...And she smiled

‘And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation’
                          --KHALIL GIBRAN (The Prophet)

The aura of sadness dawned in once again with the rays of the descending scarlet sun, invading the room through the front window at once in a stroke. The sun, once again shifting its imploding face to illuminate the other hemisphere, rendering us hopeless yet again, adding to her listlessness. The lambent rays on her forlorn face would not comfort her in the least, instead it appeared as if her face was glowing to incinerate with the gleam of the setting sun, as she inertly lay in her bed.
Sitting next to her bed on a swivel chair, I could spot her watery eyes, suggestive of the itchiness caused by the direct exposure to the shaft of light. Standing up from my seat I walked to the window, drawing the curtains over in order to block the entry of light, wishing earnestly that could it not be possible to block death in a similar way, with the shifting light could I not shift the appointed time.
Taking my seat I looked at her troubled face, her infuriating eyes, debilitated body exuding warmth beneath the fluffy duvet, exhausted of floundering from one hospital to the other for over a couple of years now, battling death, she allowed her excruciating mental distress to physically impair her, dominating her physical well-being and now the doctors too had given up all hope, declaring her terminally ill.
Just a few days before on her repeated importunity we had to shift her back from the hospital to her apartment where she had willed to spend her final moments, after all this was a place  she could  proudly call her own. This maisonette, that she had with utmost  care adorned intricately over the years with the hangings of memories , wind-chimes of laughter, panoramic joviality embellishing the vibrant walls, now only this was her prime consolation for her retiring soul ; moreover the doctors did not find expediency in keeping a ward of the hospital occupied for such a conjectural indefinite time period only for a ‘hopeless’ and ‘irremediable’ case, precisely  apt veritable locution to delineate her existing predicament, for how could any drug, pills or herb, no matter how efficacious be of any avail to cure her when she herself did not wish to live! For what appeared as a ray of hope to us, seemed to only ignite her yearning for death, as if enraptured by the tryst she itched over the chase. And now she was on her death-bed, waiting with alacrity for the final moments that would lead the steps for the ethereal transition into some arcane world that would ease her off the acute pain and relentless suffering of this world that she had been accustomed to, after that cursed night of estrangement that had rendered her wretched and harshly dejected.
As all the doors shut on us, one after the other, the only sensible thing left for us to do was to allow her depart in peace, and thus we also appointed a nurse to look after her needs. Her bedroom metamorphosing into more of an ‘ICU’ (Intensive care unit), had been equipped with contraptions and machines to monitor her cardiac activity, pulse rate, blood pressure, body temperature and respiration rate. On her side-tables lay scattered piles of medicines, syringes, nostrums, analgesics and certain anti-pyretics. Next to the upper corner of her bed, stood a long iron stand for clamping the drip-feed that was being administered directly into her blood, as she had refused ingesting any solid foods.
All day she would snuggle in the bed, muffling up the fuzzy duvet around her body. She would recurrently alternate her glances between me and the door, perhaps this was the only movement she made, that would suffice to divulge her last wish in her beseeching eyes for me to read.

Burning from high fever since a couple of days, her cerise body enervated in a way yet her heart had reconciled with her inevitable fate, her sublime soul wanting to set free from the ravages of temporal transience. As I caress her rubicund cheeks, I am amazed at the intensity of heat exuded, perchance the heart has engrossed a vast desert of passion and suffering, annihilating within, that prompts me to recall that peculiar, eerie night when I was sleeping on a couch in the ward in which she had been admitted. And breaking the covenant with her slumber, she suddenly got up in the middle of the night, hysterically uttering something abstruse for my mind to comprehend. She then went on to narrate the apparition she had that night, about her nearing end, all the while perpetuating an idiosyncratic grin with a hint of mystifying exultation, flickering deep in her eyes, which of course was disturbing that for an instance my blustering rationality had been fuddled and I was cold for some minutes. But regaining my composure somehow, I lulled her back to sleep, undermining her premonition for some bad dream.
But that night a part of me was convinced that she did not long to live or as I put it: she did not have a purpose to live.
But who could make her senile parents to discern that their beloved daughter was going to forsake them soon. Her parents had emptied their bank balance on travels to many counselors, doctors and priests and now after such an arduous venture that yielded no result ,they preferred to sit penitently in the adjacent room, refraining from seeing the pitiable sight of their only daughter, suffering from such torturous tribulation. Her mother snivelled day and night, while her father consoled her with false hope but somewhere both realized that they would soon lose their ‘Apple of the eye’ in a matter of days or may be hours, promptly accepted or not, was hardly any clause of stipulation in the divine ordinance, given the helpless yet self-assuring nature of humans.
Not that I did not want to save her but she is too good a human to bear this ordeal that is destined to slowly steal away her breaths. She always deserved a life of honour and dignity- yes, she could have started fresh all over again, if only she would have listened to me once- just once!
Now as I reminisce her life, how exuberant and contented she looked with him. Both were extremely devoted towards each other, cheerfully radiating the warmth and tenderness of their strong bond. His adorable face glimmered in her ochre eyes and her laughing timbre resounded in his speech; both looked perfect but together! Then one fateful day, he walked away form her, distancing himself from her…. forever and everything changed; the world turned upside-down for her and since then she has never been in fine fettle; the estrangement shattered her to the core, forcing her into abysmal trauma and she never recovered.
The vehement passion of wilderness enfeebled her that even today as we count on the seconds, all that engraved on her heart is his memories and she is vulnerable to nothing but to his requiting love, for she has been too much used to this separation now, more than that, the requiting acclaim from him that she hopes for in her silent reverence, merely a self-delusion to avert from despondency, to this day passively consumes her from within.
With such endearing love even the cruelest heart will melt like wax, but he did not. Thus despising her burning fervour, she longed for death believing it for a better choice than that of scrambling with a life void of him.

