That dark night, that distant past

It was still dawn when I stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entry gate of the Delhi airport. The early morning February air was pleasantly cold.

I was travelling to Bengaluru to attend a college friend's wedding. It had been four years since we graduated from the same college. This wedding was also going to be a reunion of our batch mates. But what I didn't know was that the reunion would begin much ahead of time; right in the queue in front of the airline counter.

I was almost sure it was she. Same height! Same long hair! Same complexion! Curiosity had my eyes glued to her. And then about 60-odd seconds later, when she turned, she proved me right. My ex-girlfriend stood two places ahead of me in that queue. We had never met after the college farewell…..

….Yes, that was Sweta in the queue ahead. A friend I could conveniently wipe clean from my life for four years and pretend never existed. Four years? It still feels like it happened yesterday……

I never had the slightest premonition of what I was getting into when I asked Sweta to join me on a short trip to Agartala, on the farewell day.

“Agartala?  Never heard of it. Where on earth is that and why would you go there? And why me, tagging along?”

“That is just a short flight from here, Sweta.” I explained. “We are now done with college and graduation is over. You are also not expected at home for a few more days. Why don’t we have a short break?” She reluctantly agreed.

We have been going steady for the last two years. It all started two years back at the annual inter-college debate,  that annual opportunity to look beyond our own college and check out who’s hot  at  other colleges in the city.  We had some moments of spark during the debates where each of us took opposite sides but the sparks turned into a raging inferno in the weeks that followed. We took a strong liking for each other, despite (or possibly because of) the differences in us. I liked yellow, she detested it. She found brinjal yummy and I hated it.   One thing led to another and we were firmly in the groove a year later. And we loved to call our relationship ‘platonic’. Not that we used to discuss Socrates and Plato daily, but since ‘platonic’ had a nice ring to it, we preferred to call it that. To be sure, there was nothing physical in our relationship, except for the odd hand-holding while crossing a busy intersection. The carnal thoughts did take an occasional walk inside my mind but they never ran amok even once.

Until,that fateful night in Agartala. To this day, I can’t give one good reason for having suggested Agartala. The place just popped out of my head.  My father, while working in the army, had been posted there for five years. Memories of my school days still carry those Agartala fragrances. Likethe Akhaura check post on the Bangladesh border where aWagah-like flag down ceremony is still held every evening. Like the colorful Bangladeshi trucks lined up our side of the border, waiting to cross over, after unloading rice and fish here.  Like the Kasba Kalibari, overlooking the enchanting KamalasagarLake….

…..theKasbaKalibari. That was where I took her after landing at Agartala.There was something mesmerizing about the place and the small Kali temple there.  A few yards from the temple was a Government bungalow. Sitting on the wicker chairs in the balcony of the bungalow on a late winter evening and staring blindly at the expanse of emptiness beyond would be the nearest equivalent of paradise. I had some old army contacts there, passed on to me by my father, which ensured I could stay in the bungalow.

We arrived at the temple by about five. The arati was at six thirty. We had a leisurely stroll around the place.  Suddenly the thought that college was over and that we would not be seeing each other again, struck us. We were still not sure as to which word could best describe our relationship.  Friendship?  Yes. Love? May be.  Two years and we have still not touched each other. Save for theodd hand-holding ateven the same traffic intersections. One thing we were sure of was that we would go our own ways tomorrow. An uneasy feeling engulfed me to think of the impending parting of ways.  I had already been offered a campus placement and the posting will be at Delhi, in an e-commerce Company.  The money was big,my father liked it and since I dreaded my father, saying ‘no’ was no option. Sweta belonged to Calcutta itself. She had always wanted to do something of her own. Just last week she had mentioned that she would start that painting school in Calcutta after graduation.  I mentioned that she was wasting her MBA degree on a painting school.She replied that an MBA degree was anyway wasted on anything really worthwhile in life, for that matter. I envied her for her straight-talk. I too secretly yearned to do something on my own, follow my life’s calling. There were two problems here, I quickly realized. One, I did not have the faintest idea of what was my life’s calling and two, the sutradhar of my puppet show called life was my father. I had no intention of sacking my sutradhar. I was terrified of pulling the strings myself.

