist to pull her gently towards him as if in atonement, as he was hit in the face all over again by the ridiculousness of the situation. An average Hindu orthodox family would proudly flaunt a US returned nuclear engineer but would stoop to shameful depths to prevent him from marrying the sweetest Christian girl!

Laughable but true. And three years of incubation did nothing to change their attitude. He could perhaps tolerate it in its generalised form as he did so many other social atrocities. But why did his family have to be that average Hindu orthodox family that couldn’t rise above the situation! The thoughts had evoked in him more pity for his family, than sympathy for Maria who braved it all with great calm and dignity. No second thoughts about marrying Maria… Raj pulled her closer against his body. No questions. And whoever made it his business to oppose could go to hell.

‘Your ears are so red… you are either angry or aroused.’ Maria’s moist whisper stormed through the recesses of his ear and seemed to echo within his ribs. He shivered a little as she ran her tongue along the delicate cartilages of his warm outer ear and then down to his neck. ‘Which is it?’ She asked in a dreamy voice. ‘Which… what?’ Raj asked in a detached tone.

‘Aroused, or angry?’ Maria enquired.

‘Hungry.’ Raj said with an air of finality.

‘I thought so…’ she nodded elaborately.

‘And what are you going to do about it?’ Raj sounded serious.

‘Feast on it!’ Maria dug her teeth into his shoulder. ‘I’ve been starving for your hunger…’

‘You haven’t changed.’ Raj looked over his shoulder for a casual survey of the surroundings. Strangely, things looked a little out of focus. He rubbed his eye-lids a little. The eyes burned.

‘I have changed…’ Maria whispered, ‘but only for the worse!’

She nestled closer, pressing her body along his contours.

‘Then I should expect the worst in two years time…’

‘Why two years… ?’ Maria looked up to find his eyes. But Raj’s eyes were fixed somewhere out there on the lapping waters.

But soon he confronted Maria with the full impact of his dark brown eyes. ‘I wanted to break this to you gently… but lost a lot of time in the effort…’ he paused.

Maria mustered a steady, silent stare.

‘Syracuse wants me to do post graduation, starting next semester.’ Raj made it sound like a complaint.

Her grip slackened, but Raj held her tight. ‘They are gonna fund me, and it’s an offer they reckon I can’t refuse!’ He resorted to a comical American accent.

Maria wasn’t smiling. She leaned forward in a slow movement resting her chin on Raj’s shoulder so that he couldn’t watch her face anymore. Her fingers rested on his arms in a clutching gesture, but there was no grip in them.

‘Have you made up your mind?’ She spoke after a while. Her voice tried to shake off all traces of weakness, and it showed.

Raj pushed her shoulders back to bring her face within vision. The full passion of melting emotions that emanated from her face, lashed at him at point blank range. Her eyes were tightly closed in an effort to give nothing away. But two tear-drops that had already escaped the mesh of her eye lashes, began to trickle down her cheeks.

Hell! Raj felt himself harden against the mush. But his hand patted Maria on the head as she clung to him all over again. She rubbed her mouth on his collar bones with a sudden burst of vitality before raising her face up to his. Her nostrils were flared. Her lips parted, exposing a portion of strong, milky white teeth. The sheer animal strength of the sight negated all that he had thought weak and mushy, and began to draw out the man in him. He bent down and kissed her with vengeance. ‘You’ll let me go, won’t you!’ His lips seemed to suck it out of her!

His ears felt warm and he knew they were bursting with redness. Maria nestled closer like a clinging vine and almost climbed on his lap. There was a storm raging in her breath, and her kiss was turning into a bite.

‘I won’t let you go…’ she hissed. Raj wondered if she meant it physically, as it was here and now. Or she referred to his going back to Syracuse. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to make sure there wasn’t any voyeur feasting his eyes from a vantage position. The outdoor had its disadvantages especially in this city which had very little solitude and scant respect for romantic escapades. Once at the Juhu beach…

Raj felt annoyed with his wandering mind, and tried to immerse himself into Maria’s passion at the heat of the moment with renewed vigour. But something hindered him from striking the right chord. Something had altered the chemistry that wee bit. Things didn’t seem quite like old times.

Maria felt it too, and having disengaged her lips from his, she searched his face for a while. Having found nothing she closed her eyes again. Her left hand began to glide down Raj’s trousered abdomen along his zipper. Her surprise was complete as her hand met with a flaccid indifference which was not only a far cry from what she had expected, but also in total contrast to all her past experience of similar occasions! She withdrew her hand like an army in retreat. Raj was no less surprised and wondered about the numbness around the seat of his desire. But more than surprise he felt a surge of remorse. Just when he needed to reassure Maria about his feelings for her, something had gone cold. Did her tears switch him off? But then what about the desire that was bursting forth through his burning eyes and bloodshot ears?

He gently lifted Maria’s flushed face by the chin and tried to smile through his eyes. There was a certain softness in her look too. Then as if in deep pain, as if in sharing the unexpressed sorrow, they kissed with moist lips.

The kiss may have lasted a lifetime. When Raj opened his eyes he was in a strange world. There was a veil of shredded black rags that seemed to hang like a curtain right in front of his eyes. They were so real that he made an instinctive attempt to shift them away with his hands. But this hands made contact with Maria’s face instead, which he couldn’t see! What kind of a joke was this? Raj squeezed his eyes and blinked hard in desperation. The shreds then seemed to clear out a bit restoring his vision to a blur.

There she was! Staring at him, wide-eyed!

Raj reached out and touched her face. The face appeared so sharp and real to his touch! Yet so dim and distant to the eyes! A sick feeling began to crawl along his spine.

‘What’s happening to you?’ Maria’s voice was a scream.

‘Something real funny is happening to my vision! Now I see you, now I don’t!’

A hollow and staccato laugh escaped Raj’s throat. And then, oh God, a slow, dull pain began to play with the back of his head. As if he had no hair, no skull, and a dog with a gentle tongue sat licking his brain at irregular intervals…

Then it suddenly dawned on him, amidst the frenzied thumping of his heart, that he was not going anywhere.

At least, not in a hurry.

CHAPTER TWO

Among the eighteen medium sized cabins of the Ophthalmic Ward in the New Town Hospital of South Bombay, only three had large windows overlooking the Arabian Sea.

Through one of those precious windows, Raj could see the hectic activity of fishermen at the fringe of the little colony of huts that defied and negated all the urban sophistication of the posh southern end of the metropolis. A mere 18000 sq. meters of tenacious occupation had challenged and won against the eviction and demolition squads of the Municipality which had to be held back under legal stay orders. A mild stink of fish seemed to proclaim the triumph of the fisherfolk, and grew noticeably strong at times, fanned by the whims of the morning breeze that came in from the sea.

Raj’s vision at the moment was sharp and clear and he was greedily lapping up everything that got projected on his retina. One moment he was trying to recognize the fish that