Forgiveness

"Please forgive me", said Harsh. "I have caused you immense hurt and I intend to make amends."

Ananya was speechless. She did not know how to react. This man, who had once pushed her to such emotional extremes that she wanted to end her life, was now apologizing. This man, who had time and again made her question his loyalty, was now holding her hands, looking into her eyes, and assuring her that he is all hers. He, who had made her a subject of ridicule among friends and relatives, now wanted to flaunt his love for her on social media. He, who did not shy away from telling another woman that the world without her is black and white, was now claiming that she is the light of his life. He, who found nothing wrong in gifting the other woman the same gifts he chose for his wife, now claimed that she reigns supreme. Did he change overnight? 

Ananya did not know. As much as she wanted to believe him, something in her told her it is too good to be true. Why this apology? Was it because she had made up her mind to leave him? Maybe the suddenness of the decision had shaken him up? Was it peer pressure? Their match was odd, indeed, and she outshone him in every way. If she left him, will he not prove to the society that they were right when they deduced that this marriage would not last long?

Or was it because he was afraid of losing her? If so, what took him so long to apologize? If it had been love, he would not have inflicted upon her these grave wounds. And for another woman? Never. Is she really that special to him that her exit would impact his life tremendously? Then why had she not felt so? Why did she have come to this threshold  where she had to actually decide whether or not she wanted to stay in the relationship?

A few years ago, things had been different. Ananya, a young bride, with all her naivete and inexperience, had tried her utmost to make Harsh happy. She had, on her own, taken upon herself all the duties of the household. Visits to the market, household chores, socializing with his relatives, entertaining guests, she did it all. All this, while managing a hectic and taxing profession for herself. Maybe, if she had let him handle some of it, the equation would have been different? In her fervor to be a dutiful wife, had she not given him a taste of family responsibilities? Is that the reason he was detached? Did the feeling of ingratitude stem from there? 

Ananya had always sensed something amiss in their relationship. More so, when her friends talked about their respective partners, she would wonder what was wrong.  There was a sense of unease which she could not explain. She did realize Harsh was shut off from her. But she also realized that he enjoyed the company of other women, whether virtual or real. Yet she, Ananya, who worked day in and day out just to please him, was not a subject of his concern. Hapless, and unable to figure out what to do, she started stalking his life on social media. Maybe, her biggest mistake. Because she stumbled upon facts which threw light upon a totally different side of him. His emotional attachment to a certain woman cropped up quite glaringly. Her initial reaction had been that of shock. When she tried to discuss this with him, he accused her of being mean. She had a closed mind, he said. He knew he caused her grief, but he chose to walk all over her. He asked her to imagine the plight of the other woman, who, at a tender age, had to be subject to so much hatred and allegations. Was this his vanity to prove himself right? Or was it his self-assurance that she would not leave him?

Weakling that she was, Ananya could not muster enough courage to stand up for herself and leave right away. She stayed back, crying herself to sleep every night, blaming her own self for the misfortunes, and praying to unseen forces to end her misery. She entertained the other woman in her house on special occasions, allowed Harsh to be with her while she attended office, all the while a constant desire to end her life gnawing at her heart.

Every time she broached the topic, Harsh would explain to her that things were not as she saw them, that having some quality time with someone else ensured that he came back to her with more love. Ananya had no other choice but to nod her head in agreement.

The years passed, and the emotional abuses kept piling up. Then, one day, while she and Harsh were fighting for a totally different reason, it suddenly struck Ananya that she could not take this any more. She would not take it any more. Her love for him was lost. She would end this toxic relationship, as much for her own good, as for his.

"You always pick up fights with me, you mean woman. How can you blame me for everything in life?!" he was saying.
"I absolutely understand. Let us relax and think for ourselves. I think it is time we part ways," she said.
Harsh was stunned. But only for a second. Another one of her empty rantings, he thought to himself. She will soon calm down and come begging for forgiveness.

But soon he realized that she was resolute in her decision. She was not her usual agitated self whom he could easily maneuver into self-pity and guilt. She was this absolutely determined woman who knew what she wanted from her life.

And that is when he apologized.

Should Ananya believe him? Her mind said no. People apologize when they realize their mistake. But this man, till the other day, had been proclaiming that what he did was right. Did this mean that he knew all along that what he was doing was wrong? If so, why should she forgive him?

Once upon a time, her world had revolved around him. Step by step, brick by brick, he had dismantled the world for her. Now, she loved him no more. The relationship was nothing more than a dead corpse, difficult to carry, always reminding the carrier of the futility of bearing all the weight. 

"Let us make a fresh start," he said. How? Her wounds had not healed. And tomorrow, even if they do, the scars would remain. How would she hide them? And what if this fresh start was a harbinger of a bigger disaster? Maybe it was one of his ploys? Or a manifestation of the tricks he had used on her all this while to keep her immersed in self-pity and self-doubt?

Ananya had to decide. And quickly. Not as a weakling who cannot survive without support, but as a strong independent woman who chooses to fight her battles out in the open.

"Yes, we make a fresh start. But not together. Individually. And yes, I forgive you. May you find all the happiness and love you have ever wanted."

And, with this, she walked out of the house, the whiff of fresh air filling her heart with a new-found feeling of hope, of desire and of happiness. She will rebuild her own world. With her own hands. No strings attached. A step away from the dreadful past. A step into the promising future.

After a decade, Ananya giggled. The child-like innocence that lay trapped within the bruises was now out and shining. 