Being half absorbed in these thoughts, my self cogitation was ruffled at what appeared to be a fretful sight when I looked at her face. Her forehead had just started to glisten with sweat bead seeping out and in a matter of seconds she was sweating profusely. Anticipating my apprehensions of the presage, I immediately called out to the nurse who scurried in the next minute. My raucous screech was enough to hassle her parents, who dashed in the room before the nurse. The nurse perusing the screen that monitored her cardiac activity nodded in disapprobation, clicking her tongue, she sighed.
In the next blink her breathing grew heavier adding to our anxiety; amid all the bedlam as I was set motionless, I noticed a drop of tear slip out of her distended eyes, smoothly trickling down her face, perhaps finally a comfort for her smouldering cheeks, manifest from the peaceful, mystifying and everlasting smile that concomitantly prevailed on her lips, indicative of some last wish that had been just fulfilled finally as she unremittingly stared at the door, her eyes fixed, did not blink. It felt as if time protracted to eternity and some cherubic, placid air filled in the room bewildering my senses to stupor. Naturally following the direction of her gaze, my head turned towards the door. As I shifted my gaze towards the door, my mouth fell ajar and my body froze, entirely benumbed by what I saw rather whom I saw.

Yes- it was him! He stood at the door as I let out a wistful sigh, glancing at his complacent face; in the backdrop, I could hear the repetitive beeps of the monitor and the nurse conversing something with her parents. But in harmony with her focus, my attention too was fixed at his face. The fraught insurgency soon abated his complacency and the next second tears trickled down his face- possibly her fire had been watered and doused now. But on his face too that mystifying, placid, gratifying smile, gently blossomed like her. I again turned my face towards her, and she smiled…. she was still smiling at peace, her one hand in her mother’s hands, her father standing besides her, stroking her disheveled hair, their eyes moist.
The inexplicable blend of emotions was confounding us.
I firmly held her other hand, she was cold now. Apprehensive of the appointed time I glanced at the monitor and the nurse’s words resonated in my ears, “She is sinking!”
Tears streamed down her parents’ face in a surge.
“The blood pressure is dropping”, said the nurse.
The ephemeral speediness at which everything was happening made it difficult for anyone to move. I rubbed her hand in a vain attempt, at the same time on tenterhooks I alternated my fleeting looks between him and her; he had not moved an inch inwards, standing still at the door with moist eyes but the same enigmatic smile persisted on his lips like her; yet his tense face was the answer to her prayers and requital of her patience.
The uninterrupted beep of the monitor grasped my attention the next moment, as I saw the green wavy lines dwindle and subside into a green flat line.
“She is gone!” the nurse vociferated as if we did not fathom the moment.
A distinctive ambience of silence pervaded in the room where just before a minute she was gasping for breaths.
He fell onto his knees, as a clamorous wail ensnared the room. I looked at her cadaverous, pallid face, relieved off the agony and pain, as tears rolled down my wan face and she at peace- still smiled!

Uss aakhri nazar mai ajab dard tha Munír
Jaaney ka uskey ranjj mujhe ummr bhar raha
                —Munír Niyazi

   “That inexplicable melancholy flickering deep in that final gaze
    The poignancy of that valediction so ensnared me for life!”
                                                
                                        -SANA SHAH

Confessions

                                          

               Writing the heart wrenching admission as your errand
               Unspoken sentences, so you festoon with reticent words
               Each heart is smothered with nostalgic memories and
              Undermining their woes, you aver your grief as worst!
             