Six-thirty came.  A few people started gathering inside the temple hall.  Two boys in saffron loin clothes were banging the cymbals in perfect unison. The anticipation grew thick in the air. The beat of the cymbals reached a high pitch. The door to the shrine opened.  Kali, draped in a bloody red sari,revealed herself in all glory. The protruding tongue, the raised trident, the demonlying trampled underneath her feet, the priest’s slow dancing, step by step, forward and backward and sideways, in measured paces, in tune with the beat of the cymbals, the circling diya in his hand, people in a trance, all contrived to create a magical, even an eerie ambience. My left hand clasped Sweta’s right. She seemed to retract but only just. We did not try to look at each other. The arati over, we received prasad from the priest, and with hands still holding each other, made our way slowly towards the  bungalow. The caretaker smiled as we entered and greeted me with a “khemon achen babu? bhalo tu?” I nodded back with a smile. After an early light dinner, we retired to the balcony.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.  The moonless night was nippy but not uncomfortably cold yet. The star spangled sky seemed to envelope us in a dark shroudand was intently waiting for us to start a conversation. The headlight of the diesel locomotive of an approaching train was now visible below the cliff, on the Bangladesh plains. The clickety clack of the wheels reached a crescendo and then slowly waned as the train sped away. It was again back to the deadly calm of the night. A cool breeze was now wafting in and Sweta seemed to shiver a bit.

 Holding each other’s hand, we went inside, towards the bedroom. I knew this was coming and had played out this scene mentally much earlier, several times. The plan was that I would sleep on the couch in the adjoining hall and she, in the bedroom.

“Good night, Sweta!”

‘Good night, Mohan, but you need not sleep in the couch. You can very well sleep inside the bedroom”

“Well....er..Sweta… I would be fine here. Besides, there is no extra bed”

“The bed is big enough to sleep two, Mohan, don’t be a prude. Rest assured, I would not let you un-virgin me.”

I was embarrassed.Looking foolish head to toe, I climbed beside her onto the bed. She switched off the light.I tried with all my might to doze off. But the very thought of a girl just inches away on the same bed,put paid to all chances of sleep. The wretched mind started scheming, played out all possibilities.I felt like I had caught a fever. The eyes were burning. Breathing was becoming difficult.  My hand fell involuntarily on her breast. Or was it involuntary? I did not care. The warmth of her flesh did strange things to me. To my horror, she let my hand be.  I made no effort to pull away. The hand lay on her for an eternity. She turned around, facing me. I slowly pulled her towards me. The lingering fragrance of her perfume hit me hard and it seemed to tranquilize me.  I pulled her face close to me and kissed her. Again, there was no resistance. The lack of resistance prodded me on to unknown territories.The room was extremely cold. It was pitch dark all around. Yonder, I could hear the shrill whistle of a train trundling along. The head began to swim. A dreamy state was engulfing me. I was being sucked into space at great speed. I could see stars around. I could feel soft flesh. I could feel warmth. I could hear soft moans. I was hurling along at breakneck speed. My head seemed it would explode. An ecstatic feeling overwhelmed me.The feeling seemed it would never end. The night stretched forever. It began without a beginning and it ended without an ending…..

“….Sir, chai” the voice shook me from my dream. Someone was knocking on the door.  I hurriedly covered myself and opened the door, glancing at the watch. It was eight.

 When was last night? Was it only last night? It was as if last night divided my life into two halves – the years gone by before last evening and the reality that begins afresh this morning. Last night was a chasm. Last night was a void. Last night was from some other life. Last night was another day……..