Unanswered

You and I. We offered our prayers to the same Gods. In the same temples. Sought forgiveness for similar sins. Begged for similar boons. Had similar dreams. Lived the same life. When the earthquake struck, we were sitting side by side, at the same restaurant, eating the same food. You died. I lived. Your head was smashed to pieces. I did not have a single scratch on my body. 

The same prayers which proved to be a miracle for me, seemed insufficient for you. The God, manifesting itself in the various calendars we had so religiously hung across the house, smiled differently at each one of us. For me He chose the all-benevolent one, and for you was reserved the sly one.

Destiny, some said. Philosophers who proclaim that a man writes his own destiny, do not take into account the likes of us. Or, maybe, we have always been written off with that small aster-ix and illegible font at the footer of the page. All the oaths we took, that proclaimed us as a man and a wife till eternity, that united us in our fortunes and misfortunes, that entitled us to have the same future together, were essentially instruments of a society that needs monogamy to control chaos. The presence of holy scriptures, ancient rituals and a pompous extravagant deity on a high pedestal just added to the show.

Karma, said others. You and I, who worked together, hand in hand, to build the same roof over our heads, to share the same meal on our plates, to sire and rear our progeny together, somehow ended up with a Karma so radically different that you are dead and I am alive. 

Sins of a past life, commented some. Yes, indeed. A life that is dubious enough in its existence, suddenly acquires so much power that it overrules our present. It does not matter if I have volunteered to help an orphanage with collecting donations, or if you have provided community service for the leprosy patients. Our sins of a life we have no recollection of having ever lived, are enough to spell doom.

We looked very happy together, and invited the devil's eye, explained someone. True. When the scriptures, through their complicated wordings, preach us on methods to be happy, when the spiritual gurus invite us to attend their expensive discourses to learn about happiness, they fail to inform us about the disclaimer that happiness attracts the devil. When the entire world is trying to devise methods to bring an iota of happiness around it, You and I have stood out in the crowd, spreading so much happiness and love that it provoked the devil to claim your life. Between the two of us, you being merrier in spirit, seemed to be his choice.

You are ashes now while I am still flesh and blood. Every night, when I recollect the moments of that horrific day, I have this nagging question in my mind: what if we had exchanged places? Would you have lived? Would I have died?

A Superior Being

Having taken a few days' break from work, I decided to meet up with an old school friend. I boarded a local train, and occupied my favorite spot near the door. I was traveling in Mumbai locals after a long hiatus, and the constant jostle of the crowd bothered me. The sweat & stench was something I was not accustomed to anymore, and, in my mind, I was hurling choicest abuses at the people who boarded first class compartments on second class tickets. 

Making a mental note to book a cab on my way back, I looked out of the door as the train rushed past alternate stretches of shrubs and shanties. The breeze provided some respite. Just at that moment, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a shabbily dressed eunuch looking at me, asking for alms. If it had been a traffic signal, I would have shooed her away with rude gestures. But there, in a crowded train compartment, the uncouthness of the entire episode made it absolutely impossible for me to ignore her.

I delved into my pocket, found a spare five-rupee coin, and swiftly put in it the eunuch's hand. Careful not to touch her, and anxious to get rid of her. Yet, amidst all this hatred and feelings of untouchability, my inner self wanted her to acknowledge my magnanimity. My kindness. After all, not everyone shells out five full rupees to a beggar! She should have looked at me with obliging, tear-brimmed eyes, and maybe even tried to touch my feet (of course, I would have chided her for this atrocity!). Instead, when she looked past me with a sad & forlorn look, I was angry. The attitude that beggars have nowadays, I thought to myself. No matter how much you give them, they never seem to be satisfied. You should never be kind to them!

The eunuch continued to beg, eyes weary, lips pursed tight, the coins in her palm chiming to her faint juggle. All eyes were on her. In return for a coin or two, she collected innumerable glares that ripped her of her dignity of being a human. Glares that screamed to her that she is downtrodden, untouchable, not fit to be a co-traveler. Strangely, she seemed to be unaffected.

I concentrated on the scenery outside. The train was crossing a river, and I was marveling at the abundance of nature, when, suddenly, I heard loud whispers. Turning my head, I saw the eunuch standing right next to me, praying feverishly. Before I could react, she kissed the coins, crossed herself multiple times, and splayed her hands out of the door, tossing the money into the air. Glistening under the soft sunshine, the coins danced their way into the river. Each one landed with a soft splash, creating ripples in the heart of the otherwise silent watercourse. Feeling amused, I looked at the eunuch. She wore the same expression of indifference. How could she throw away her earnings just like that, I thought to myself. She could have bought herself a decent breakfast with that money, if nothing else! Was she annoyed at the frugal collections she had made? Was it her attempt to protect her dignity by despising the help we  gave her?

My face must have emoted my thoughts clearly, because she turned around and spoke to me directly. "Didi, I sacrifice my first earnings of the day to God. And I pray that all my co-travelers  achieve the purpose of their journey. With His blessings, I will survive the day, too."

I was taken aback. Not by the ritual, or the thought which went behind it, but simply by the fact that it came from a eunuch begging on trains. Philosophy and optimism are something we associate with us fortunate ones. We, who have our food cooked, warmed, and served to us in a platter. We, who want bigger houses with more rooms so that all our movables can fit in better.

Yet, here was this barefoot human being, with tattered clothes and unkempt hair, with no caste, creed or religion, with a gender which is still a stigma in the society. Exemplifying all it takes for a person to learn about hopefulness. And faith.

I do not know whether her prayers were answered, whether her sacrifice helped her survive the day, or whether she went to bed on an empty stomach. But her simple, uncomplicated belief in the future amazes me till date. Many a times, when life hits a rough patch, I try to bring myself to think on those lines. And I fail miserably, each time.