I just read somewhere that- we see day by day nothing changes, yet when we look back we find a lot has changed. Well, may be this is the ultimate philosophy of life, that we are not our past yet we tend to leave a part of ourselves in the past, something the memories of which continue to linger on in a little space in our hearts and may be somewhere at the back of our minds too, until of course those dark moments, that every human encounters, design the tapestry of our time and again we recollect those memories of our past that lead us to the ephemeral world of nostalgia.
And now when I look back on my life, it is not that I have crossed decades together to shape up the word called experience, yet in a way enough things have happened that make me reflect; I could have done certain things a lot differently and in a better way than how I did them in past, I wish I could travel back in time so to reveal to myself those consequential things of life that I know now, I could have restrained the bouts of catharsis to myself, that at least would not have hurt people in my life. Yes, the word “hurt”, something that we inflict as a reflex action at times, spontaneously without caring for the ramifications and consequences and of course we end up regretting, harming and hurting ourselves more by that ulterior giant of regret that feeds our guilty conscience, and then comes the point of how we decide to act further. Do we rectify our mistakes rather blunders or instead do we go on to add more to the list of the blunders. We all realize this- that being humans, everyone has their own self-esteem, dignity and integrity, yet invariably in a bid to prove our self defined imaginary hypothesis about human psychology we do not fumble a little to go out and start experimenting randomly with the emotions and sentiments of the people around us just to satisfy our own ego and think high of our own selves, concomitantly forgetting or deliberately overlooking the fact that human beings are not the chemicals in any science lab that react as per some universal laws and yield the exact product, rather human nature is unpredictable and  different people react distinctly given the circumstances, and has it not happened that in such a fit we end up hurting the ones that make us , that support us and whom we hold more dear to us than life itself. So how do we justify this….act of vengeance, revenge for the scary and bumpy roller coaster ride called life! I believe the scene would have been much better if instead of experimenting with and predicting the human nature and actions we rather try to understand the humans.
Not generalizing though but yes, I too have committed mistakes after mistakes, concomitantly conscious of the blunders I was up to and even now as I write all this just as another form of catharsis, I might sooner or later think of this as another mistake. I am not a very good artist and so bad being my canvas of the past, with no proper landscape or perfect proportion of vibrant colours to make that canvas aesthetically beautiful enough. But then I console myself with the thought that there are others who are even bad artists, and some cannot even hold the paint brush properly. So what is the remedy I ask? Do we stop living life or finish our existence which is so blotted with the stains of sins, mistakes, indecisiveness, remorsefulness and dilemma. Or will we ever switch to the old precept that we first learnt in our life- “Think before you speak”. Are we prudent enough to consider that others are so greatly devout and saintly to forgive us each time or are these notions that we use to delude our misgivings a fine example of our foolish disposition? Should we expect others to act wise enough to overlook our blunders and pardon us, resting our last hopes on: ‘To err is human; to forgive divine’. Do we take pride in giving others a chance to prove their divinity while we consider ourselves innately bound and obligated by the human psyche, and if so, then for how long are we going to evade our responsibility of acting wisely considerate or divine enough towards others also?
Ruined dreams, diminished hopes, lame excuses, shameful temperament, sleepless nights, restless days, and yet expecting people to understand our behavior, and adjust with our swing of temper is another folly to the long list. I am not wise enough or even experienced enough to lecture on life and humanly committed errors, and I am well mindful of the fact that we all are at times compelled, impelled, moulded and shaped by our circumstances that are not always so pleasant and we all know that life is not all milk and roses, but what I have seen over the years now owing to the circumstances around, that in spite of realizing that life is not all milk and roses, yet each time instead of accepting this we tend to make life all milk and roses as if we are God! And that is when we humans derail and commit the greatest blunder. I am not saying that we should give up on the endeavours to make life a better affair for ourselves, but all I assert on is that, in this process we need to be careful enough not to build our mansion of dreams with the bricks of the wistful sighs and throbbing cries of others and never to further repair or replace the cracked windows of such mansions with broken hearts.
I am no psychologist or an expert of human psychology, but just as another human on the journey it is my duty to inform the other passer-bys to be careful of the puddles, ditches, craters, thorns, boulders and abysmal holes that await you on the way, and it is not essential that every time when you fall in them yourself, only then shall you believe or learn what the other itinerant souls had warned of, instead take the precautions and act with alacrity, a little care won’t do us any harm, will it?
And just before the closing words, I accentuate another dimension to which I also have been the victim, as well as the criminal; the old blame-game, the ready tool for our defence rather the ready weapon for assaulting the innocent souls, and only later do we realize that how treacherous it is of us to indulge in such games of harm and hurt as if we are the only ones with the license to hurt that too stamped by the God Himself. If we are so interested to reverse the attack or blame on others, so better be if we join the game of wrestling because their you have the right to reverse the moves for your defence and moreover that is how you win, but in the tangible life it is an attempt to vanity, because neither will the person nor the Divine count it as a deed good enough to the accounts of rewards, you might be able to acquit or save yourself temporarily, but someday we have to face our reflection and I am sure we don’t want our mirrors to reflect how ugly we look and how in profanity we bathe. So what should we do, another illusive solution-break the mirror or rather the mirror will commit suicide itself in trauma (Trauma is the ultimate killer after all!) Haha! And that is something again humans cannot do because we did not humanly create this mirror, but yes we can only polish it to clarity, glossy brilliance and refinement at the same time being careful enough not to become narcissistic, but as close as being untainted in the eyes of those you love, and being true to your own self, which is always the first obligation for a righteous life.
I know as I earlier said that I have no right to preach such principled scruples for I confess that all the above errors at one time were integral with my being and that cost me a lot, to be honest. Perpetual identity conflict, not being able to channelize the sentiments, going on a rampage and at the end of the day not being able to believe and reconcile with the fact that it was really me who behaved like a ravenous ogre in the day ( surprisingly, I become more human during the contemplative nights, funny!).Then bursting into sobs, panting for breaths, resolving to mend the ways yet breaking that resolve with the utmost grace the very next day, again giving into helplessness, relying on the ‘To err is human’ gospel, asking God to forgive and again the identity conflict……..the vicious cycle goes on and feeling ensnared we give up. What an assassination of our conscience! But the most important question: does the conscience ever dies? Ask your conscience, it is ready with the answer.
As I confessed that I am not a very good artist, but with every canvas that I paint rather blemish and smudge and blotch with incongruous filling of colours I learn that at least I can now draw the landscape with much awareness as to how and where to draw, what and which colours would look best though I might fail miserably to fill in the colours with grace, but I do not give up with this hope that someday I will perfect the colours on the canvas that I paint in my mind and who knows- it well might turn out to be a masterpiece- the canvas with colours inspirited with values, forgiveness, emotions, concern, truth, sublimity and inspiration that can make the viewers love the canvas of life a little more with honest contemplation, people may not be able  to buy that canvas, however who knows they might be enthused, stirred and encouraged enough to paint such canvas for themselves and that too in a far beautiful and elegant way and not to mention- some are born artists!

           It has been an era since I have been venturing this road
          Neither my destination I found, nor did I change the way!
            
