The lonely light

The heavens were on dispute that night. With earth shuddering roars of thunder, Zeus the god of lightning waved his bolt across the purple cosmos. And its flashing edge split open the murky gray clouds, making them pour endlessly on the metropolis below.  In his humble manor house at the southern part of the Nedlands, Durga Prasad Maheshwari was alone as usual.  

It had been so, for almost a decade now. Once the housekeeper ends her day at six o'clock every day after serving his dinner, the watchman a distant figure at his gate; the old man nearing his sixties with passing years would be found in the heated up study on the first floor, a glass of mild amber liquid held loosely in his fingers and a wistful longing in his eyes he would sit on his favorite plush chair and watch the large portrait of his wife hanging over the old fashioned fire place across the room.

He was a man who had the reflection of the years he spent on his eyes. They were mild, once a vibrant coffee brown now dimmed to a warm gray. He had an impressive face, a medium built and thinning hair that only add to the outline of his seasoned wisdom. But His wife Annapurna Maheshwari in the portrait was as young as he remembered her. Her smile was radiant in the picture, and her eyes shone with a joy that seemed to light her from within. Watching her in that timeless form he wondered how she might respond to the loneliness he had succumbed in to. Annapurna had not lived long enough to move from Kolkata to Perth. All the while he mourned not being able to share those final moments of her life, Durga Prasad could not fathom the pain it would have caused him; has he been unfortunate enough to witness her death; the moment when the light behind those vibrant eyes extinguished leaving them haunting and empty. The dull ache of her dismiss still throbbed deep within his heart, so he was certain he would not survive such a wound. And perhaps,  he wondered rather fearfully sometimes, he would not have been able to love the bundle of life she had left behind, so unconditionally either.

With that said, his stream of thoughts was directed elsewhere and his eyes followed the course. On the wall to his left, where neat wooden panels gleamed in the lamp light was a collection of frames. Photographs new and of yore peeped from the dustless glass. There was no need of them to remind him, for each moment captured behind the frames were more vivid in his memory.  

He was supposed to leave for foreign training two months before. But Annapurna then in her last trimester of pregnancy had thwarted it. For one she could not accompany him, and the other as she pointed out rather firmly was that he was supposed to be there when their son was born. But in the end he was not there when she was giving birth to their child. Instead he was in a different theater, in the middle of a different surgery, saving a different life.

He had not even received her call, Durga Prasad thought with a shudder. And by the time his twelve hour surgery was wrapped up and he finally heard the news of his wife going into labour, he had rushed to her side.

She had already left him. He remembered the twisting agony that coiled itself like a python around his throat,  crushing his windpipe until he had to gasp for air when he heard of her dismiss. His wife the one anchor of consistency in his life, she had been there hours previously, they had talked, laughed over some old job he could no longer remember, she had walked with him to the car before he left.

And now suddenly, the world was a place without her.

He could not imagine a place existing without her presence. The tinkle of her anklets, her melodious voice singing arati at dawns, the faint smell of jasmine that adorned her hair, the memories were suddenly crushing him with their weight. He could not stand straight any longer and collapsed on the nearest bench, face buried in his hands. He was too empty that even tears did not exist at that moment.  He felt weary as if if he had aged a century in a minute, there was no life left in his bones and his heart thudded dully counting beats until it reached a stop.

Then someone handed him a bundle of softest clothes. Its warmth seeped through the clothes and reached his icy fingers. Durga Prasad looked down instinctively, his hands securely holding the bundle and his gaze met the beloved warm brown one of Annapurna, looking at him from a new tiny face; the face he had grown to love with his entire being; the face of his and her son.

That moment his heart resumed beating, and a new warmth filled his body. And then tears came; hugging his infant closer to his heart Durga Prasad cried. For the love he had lost, for the woman he had cherished and for all the years now stretching before him empty of all that comforting companionship he cried.

He let the anguish drain with those tears, and held his child with with a newfound hope. He mourned the lost bond and vowed to cherish the new one. Not only his son was born that night, he was reborn too. As a better man, a stronger man, as a father.

*

He had been washing his hands for a while now; with with a fragment of sense returning to him Sanskar realized. One hour, one entire hour had gone without him acknowledging it; since it had all happened.

He remembered the day he saw her for the first time. It was around november; in mid spring. He was taking his frequent trail in the King's Park, enjoying the breeze on his face and the moist sunlight. In a country where the year was split between extreme heat and cold, days such as that was indeed a blessing from heaven. It was his dad who introduced him to the king's park, partly a war memorial for Australian soldiers and partly a conservation of bushland in the central city of Perth. He was taken by awe the first time they strolled through one of the trails, ending their visit in the western Australian botanical gardens that offered a variety of unseen and rare wild floras from all around the country. As his dad often remarked Sanskar shared his mother's tender fascination for nature and gardening.  Hence was immediately taken with the foreign but elegant beauty around him.  It was some time around the first year he enrolled on the university of western Australia and ever since, he had made it a habit to take time out of his schedule once a week at least to stroll through the park, if not the full forty five minutes trail, he made it a point to at least linger around for good half an hour before his pager beeped.

Since it was a pleasantly warm day, many people were out and about, families strolling or simply hanging around the reservoir in the heart of the park, enjoying the breeze that swept the surface of the water body, causing faint ripples. Sanskar had been distracted with his phone, checking a message from one of the interns and was almost startled out of his skin when a water jet shot through the reservoir. He had no idea they would be activating water sprays that day, but judging by the exclamation and excited buzz  the children around were making, it seemd he was the only one unaware.

