Here a Love, There a Love

The leaves were dusted in a faint moonlight, just receding from its full glory. They were dancing even at night, this time to the melody of the winter breeze, in full fancy. One leave touching the other, the other the other and together creating a symphony of romantic rustle. She had known the dance from two moons back, and strangely it reminded her of Bhuvan. Bhuvan Man Singh had happened as sudden as the dance, a string of delight. Tall, at his six feet two inches, and built of a polo player, he had come visiting her resort at rural Bengal for a weekend of isolation from everything royal.

While never on site for inspection, Chitralekha too was incidentally spending the same weekend there on holiday, tired of the business of hospitality. On that fateful Saturday afternoon, they both happened to witness the peepal tree coming alive with a magical rhythm. Bhuvan was walking from one end, dressed in an attire far removed from the courts of Rajasthan, while Chitra was walking from the other, nobody could denote her to be the owner in her trackpants and Welham t-shirt. As they both chose to sit under the tree at the same moment, synchronised in their upwards look towards the leaves, Bhuvan unfurled the words.

'Welham?'

'Yes. And you?' There was no hesitation.

'Mayo Boys.'

'I see.' And added as a natural after-thought, 'Of course.'

'Why is that so obvious?'

'Well. I don't know. Seemed!'

They exchanged hostel stories, like they were hostel mates for an amount of time which was ridiculous for both tehir standards till Chitra intervened suddenly.

'I heard the steamed fish is really delectable here. Would you like to try?'

Bhuvan replied, 'Only if you insist.'

'I do.' Having caught the careless note of music in that assertion, he got up and extended his hand to her. 'After you, my lady.'

'Uh-huh, thanks. Call me Chitra.'

They has an enjoyable lunch, followed by a lovely evening of cultural fiesta under the moonlight and an even tastier dinner. Sparks between them were evident and the leaves witnessed it all. After a brief exchange of contact details, they departed for their rooms, each retiring to a restless night of desire.

Easily, they both had a memorable Sunday together and by dusk they were in Chitra's room, inseparable. As they left on Monday, they knew the ensuing days would hurt. Gradually, their conversations over the phone were unending and in a week's time, they met again, this time in a five-star property at Calcutta.

She could not believe the phonecalls that went unattended one fine day. She was restless after a long time, and this time an uneasy restless. A different voice at the other end of the phone informed her mechanically of Bhuvan's most inappropriate death by design. He did not leave any reason behind, nor any cause. Bewildered, more than hurt, Chitra suffered a setback of this grandeur for the first time in her life.

A month into this and she was a chain smoker. On this particular night, she was on a balcony noticing the tree she had somehow missed observing earlier. She was at her friend's place in Delhi for the weekend. It was a peepal tree. The dance of the leaves took her back to her Bhuvan. Even in a place common to neither of them, they sang of what they had witnessed two months back. A fairytale romance growing out of them and a fairytale romance dying along.

Chitra could feel her eyes swell with tears. She knew she missed him, his companionship and this dire loneliness, yet through her smoke she could sense the immortality of their love, moving out of stage, out of focus, filling each corner, each second of the universe. The leaves breathed back dear life into her.