             ---SANA SHAH
         

                                                                                       

The abandoned library

Published On:Tue, Mar 17th, 2015
Current/Daily/Poetry| ByThe Vox Kashmir THE ABANDONED LIBRARY
Tags|kashmir|Sana Shah—

By Sana Shah

With the established connection,Seconds after switching on the monitor
A notification popped up informing me
About a new mail having the address of
An ancient Library abandoned decades before,Not known, not visited by any human
In this land of metaphors.
The review apprising of the veiled rooms
Of that venerable library, having:
All archaic records, antediluvian magazines,
Antique scriptures, precious books;
Ledge after ledge compact with volumes of books
Cabinet after cabinet packed with lost documents
All but now beckoning my existence:
A question of identity- displaced or misplaced!
Overwhelmed with the venue of my answers
I note down the address of the library
But who else shall with me dare
To peruse the giant library
Stocked with millions of books and
Scrutinize the grimy shelves that with difficulty
Shelter the unheard cases, longing to be settled,
That once would fit into the headlines
Magnified in black ‘BOLD’ italics.
Who will dust off the history
On the sanctimonious lessons and organize
The fables of saints?
Who will arrange the symbolic manuscripts
Parallel to their genre;
GRIEF HAS NO GENRE; YET IT SURVIVES AND STILL THRIVES
So the missing pages from the tales of grief
Will be finally found there;
Soaked in blood, those lacerated biographies
That all publishers repudiated.
Thousands of journals defying curfew
Lying  imprisoned with the memoirs
In the drawers, manacling the hurled stones and broken glasses piled up in the walnut cupboards.
The ominous ambience of rumours in those
Timbered lockers, knocking and claiming
Their rights to be recorded in form of stories;
The paeans and poems of the anonymous poets
Alluring the readers that no longer exist.
The aura of inexplicable despondency
Minimized in words yet maximized in font.
And will I discover the log of that
Impassioned revolution, that once had danced
To the tunes of the ordained rhythms.
So many books, so less the time;
Who will accompany me to that place
Now a refuge to ghouls, spiders, cockroaches,Mice and silverfish; all avidly waiting for
Someone, anyone to open the iron gates that
Enshrine the crevices for entry into that
Sacrosanct hall of books now only
Vulnerable to human touch.
The dilemma confounds my sensibility-Those records should not be divulged -to All,Only to the prudent minds.
Hence, will not my visit to that ancient hall
With fresh history pave way to those-Waiting outside the iron gates,Engaged in complicity all day long
But my anthology of objectivity lurking in
The shelves behind the veils must be brought back
Safely by me…but at the cost of?The other books destined to be ravaged with
The entry of the first streak of light.
And then…The paradoxical slogans will ensnare the vale
And this ravening pillage of identities (once secure)In the library shall beguile the revolution that
I, received in my inbox and again the pages will
Be left blank in the books of history!
Hence, I must behold, and think and ponder
Before I reveal the address, before I write
I must think before I discard the mail,
Before I walk; and decide again for that journey
Into that arcane world alone, Yes- I must think
Before I jump into this abyss of complexity that
Out of sheer ignorance demands this sacrifice!

Author Bio:
Sana Shah is young aspiring freelance writer currently pursuing bachelor’s degree in humanities. Sana tries to encapsulate themes based on current events depicting the identity conflict in a state of perpetual trouble at the same time accentuating the humanistic values from the perspective of ordinary into the extraordinary dealings of the metaphysical questions about the human existence and the attached values thereof.
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The Salt tea

RSS The Vox Kashmir Global Literal Series
Published On:Wed, Apr 15th, 2015April Issue/Short Story & Fiction| ByThe Vox Kashmir
The Salt Tea
TagsHistory of KashmirIssue 1
kashmir Salt Tea|Sana Shah

