When Only Love Remains

by Durjoy Datta

  ‘I love you, puppy.’

  ‘I love you, too, Avanti,’ splutters Devrat. He draws a sad smiley on the screen.

  Avanti’s shaking now; her body is refusing to do it; killing herself would have been easier.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ taps Devrat.

  ‘You will never be sorry enough,’ comes the answer. Avanti’s still staring at the injection; she has put it in the little orifice that connects the needle to his bloodstream but she doesn’t have the heart to empty the syringe.

  The tears have come back in Devrat’s eyes, and he tries frantically to say something and starts to breathe heavily. Avanti’s distracted by the sound of it, and she doesn’t push the handle on the syringe.

  ‘Give me two. Let me look at you,’ says Devrat.

  ‘Take as much time as you want,’ says Avanti and forces a smile, hoping it would make him stay back. Slowly, she feels the life drain out of her.

  He’s crying and Avanti’s crying, too, slumped over his chest, fear grips both of them. It takes a lot more than two minutes. They keep holding hands and looking at each other, trying to soak in the sight of each other before Devrat is lost and Avanti plunges into a life of despair.

  ‘Do it,’ says Devrat.

  ‘See you on the other side,’ says Avanti and before Devrat can reply to that, she closes her eyes and pushes the syringe all the way. Avanti feels dead inside.

  Devrat’s eyes close. His body goes numb.

  Thirty-Two

  Dying is a slow process, and Devrat has realized that now. He can’t move his thumb, but he’s still conscious, and still pretty much alive; he can also hear the monitors beeping, which by his guess should have stopped by now. Two nurses are in his room and they are talking about how they have to keep it low key.

  ‘So when does he die?’ asks a nurse.

  ‘It takes a few hours. The body goes numb first and slowly the brain dies, too,’ answers the other nurse.

  The nurses leave. Devrat’s eyes are getting droopy now but he can still see clearly. His parents are nowhere in sight and it makes him wonder what they are up to. Do they know yet that Avanti has pulled the trigger? If they know, why aren’t they here yet? Maybe they don’t have the courage to see their son die, he thinks. They must be howling and crying in the corridor. Devrat closes his eyes again and hopes he dies before he has to hear and see his mother break down into little tears and howl that all her life is gone now, that she has nothing to live for.

  Devrat clearly remembers how he used to find his mother in tears when he used to be late from school. Although he used to get slapped for stopping by an ice-cream vendor and hence being late, he knew his mother had imagined the worst and cried her eyes out. Often he used to find his religious mother hugging a portrait of a god, slumped at the gate of the balcony, looking out at the distance for Devrat.

  He has seen his mother wait for his father in the same way as well, with a look of ‘all is lost’ in her eyes. There have been times Devrat has imagined what his mother’s life would be like without him or his father and every time it has been a painful scenario to construct in his mind. When he switches it with his father, imagining what it would be like if he or his mother died, the scenario is comparatively less painful to imagine. At least in the short run.

  And this is the time to revisit those scenarios. Now that he’s dying. He closes his eyes and imagines their initial shock. The crying will last for a few days, his mother will look at his photographs, his videos and spend entire months in depression. His father will try to be the calming factor, putting up a brave front despite the hurt inside. The house would be in shambles, his parents weak and frail because of the meals they would skip since nothing would taste the same ever again. They would shy away from social gatherings because people would look at them differently and it would only make the situation worse.

  But three years after him, their lives will move on.

  Even as Devrat says this to himself, he realizes the ridiculousness of it all. His parents will never move on. He can clearly foresee his mother slumped near his bed, back in their hometown with Devrat’s things scattered in front of her, crying and cursing the Lord for having snatched him away from them so soon. He knows there wouldn’t be a single moment of happiness in the rest of his mother’s life. Even after ten years she will walk around like he just died yesterday. She will lose weight, fall sick often, not take medication and not talk for days at end. He knows his mother will die with him, and that he would have killed her with his death. And that’s only moments away from now. As he’s dying now, he’s longing to see her once. But that would also mean his mother seeing him for the last time as well, and that’s an image his mother would never forget. The moment in time when she sees her son wilfully dying in front of her and she just standing there, rejected, helpless, asking herself what more she could have done to make her son stay, where had her love fallen short, what could she have said to make her son not kill himself. And he knows that she will talk to herself for years at an end, trying to piece together words into sentences that she could have said to save her son. She would daydream about Devrat getting married, about Devrat having kids and she playing with them, she would imagine Devrat abandoning her for the sake of his future wife and kids, she would imagine how painful it would be to see her young grandchildren not love her . . . she would imagine herself dying and Devrat crying, not the other way around. By him dying, he is snatching every bit of happiness from his mother. These thoughts start to flood Devrat’s mind and it starts to hurt. Or maybe it’s the injection starting to work now.

  Devrat closes his eyes but his father’s face flashes in front of him. Devrat hasn’t been one of those kids who sits and shares a drink or a smoke with his father. He has always secretly admired his father for his contentment, his niceness and his wry sense of humour, but that’s not something a son shares with his father. Instead, they talk about mundane things like politics and cricket. Though that has never meant Devrat or his father loved each other any less. On the days when his mother used to clutch a goddess’s picture and pray for his father’s well-being, Devrat used to panic, too, and sometimes more than his mother. For him, his father was the quintessential protector and provider of the family. Life without his father would be painful and uncertain.