…....That was another day. This day, my ex-girlfriend stood two places ahead of me in that queue. We had never met after I dropped her off at the Agartala airport. The parting then was without a word from both of us. As if nothing happened during the forty eight hours from the college farewell to the airport departure gate.

“Mohan, how are you?’ she stepped away from the queue and came towards me in measured steps.

“Hi, how are you Sweta” I mumbled weakly.

‘Kalibari.” She almost seemed to whisper to herself.

‘Yes, Kalibari”.

‘What you doing in Delhi, Sweta? Thought you were in Calcutta!’

She broke into a smile. Somehow that smile seemed a bit contrived, made up and painful at that moment.

“So you do remember, Mohan. The painting school brought me here, on some work. You still with that e-commerce company?”

She does remember too! “That I quit long back, Sweta. Now with my own business. You still look beautiful, Sweta..” I bit my tongue. How inappropriate!

She did not seem to mind. “I knew I always were and am. Despite that stupid virus.”

Virus? I instantly knew something was supposed to be wrong with Sweta. She still appeared to be the same old charming girl, but something was sure amiss.

“What virus?” I suddenly felt my stomach twitch without any valid reason.

“HIV can be quite stubborn, Mohan. And quite painful too.”

My heart almost stopped beating.  “Sweta, what HIV? Are you alright?’

‘I am. Or at least that is what the doctors say. The virus that I got after that botched up transfusion has taken a vacation break, it seems” She calmly replied. And then suddenly her face took a darker hue. Her eyes were not the beautiful brown anymore. Her facial muscles tightened. I could see she was trying to restrain something deep inside her heart.

“You know what Mohan? You are a stinking skunk, that’s what you are”

Strangely, this did not flabbergast me. I listened on.

“You are a coward, Mohan, a deceitful, impotent bastard”

“Sweta, what the hell…”

“You do remember the Kalibari night, don’t you Mohan? I do, to this moment. I will, till I die. For that was the night of my life. For that has taken roots deep inside me. For that moment has taken me to realms I would never have imagined.”

“Sweta..”

“You had the question inside you, Mohan. Which you did not ask. Which I desperately expected you to ask the next morning. You did not, Mohan.”

“………”

“But I had the answer even before that night. The YES answer. Only the question was never asked. You did not have the guts to ask, Mohan. Despite knowing what my answer would be. And that hurt. That still hurts.”

“Sweta, I…” I mumbled incoherently, fully aware that what she was saying was the truth. How many times I had played out that question inside my mind, when alone? I could never muster the courage to spit it out to Sweta. How many times I had pardoned myself for not asking aloud the question, since my father had already found out my life partner and saying ‘no’ to him was impossible…….

“Sweta, I thought we had a…well…. platonic relationship.….”

“Oh, yes, Mohan. Did feel extremely platonic inside that guest house that night at Kalibari….”

A sudden surge of anger engulfed me. “Sweta, come on. That was an accident. Or rather, an unintended incident. I can’t believe you saw so much into that one-night, I thought you were…..well… intelligent enough…”

She did not say anything. The queue at the check-in counter was getting longer. The guy standing behind me was unsure if I were still in the queue or not.“Excuse me, but can I move ahead?” he asked. I motioned him to.

Still Sweta remained silent.  She intently looked at me for a minute. Her countenance betrayed an emotion unfamiliar to me. It seemed to be pain and also disgust.   And then she turned and walked away from me, from the queue and towards the exit gate.

‘Sweta!” I yelled, oblivious to the stares around.

I rushed after her and managed to catch hold of her hand. “Sweta”, I panted. She turned and stared at me.

“But exactly what did your diagnosis say? Was the virus inside you when we were together at Kalibari? When did you have that transfusion, before we went on that trip?”

There was a momentary shock on Sweta’s face. A full minute passed before it bore a deadly calm look.She slowly put her bag down. And with the full face of the palm, slapped me. Then picked up the bag and started leisurely walking away.