by Sana Shah

It was only when I dismounted from my motorcycle that I realized I had toured the entire town and yet did not find a single provision store or a pharmaceutical shop open, rather all I could find before my weary eyes was the infinite stretch of darkness, and added to that the howling of the street dogs resounding through the town made me to realize that I was all alone on the desolated streets with no sign of humans around me.It was a late evening in summers and I was returning from the village where I had been stationed for work. As expected the city had been in flames literally since a week and the turmoil wafted along with the breeze even and yet again the town was under curfew in the view to prevent any further mishappenings or untoward incidents. I had succeeded in getting my leave sanctioned for a day in order to take time off my work and meet my parents who had just landed in thisvale of Sufis and Saintsafter a long time. Just when I had entered the city it dawned on me that I had forgotten to buy some essential items and hence I had been roving around the main city to find an open grocery store or a general store as I wanted to buy some vegetables, medicines, etc to stock in reserve anticipating another long week of unrest, shutdowns and curfew. Moreover, I wanted to get back home with my parents’ favorite beverage- the salt tea, which being the drink by default of our family and given the fact that my parents resided outside Kashmir with my elder brother, thus were not regular consumers of this salt tea, but every time they arrived home here in Kashmir in summers, they would ask for the salt tea regularly, this tea being distinctive and inimitable specifically to our Kashmir.But at present as I stood against my motorcycle pillion looking around, it felt as if I was the only human left in this entire planet. Letting out a sigh of dismay, I engaged in soliloquy, cogitating that how foolish it was of me to search for trivialsalt tea and kulchawhen the entire valley had been set ablaze andthis eerie silence engulfing me was not the ramification of amity or harmony or peace in the least, rather this silence was the harbingerof yet another spell of adversity armed with the munitions of discords, conflagration, bloodshed, loss and devastations which nonetheless my senile parents too would never acclaim. Moreover, I myself was in danger as I stood alone on such an abandoned street and it made little sense to be standing out here alone in open when the other people found salvation in being locked up in the four walls of their houses.Although I had the curfew pass and after checks at intermittent army posts they allowed me to advance towards my destination, but still to be able to get home safely amidst such a horrifying silence appeared as the greatest challenge I ever had been confronted with in my life. The recurring barbed wires in the middle of the roads, the barricades on the turns, the check posts in every sensitive area, the bloodcurdling ambience of turbulence made me to tremble with fear.My soliloquy was disturbed when suddenly I saw a shadow on the road magnifying under the illumination of the headlights of my motorcycle that I had switched on. I looked up the other side and spotted a dim light from a distance approaching in my direction. It felt as if time protracted as eternity, and my heart started thumping louder, my breathing grew heavier and my body felt cold and numb despite the heat of summer. I wiped the sweat beads exuding on my forehead and with difficulty I mounted back on my motorcycle but I did not dare to start the ignition. So many dubious questions and random chancy musings pounded my head that with every passing thought my heart palpitated even more. Who could it be? What he must be doing here at such odd time? What if it is a thief? What if he carries a lethal weapon?  What if I am robbed? What if it is some gunmen? What if he arrests me? What if I am shot dead? What if….? The questions were never ending!In the next moment I saw the shadow grew nearer and owing to the headlights of my motorcycle that is when I noticed that it was a flimsy man with a lantern in his one hand and holding some bags in the other hand. But that did not end my apprehensions and I still had no clue who it could be at such a strange hour given the grueling and ambiguous circumstances of the valley, the only thing I was certain about was that it definitely must be some ludicrous and brainless fellow like me to dare the dark and sinister night of such a rapacious and marauding time that our valley was going through. I breathed in deep as the man neared me, and I admitted that I was too frightened to even kick –start my motorcycle. Spotting another fellow human on a deserted route should have been a pleasant miracle for me but instead the place, the timing, the conditions made it more dreadful and formidably extraordinary. Never before had I been so scared all my life. I didn’t move abit.The shadow attained a normal size, the silhouette was revealed to my heavy eyes – The man was finally here, right in front of me. Clad in a patchy unkempt Pheran and a white skull cap covering his hair, the man stopped at me. This got my pulse racing fast, yet I felt inexplicably calm. He glanced hard at me and I too naturally stared at him. I noticed he was an old man with grey hair visible on his temples, and a long black beard with tinge of grey and white. His grey eyes under his knitted eye brows gazed deep into my eyes, his crinkly face reading my tense look. Then he suddenly started smiling, it wasn’t a villainous smile that could horrify me, rather it was a very genial smile that calmed my uneasiness. Patting my back, he asked me what I had been doing at such odd time out here, his honeyed voice overriding the yowl of the street dogs. After a moment of reluctance I told him the entire story pertaining to my presence on such a desolated street on this peculiar night. I expected him to laugh or mock at my stupidity of taking up such a dicey venture that too at such odd times, but much to my surprise, he nodded in approbation and again that warm smile blossomed on his lips.“Now what kaka, where should I find the salt tea or the vegetables or the medicines? I think I will have to get back home empty, I won’t find anything here this odd time”, I declared, starting the ignition of my motorcycle.After a moment of reflection the old man spoke, “Son, there is nothing in this world that you cannot find except one. You will find or get everything in life again and again, but the only thing you will not get again are your parents. Rest, all is possible to find”, he smiled at me, patting my shoulders and left in the tank of darkness. I didn’t understand all that he had just said, so I turned and ran to call after him but I was puzzled to see that he had vanished somewhere in the dark, as if he wasn’t here ever, there was nothing except this abysmal darkness. May be he walked fast I thought but I got Goosebumps anyway. Nodding my head in perplexity I started the ignition and zoomed away, hoping to now stop only straight at home.Just few kilometers before my house I spotted a small stall lit up by a little lamp near the corner of a lane. I halted my motorcycle and ran to the man owning the stall. As I got close I was much amazed to see that it was a tea stall of a tea vendor and I swelled with jubilance to find a tea vendor here out in the middle of an empty and derelict road. It all looked like a fancy story in which all the fortuitous miracles and wonders happen out of the blue against the expectations.“Eh- tea? I mean salt tea? Do you have salt tea?” I asked out of excitement, rubbing my hands together.He smiled as he nodded, “Yes of course”. He packed the salt tea along with some bakery for me.“Great”, I said aloud paying him the cash.I was filled with ecstasy and it felt as if I was inspirited with a new life. Never had I experience such a flush of exuberance and joy before, it was an alien feeling to me that now I was experiencing and the sequence of events of the evening added to this special feeling of mine. It looked as if I had surmounted the highest peak of the world although I could not find the vegetables or medicines but being able to find a tea vendor and buying that salt tea was a feat ardent enough in itself and the smiling faces of my parents flashed over and again in my mind as I drove home.“Son where were you, we got so worried”, said my mother embracing me tight as I finally reached home. I briefed them about my search for the salt tea and other items and thus my late arrival. “What was the need of this, son. The situation is so critical and it is not feasible to roam outside even in the day, let alone the nights and that too for something as trifling as the salt tea, come on my boy!” my father scolded me.“My darling son is far dearer to me than any salt tea”, mother hugged me again. And for me my parents are much important than my own self, I thought and hugged her back.The next morning I woke up late. After getting ready I left my room to join my parents for the breakfast. I heard them discussing the turmoil in Kashmir as they listened to the news on the radio.“It is heart-wrenching to see what has happened to our Kashmir, our paradise is in flames!” mother lamented.“Yes, our lovely land has been put to test again and again, how many ordeals will it bear now”, father added as mother poured him the pinkish salt tea.“Come son, join us”, mother said on seeing me.“Yes dear, come. The salt tea tastes scrumptiously perfect”, father complimented as he sipped the salt tea and lowered the volume of the radio.I nodded and joined them as I was reminded of that old man who met me yesterday night. I smiled.Today after so many years as I am outside Kashmir to see my parents at the residence of my elder brother, that salt tea episode that once held little relevance for me, now flashed at the back of my mind and stirred the emotions in me as I sit here today waiting in the car of my brother’s friend who has just gone to drop his old mother inside a soaring building that has a garish board fit on the entrance which reads:‘THE HOME FOR THE ELDERLY AND THE AGED’
I sighed as my brother’s friend returns and start the ignition of his car.“You see here we have such a busy life ha”, he says, whistling the tune of some pop song. I nod.Today after so long I now understood the precepts which that old man, I once met that uncanny night, had shared with me. Perchance the gaudy life that appears satisfactory to us is in reality founded on the shifting sands of broken relations and dismal escapes from our prime responsibilities and may be the tumultuous turmoil back in our land has taught us the value of our loved ones,the losses we faced somewhere have paved way for a gain and that is the gain of discerning the place of prime relations in life and this is what reserves the right for Kashmir to be called as the paradise on earth.Now as my brother’s friend drives past this high building ensnaring the longings of the compassionate hearts, I recline back letting out a sigh of relief and feel contented and proud to know as I thank God, that our Kashmir has no old age homes.

