Hiranakshi (part 6)

The days passed quickly for Hiran. Every afternoon the bangle seller would come with her stories, her bangles and her drawings. They would run around the back garden like five year-olds. No one would stop them.

Then she asked the bangle seller, 'Will you be my friend always? Will you spend all your afternoons here. I will buy a pair of bangles off you each day if you like.' 'Yes, I will be there. As long as you remain true, so will I.' And they were happy. However, there was someone who was increasingly unhappy; the husband.' The food he now ate was only fit for dogs, the house was a mess, clothes were unwashed and his wife, young as she was, seemed to have retarded further into some stage in her childhood where nothing seemed important.

Then, one afternoon, the bangle seller said, 'Why do you never show me your husband's painting? I insist on seeing them.' Hiran did not like what she heard. It was her husband's work and she was not having it laughed at. 'What do you mean insist? Are you commanding me?' 'No pretty one, It is quite boring to draw any more. Can we go inside the house and have a look at his works?' 'No, we may not.' 'Why not?' 'Because I said so!'

The bangle seller became quiet. She had never denied the pretty one anything she had wanted, yet the pretty one found it so easy to deny her everything she wanted. 'Alright then. If you don't want me to see them, I guess it is entirely upto you.' Hiran was amused, 'Ofcourse, it's entirely upto me. How could it be otherwise? He is my husband and those are his paintings. I can choose to do with them what I want.' The bangle seller smiled. 'Is that true? You are a lucky one then, if you have so much right over your husband. I have not know another so fortunate.' Hiran caught the hint of sarcasm in her voice. 'I think you should leave now.' she said firmly. 'Alright, I will.' So saying the bangle seller got up and put her basket on her head again. As she left to go, she felt a tingle of pity for the young girl so pretty and so naive. 'Would you like me to get you any new bangles tomorrow? I have a pair with me that have green stones studded around them. I was saving them so I could sell them to a very rich woman. You are rich enough. Would you like me to get them for you?' Hiran was not impressed. The bangle seller had more bangles then? Ones she did not carry in that basket? Ones she saved for better people? 'Oh, I am not so sure. Green was never my choosen colour. Also, my mother sent enough bangles with me to last me a life time. I just buy them from you to help you earn a living.' The bangle seller left without saying another word.

That evening, as it neared sunset, Hiran grew worried. Had she upset her friend? Would she not come back the next day? What if she did not? Where would she go look for her? She did not even know where bangle sellers lived? Would she be able to get her husband to find out? But it was all his fault in the first place. Had he not hidden all of those paintings in that silly room of his she would have showed them to her friend. He thinks he is making a shrine for them does he? Are his paintings so precious as to have a room all to themselves, while she shared hers with him? How long had it been since he had even spoken to her with love? She was not having any more of this! She took a tumbler full fo water and broke into the room in which the paintings were. She looked at them, those blue rivers, the yellowing leaves, the calm faces. she splashed the water across them, leaving a tiny stream of blotched paint behind.

Now the young are often impulsive. They are also more prone to guilt. The old have seen more of the world and thus convince themselves that their faults are not their own. They conjure up another figure, they name it destiny, circumstances, fate, God, life... anything but their own name. They blame this creation of their mind for their faults. But the young do not yet know this trick and so are defenseless against guilt. Hiran wept. The tears in those shapely eyes could have melted anyone; anyone but her husband.

He decided enough tolerance had already been shown. Now was not the time to sit down to meditate, now was the time to take action. Such faults must be corrected at the right time or they would become stronger. So he decided to take matters into his own hands and promptly sent word to his mother. He requested her to come home as there were matters to be discussed and sorted. This she did, for she loved her son and she loved her peace of mind.

Hiranakshi (part 5)

That evening her husband noticed the food was not as well prepared as usual. He also noticed Hiran did not fan him well. She seemed to find it hard to hold the fan properly in her hand, as if she were too delicate to do so or as if her palms were too precious to be creased. He found her to be very pre-occupied. He said nothing to her. He was a wise man and knew that one must always be patient with the young. So he went to rest as usual.

In the morning, Hiran was up earlier than usual. She waited impatiently for her husband to leave for work. Afternoon seemed to take its own time coming. Finally it was that voice again. 'Is it me you await, pretty one?' Hiran's ears perked up and her eyes shone. 'Look what I found!' Hiran took the bangle- seller by the hand, almost dragging her along, to the back garden. There in the dark corner of the garden, where sunlight could hardly reach even in the prime of noon, Hiran revealed a large butterfly. It had caught one of its tentacles in the pattern of the bark and could not release itself. 'It will die today, won't it?' Hiran asked solemly. 'Maybe.' said the bangle seller and squatted on the floor. She began to trace a pattern on the sand. 'What are we going to do? How do we save it?' Hiran was getting paranoid. 'We cannot save it, pretty one. No one can save no one. We can only make it immortal.' 'How?' Hiran was almost screaming now. 'Watch me while I make it immortal,' said the bangle seller calmly. Hiran went on her knees to see what the bangle- seller was upto. She was drawing, with her index finger, on the sand. She was making a picture, a very pretty one, of the butterfly. When she had finished, she looked up and caught the bewilderment in Hiran's eye. She laughed to see the large almond shaped eyes so troubled. 'Nice picture,' said Hiran recovering, 'You are more talented than my husband.' 'Does your husband draw?' 'Oh yes. He is a very talented man.' 'May I see any of his works?' 'No, you may not! Are you trying to fool me? You said you would make the butterfly immortal! Now it hangs there on the bark. It's dead! And you have nothing but a drawing on sand that won't last till tomorrow.' 'Will you forget it, pretty one? Will you forget how you wanted to show me this insect? Will you forget how I drew it on the sand, or this conversation?' Hiran paused before she answered, 'Not for a few days atleast.' 'Alright. I won't forget it for all my life. So the butterfly did not die. It still lives.' 'Ah.' said Hiran, 'But only till you are alive. When you die, your memory of it will die as well. It will truely be dead then!' 'Not if I manage to make another person remember me when I am dead,' the bangle seller smiled. 'I don't understand you,' said Hiran, 'you don't make sense.' 'Do you want me to draw you another picture?' the bangle seller asked. The lines on Hiran's brow were eased and she smiled again.

They spent all afternoon together, one dictating what was to be drawn and the other obeying. The husband came back to a house where the lamp had not been lit though it was well past sunset. The food was simple. Hiran had not even bothered to tie up her hair. It floated around her face like a dense smoke. Had he been a weaker man, he may have lost his composure, but he was wise. He said nothing.