The jets of whiteness against the cornflower toned sky was indeed a sight to watch, and the crystal droplets shimmered in trillions of miniature rainbows as they fall gracefully back to earth.  

Then he saw her.

Across the shore and veiled by the mist of the water spray, stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She was tall, her hair a color of deep henna cascading around her flushed cheeks and pouring past her shoulders.  She had wide eyes, that twinkled in the sunlight even when she had a hand casted over them to get some shade from the glaring sun. She was watching the spray a joyous smile gracing her lips and unknowingly his lips curled too, mirroring the action. Her clothes were western, a pair of white slacks and a peach colour high neck top, but he noticed, as their eyes met for a brief moment, a tiny bindi dotted her forehead; dark maroon against her milky complexion.

Gathering himself and pushing the old recollections as far in the back of his mind as they would go, he stumbled out. His eyes were already red rimmed, partially from exhaustion and partially from the tears burning in them, threatening to escape. A few passing - by gave him odd looks. This was not the first time Dr. Maheshwari had lost a patient, they would point out. As his dad - once upon a time his superior - was right in pointing out, for a profession where death was was a common occurrence and dealt with lives at stake,  his attitude was a little too cheerful and bright. He was called Sunny in close circles for a reason. But Sanskar with his sharp mind and precision at work had made it a point to prove his boyish approach did not mean he was not serious about what he did.  It was just, as he had once told his dad, god had overdosed him with euphoria, and he was suffering the after effects.

It was not the entire truth though. Grown up as a motherless child, Sanskar Maheshwari had his share of woes. While his father had done his best in fulfilling the role of both his parents, away in a country that did not feel home although they called it so; there were times when young Sanskar felt lonely. He has taken to go through his parents' old photographs, where his mother smiled dazzlingly at the camera and tried to picture her in the  new home they had conjured in Nedlands.

When he was four years and eight months old his nanny was a hateful old woman who had her own set of rules that "good boys" follow.  Sanskar had promptly realized that he was not a good boy. But it did not stop the nanny from trying.  

According to his preschool friend, when mothers passed away they became bright little fairies and would come whenever their children were in trouble. Sanskar had resolved that he would not believe it but when he failed the dictation yet again, that idea changed. His nanny had been very clear with her threat, if he was to mess up another test, she would lock him in the store room.

At that time, darkness frightened him and that old room with its dust crept drawers and air smelling like mold was practically  haunted. Deciding that he will not allow himself to be subjected to imprisonment when he had dutifully learned all the words by heart ( Although he later forgot them.) Sanskar had ducked from the line of his classmates filling out and rushed to the classroom and hid himself under the teacher's desk.

The plan had so many loopholes for one, he was hungry, for another it was cold and now that the classroom was hypothetically empty the heaters were off, and soon it will be dark nevertheless.

But the young child had been determined to outwit his governess and certain that his mother, now a fairy would be there to protect him.

He remembered the frozen feeling in his bones, the way his eyes burned and slowly the sleepiness overpowered him. In that almost deadly daze, he had dreamed of his mother. She was indeed shining in his dream, so beautiful that his eyes widened in awe. But she was not very impressed with his adventure, instead she gently scolded him for worrying his dad, for putting himself in danger.

" You're supposed to give him my share of love too, like he is giving you!" She said softly, her warm brown eyes shining with tears.

He cried too, telling her how much he missed her, how much he loved her and she listened patting his back.

That was how a frantic Durga Prasad Maheshwari found his son four hours later.  He was curled under the teacher's desk, almost frozen and unconsciously calling for his mother.

Sanskar could still recall how his dad had held him through the entire night he was admitted in the emergency care, and how he kept muttering he wouldn't leave him ever again.  He felt warm, he felt loved and still reeling from the spell of dizziness he asked.

"Aren't you mad that I forgot my spellings again?"

Watching the curious gaze of his son and brushing away the strands of hair that fell over them. Durga Prasad replied.

" No I'm mad cause you left me,"

"I did so cause you'd be ashamed of me."

He said nothing as he held his son closer, embracing him him to his heart as he had done some years previously when he was born.

" You're my son," was all he said.

"hmm" said the boy snuggling against him.

He did not say it, but he understood what his Dad meant with those words. He had always been a man of few words, who loved endlessly but could not express it with similar clarity.  And he too made it a promise to himself,  never to shatter the hopes his father had of him.  

That had been the last test he failed. Sanskar Maheshwari grew up to be one if the star students of the academies he was enrolled in. He did everything,  topped the class, scored goals in the field,  was known for his photography and talent with guitar and finally joined the same hospital his father worked in, as a highly promising intern.

Above all that, with his boyish charm and cheerful attitude he had made his dad smile as often as he could.

Finally after much reminiscences of his past he recalled what his father had said that day, holding him close inside the emergency room.

"Next time when you feel lost, come to me. I promise I won't let you down."

*

He knew the summer storm was a sign of misfortune and picked up the phone on the second ring.

For a long minute, Sanskar said nothing as he tried to find his voice and catch his breath.  

" Sunny?" His father's voice was as deep as ever, and felt like a friendly beacon on rough sea.

" I - I lost her dad. I couldn't save her..." his voice trembled  and broke. " I don't know how I -"

" Come home Sunny," the pleasant voice on the other end invited him.

"Home," he repeated blankly and the first acidic tear rolled down his face.

*