Credits:
Author:Sana Shah-
a young aspiring freelance writer and a poet who attempts to encapsulate themes related to identity conflict due to the tumults in the valley and mostly with structures of metaphysical themes and stories that accentuate the ordinary juxtaposed in the light of the extraordinary.

© Copyright The Vox Kashmir.All Rights Reserved 2010-2014No part of this website or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

The Deluge and the Deluded

Fictional prose: The deluge and the deluded

http://t.co/ez63ujKrc8

Published On:Wed, Apr 1st, 2015 Current/Daily/short story & Fiction| By The Vox Kashmir.       
   Short Story │
The Deluge And The Deluded

By Sana Shah

How is someone supposed to react when a person very dear to you calls you up suddenly and shouts for help, resting her last hope for life on your fragile shoulders already burdened by the pandemonium of an unexpected calamity.And here she was calling me for the umpteenth time.“Ruhat please, the water is gushing in fast, the second storey too is under the covers of water, we are now on the third storey. Please send the rescue boats, please”, Shabana said.“Don’t worry”, I said. Oh what a vain statement by my stupid self,” I have asked for the rescue boats, you will be soon saved.”  My best friend Shabana had reconciled her friend with the image of a savior it appeared, hence the senseof accountability surged in my blood, had I been fooling Shabana or mocking my own conscience.The valley had been literally flooded within no time and I, with difficulty, had managed to evacuate my house along with my family to reach a safer place just in time. I had no whereabouts of my relatives and now my best friend had placed her hopes on me. What can be a greater responsibility than that of being entrusted with the task saving someone’s life?I immediately scrolled through the contact list of my phone that had little battery life left to find the number of someone who could help, but who? I already had called the local MLA forhelp an hour before and despite of his assurances, Shabana with her family was still stranded in her house in the city centre which would have been partially inundated with river waters. I had called every person I knew wouldhelp us on earth but the situation was such that their scuffle for life was impossible, let alone the commoners. All were equally hit by the deluge irrespective of how huge their bankbalance was! Now the city was more than half submerged under the expanse of water, and here she was, calling me again.“Shabana, did the boats reach?” I asked something to which I already knew the answer.“Ruhat, no. A nearby hotel just collapsed and soon our house too will fall. do something fast, please!”, she screamed.“Don’t panic and hang in there”, I terminated the conversation. Not being able to reason why but some inexplicable upwelling of guilt flushed through my veins. Someone was battling death, left marooned on the edge that promised death on one side and a faint hope of life in the other if only I could help. I wanted to go out there and save her, but how. I myself was taking refuge in the house of a distant relative in the city outskirts. All the roads would have turned into water channels by now.Perchance delivering the lectures on morality, kindness, friendship is one thing and to make those virtues tangible in the real life is anotherthing! I wanted someone to shake me up and tell me that this all was just a dream- a bad dream! I cursed myself, I cursed the world, I cursed the waters and I cursed possibly everything that I could think of. Had I become so helpless that now ‘cursing’ was my weapon instead of ‘helping’?With my eyes glued to the TV screen I dialed the helpline numbers flashing on some news channel. As luck would have it all the lines were busy and darn! Now the electricity break-down aggravated the disconnectivity with the outer world.“Come Didi, play with us,” my little cousin said,circling around my chair. Being a child was much better, at least the innocence would overshadow the sense of guilt which had to bemet with a harsh scolding by the family yet was better than being perpetually knocked by the conscience, and that is when I realized that being a human is not as easy as it appears and I had been living in this delusion of being a good human but now it was evident that I was not even a human- anymore!My soliloquy was disturbed again by the phone ring; oh it was Shabana calling again. Had my heart hardened enough to receive the call? My body was in shivers already. Shabanasaw the last flame of life in me and now what would I tell her that I was about to extinguish that last flame of life too. After gathering courage I received her call.“Ruhat- HELP! HELP!” she shouted and screeched. Her scream was loud and painful enough to weave the images of destruction in front of my eyes. Not only Shabana’s family but hundreds of other families too were struggling for life. I could visualize the scenes of vehement devastation, I could hear the innocent kids crying for help, old women chanting the prayers, men consoling their families in vain, women helplessly watching their kids drown, the debris layered up in places where once the intricately designed bungalows stood.They say torch of hope should never die down,no matter how harsh the conditions are. Well, what a way to console the human heart and fuddle the rational mind.“Did the boats reach?” I asked in a suppressedtone. “No Ruhat. Please, we do not have much time left. Save us, save my kids, save us, please, please, please….help!” she cried.“Don’t say that, Shabana.  We all are trying best to rescue you, be patient and don’t panic”, I said.I tried the number of some other officials but their phones were continuously switched off and I did not have more time to try after some time. Shabana’s impassionate plea for help echoed in my ears and I felt like her criminal. With moist eyes I dialed another number but again all routes were busy! Doomsday was near for us as I could feel the beats fading away and breaths dying down and I could well smell the trouble our valley was into as I couldsense some inexplicable restlessness even though I was safe with my family. Being a mute spectator I allowed the seconds to slip away. These are the moments when life seemsuseless, I wished for death now, with the waters flooding the valley I earnestly wish for my tears to drown me as well for it is better to die knowing you were the reason to save a life instead of living with the guilt of letting someone die.As random thoughts circumambulated my mind, I consoled my mind thinking that may bethe boats would have reached Shabana, may be the rescue operation had been intensified, may be they were alright but my cogitation would land me nowhere. I needed a solid confirmation, I could not sit hands on hands, after all in such a time of crisis Shabana had called me for help and I was the one aware of the troubles she was going through and how could I declare to her that I could not help!My breathing grew heavier, sweat beads seeped and glistened on my forehead, my hands shivered immensely as I reluctantly dialed Shabana’s number. From the other end a robotic voice spoke,“The number you are trying to reach is currently not reachable, please try after sometime.” I swallowed, and my voice grew hoarse, I felt choked up. Enfeebled by all that I had seen and heard and experienced, I meekly called out to my little cousin who came running towards me with a ball. With beseeching eyes she looked at me and I said, “Dear let’s play now” and I kept my phone aside.

Credits:
Author:Sana Shah
Bio: Author is a young aspiring freelance writer currently pursuing bachelor’s degree in humanities. She tries to encapsulate themes based on current events depicting the identity conflict in a state of perpetual trouble at the same time accentuating the humanistic values from the perspective of ordinary into the extraordinary dealings of the metaphysical questions about the human existence.

© Copyright The Vox Kashmir.
All Rights Reserved 2010-2014
No part of this website or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

Moments and Memories — A psychological narration

               
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that, this too, was a gift !"

                                        -Mary oliver  

Up in the middle of the night ,being unable to sleep,I stand near the  window of my room.I see the full moon coruscate in pride,as the fluffy clouds put forth their endless effort to cover up for its faulty spots,perchance no matter what , this night will never cover up for my faults like those sympathetic clouds up in the vast night sky. Also I could take the duvet for cover while the tick-tock of the clock lulls me to sleep,somehow tonight this lullaby won’t sing me to sleep, instead it will lure me into that old trap of memories that will act as the salt on my wounds, failing my wit with the freshness in my wounds as I reacall the fateful night.
Yes , it has been a year now and I must reconcile with this deceitful night that will sing me the melody of pain. Was this not the night that had kept me awake the previous year in excruciating agony! And will that agony return tonight to safely set ashore those lost memories of you as I feel that connatural aura weave the air around me as I let open the window to perceive that aura of pain again, to hear that melody of pain yet again, thinking with a tinge of hope that you too would,if not for me then for your own soul that lives in the lane of my memories , let open the gates for this journey, circumstantial particularly for tonight.I was never afraid to end my life after you walked my exit but I did not hold my breath just because I could not dare to let your memories , not a single memory to slip out of my soul integrated with your beckoning heart
Hence I am living but with the wish to die,with the curtains of your endearing face before my brooding eyes.
Hopeful of your return, well mindful that you would never look back, I wait in vain. The reflection of the self hurts when I spot out the moist eyes,but I resist!
And as I see now, gently the dense clouds enshrine the luminosity of the moon, with beseeching eyes,I hear the spatter of the rain against the verdant field of my house, as I inhale the redolent odour of the clammy mud. As I let the moments pass I do feel the night taking toll of my heaviness. And now the incessant showers rhythmically lash the vale. Till now it looked as if only a few clouds were mocking at the inability of others to burst but all of a sudden , this excessive deluge bespeaks the sympathy each cloud has for the other which suffice to spin an alluring environment to give vent to the emotions without being ashamed as I feel the crystal beads line my lashes,all set to drown my existence, satisfied that each time I drown my existence a part of me rests with your heart and with each attempt to expunge myself, this night reminds me that you shall never allow me to lose the purpose to live. Tonight as I try to iron that wrinkled page of your life that you left with me, I know God must be smiling at you and you must be smiling softly back at Him, trying to suppress that boiling volcano of tears that steams to burn the memories there and flood my moments here.
I let out a wistful sigh , confused whether this will relieve me or console my miserable direction of thoughts that fail to impede the moisture to wet my smouldering cheeks . Defying  the curfew of resistance I allow my emotions to overpower me as the struggle with your treasured memories will severely defeat me tonight , hence I try to be at peace in recollecting your words once spoken out of deep bonding and affection, I am forced into an abyss of reminiscence with the black hole of night dissecting and dissolving every second that now shall be history. With such intense nostalgia pain would soon be heard as a language in words written with the translucent ink of our tears. Oh! You have somehow set the wheel frantically twirling into a scintillating flashback of time in my mind that reels in the radiance of those but un-noticed moments that tonight hold a consequential relevance in your heart and in my heart too!
Not readily but tonight I shall accept my laconic and curt temperament to be your criminal, hence I feel deliriously tempted to walk to  this altar that you have laid for me so that I might acquit myself of those allegations , indictments and accusations that ruthlessly jab my conscience every moment. Not that I do not think of you the other days and nights but I have set this night exclusively to acclaim the right to be convicted in your court of eternity as this night marks the holocaust not put on any records but permanently carved out on the two cloistered hearts in a veined rough texture. And before any decree is passed , I shall find myself imprisoned behind the bars of your memories again , a chastiment good enough to shatter my resistance shown. As the minutes crumple in hours , my bones out of fatigue crave for comfort and I drag my weary body to be laid back on my velvety and warm bed on which as I rest contradicting my nobility feels bleak and prickly tonight to deprive me of any comfort and I keep on tossing from one side to the other just when your radiant ,ochre eyes meet my sleep deprived, tired eyes and your lovely face greets me warmly as you smile at me in peace easing me of my listlessness,but alas! Frozen in that captured moment caged in this intricately designed wooden frame on my side-table, accentuating under the illumination of the table lamp as if violently blazing to challenge me to remove this last remain of yours which I have held dearer to my own breath since a year. Taking the wooden frame in my hands ,I stare into your deep eyes as if they would just now twinkle to let out a drop of tear to skim down your florid cheeks. Yes this face once would comfort me of all the prosaic distress and I would float into a state of awe as I recall your dulcet voice that once would call after me, the curve of your rubicund lips that would blossom into a gentle smile making the wilted flowers to bloom again, your angry grimace on my senseless natter, your sweet fragrance that would dazzle my senses and of course the radiance of your deep, ochre eyes as if inviting me to jump in to assess its depth……..all but is now a delusion I visualize to betray my current state of helplessness for if I remember those cherished moments of  delight and ecstasy, I also do not forget this melancholic night when I stood traumatized at the doorway like a mute spectator watching you leave my world forever!
The outcome of such a vacillating bond after some more time is this:- Tired and heavy eyes thirsty for tears and a heavy, reticent heart lamenting the flood of my inexplicable grief that washes away my sensibility.
They say that a broken heart is the hardest to repair…uh! But to repair a heart that does not wish to be saved is an impossibility which tonight I realize after floundering tirelessly for a year now watching the days unfold their vagueness, there is a void without you in my life and the special place that I have devotedly assigned to you can never be engrossed by anyone else,not in life!
But as I ramble on with myself this night, squirming from side to side clasping this wooden frame close to my chest I wonder do you ever yearn to return back to me, do you ever hear me scream just to repudiate  the voice of silence you have gifted me with? Do you ever feel this intense longing I have still and will this ever fade away? Are things ever going to get better? Or with the accustomed life I will have to delude myself with the abstraction of “destiny”. As these questions pound my head, with great care I place the wooden frame back on my side-table and I push the duvet aside. Getting out of the bed, I stand on my heels but with difficulty, I drag  myself to the window again. As I peep out of the window nothing but a stretch of darkness awaits me as I feel the rain drops trip over my cheeks,perhaps a temptation for my eyes!
Although with remorseful decisiveness,I must find a panacea to cure my contrition as I look around, this has to be done but tonight! With an impulsive movement of my arm I twitch  to bolt and close the window firmly and then I draw the curtains over, ambiguous as to why I did it.

With an air of protest,I fight my own quixotic self as I manage to crawl back into my bed and pull the warm duvet over my head as I give in to my helplessness and submit to some unseen force,hopeful that this cursed night will after all now bestow some mercy and cradle me to sleep,thus I close my heavy eyes…..

With the first streak of light entering my room through the crevice between the curtains ,my eyes open to the harmonious chirping of the birds. The rain must have stopped as soon as the tryst with that fateful night must have ended. I rub my eyes to wipe away the doleful giddiness of the previous night, stretching my arms I heave away the duvet and turn to get out of the bed , as my gaze shifts to the other side, my eyes meet the stillness of your eyes in the wooden frame and I freeze again……….!  

       Num Hai palkein teri aey mauj-e-hawa raat ke saath                     

       Kya tujhey bhi koi yaad aata hai barsaat ke saath? 

                     -Parvin Shakir

Moist lashes lined with crystal beads oh the spurt of gale as night dawns upon

To you, also, does this rain recoups the distant memories of someone long back gone?

       -(Transcreation) Sana Shah

 .                               -Sana shah

Melody of pain

                MELODY OF PAIN
Oh do not let the fingers glide over                               the keyboard tonight
For the music you compose will pierce me
To the depths again
Do not let the lyrics be hummed
In your voice that lures
Me into affliction; I have felt enough pain
And now this- melody of pain.
You invite me to grace this evening and
I can only let out a sigh
When the tunes are set, I hear…….
The jangling of the bells
The scales you adjust; ready to sing
But such a melody- of pain
The symphony composed will soon tantalize
My senses ;to stupor again
Your music fills in my glass-but this music
Is devoid of harmony
Vibes of your solo performance alone
Would break me enough
And now you are here smiling  with your
Grand orchestra too!
On the stage you have set instruments
To oscillate in reminiscence
Your quaver tolls the bells of memory and
Auditorium pulsates like strings
The chords attuned to the notes of nostalgia
As you drift with the tempo
Then let me hear this melody of pain but
Only tonight with the stars
Tapping to your rhythms,dissolving softly
The time in the space.
You will not spare a chance to jab me
With the dagger of lyrics.
Melancholic violins play the tunes of
The intense despondency
This aura of grief will hover around
The audience; we absorb
The wistful notes that bewitch the hearts
And stupefy the souls.
Music bleeds from your veins; your dulcet
Voice enshrines your shrills
Our money’s worth with your bow ,with
Tears tinkling your lashes
And yes-the audience integrates in your
Sublime songs- of my loss!
And with them I too shall nod and clap
Avidly on this melody of pain.

----sana shah