  He remembers he felt strange when he grew taller and stronger than his father, a man he thought would always be around to protect him from the world. It was stranger still when he slowly saw his father grow weaker and older. Every passing year used to show on his father’s face in the way of wrinkles, or in a walk which got slower, or on his spine which wasn’t straight any longer. Devrat’s father has aged a decade in the past year and he knows time’s going to go faster for him here on, after Devrat leaves them. Men in offices, in neighbourhoods, in waiting lines to pay bills, in trains, in buses, will discuss about their sons and his father would have nothing to say. Every day he will come back to a depressed wife, an empty house, and an irrepressible urge to end it all. He will spend days and nights asking himself why he needs to live anymore. He would lie in a bed, hoping his heart would give up and he wouldn’t wake up to see another day, but then he would look at his wife and undo his wish. Conversation would dry up between his father and his mother. What do you talk about when you have no reason to live?

  He’s sure his father thinks of the time when he will die, too, and Devrat’s mother will be all alone in an empty house, without a son or a husband to talk to, to complain to, live for. He’s sure his father wishes that he lives longer than Devrat’s mother to spare her the agony of living a life without family, but that doesn’t mean he dreads it any less. Devrat tries to check his tears but he can’t. He can’t help but push images of his mother holding on to a picture of him and his father and lying on the floor. He can’t help but think about his seventy-year-old father moaning in pain, alone, confined to his bed, with no one to call his own. There’s noth
ing worse than imagining your old parents without you. The ones who tended to you finding themselves alone in their times of need.

  As his eyes get drowsy and he’s leaving the world, escaping the pain, he sees the faces of his parents flash in front of his eyes. And behind them, there’s Avanti. The girl who was so obsessed with him that she didn’t have the courage to meet him. The girl who loved Devrat like a little child, the girl who nurtured him and made him feel awesome about himself. He’s abandoning her now. Ever since he has got to know that Avanti has not stepped out of the hospital for eight months, Devrat’s been ridden with guilt. He still regrets his first reaction, which was to say, ‘Why didn’t you leave? You didn’t have to stay!’ Avanti hadn’t taken offence to that but Devrat would have. Had Devrat been waiting for Avanti to wake up for months, he would have expected her to break down in his arms and tell him that he was the greatest person she has ever met. Devrat did nothing of that. He conveniently overlooked it and jumped to the part where they talked about his pain, about him being shackled, about his horrendous quality of life. Everything was about HIM, HIM, HIM. Except for a few times that they did talk about how Avanti was going to move on after Devrat dies, they hadn’t dwelled on it. Because it’s Devrat who’s going through the pain and not Avanti, isn’t it? He realizes he has been blind to her pain, her love for him, her sacrifice. He has just been selfish and he has failed her love in all ways possible. Devrat now wishes he could have had Avanti in his last moments. He wants to apologize for not being worthy of her love. He wants to tell her how sorry he is for making her wait for months and then spoiling it all by wanting to die. He wants to ask her to move on, something he knows might take years. Or forever. Maybe five years down the line, some strapping, successful guy will manage to woo Avanti again and she will be head over heels in love with him. Maybe they will get married soon, have the time of their lives, and have little kids who look like Avanti.

  Ten years down the line, he will just be a distant memory in her head, a guy who disappointed her, a guy who couldn’t give back as much as she gave to him; he will be an aberration in her life. He cries.

  When he leaves, he would leave behind sadness and disappointment, Devrat realizes that now. He’s not killing himself, he’s destroying three other lives in the wake, lives of people who had only loved him unconditionally. How could he not see that? It’s not just him, it’s everyone who has ever loved him. His life was not his to take. It was theirs. His pain was not his to take, it was theirs as well.

  He’s now thinking of how his life would be strapped to a bed if he hadn’t killed himself. A month down the line he would be shifted home with all the contraptions that would keep him alive. His mother would spend hours and hours sitting beside him, doing what a mother likes to do the most—talking to him. His father would be a work-shirker at office; he would try to wrap up all the work in the office as soon as possible so that he can go back home to his son and his wife, and see them talk. It’s everything that parents want. In an ideal world they don’t want their kids to grow up and take care of them. They want their kids to be kids, so that they can keep pampering them and taking care of them and loving them. All they want is that they have the kids all to themselves, something that they get robbed of when their children grow up. He would have been a pampered little ‘puppy’, as Avanti used to call him. Shackled, as he puts it, to a bed for the next many years, he would have been the best son in the world.

  He imagines himself in a bed with the three of them around him. Avanti, in her uniform if she’s still flying, his parents and Avanti’s father, all looking at him, listening to what he’s saying, showering love on him, and still praying that he recovers soon. Suddenly, he’s there and he can see their faces, bright with happiness, still discussing that fortunate day when Devrat woke up, talking about how it was a miracle and how it made them so happy. And he’s sitting there basking in all the attention, happy that he’s alive and he has another chance at life. He sees those smiling faces in his head, and thinks that it’s the last time he will ever see them, the people he had loved so dearly, the people who had meant everything to him. He had given up too easily and it’s too late now. Tears streak down his cheeks.

  He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die!

  His eyes are drooping. He’s slipping away, from Avanti, from his mother, from his father; he’s leaving them. He panics and he cries. He tries moving his thumb but it’s not responding. He tries harder. He tries to talk but no sound comes out of his mouth . . . he’s shouting but his vocal chords can only elicit a faint cry of a dying animal . . .

  Avanti and his parents rush in. Their eyes, too, have welled up. They all sit around Devrat. His mother is running her hands through his hair and though he can’t feel a thing, he knows how comforting it is. His father is standing at a distance and is smiling under the tears. He’s still his superhero. He might have a bent spine and defeated look on his face, but he has still forced a smile. What is he if not a superhero? Avanti has held his hand and it still feels like the first time. Devrat’s tears are flowing freely. Devrat’s mother is kissing her dying son all over his face, looking at him for one last time. Devrat doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to go away from his parents, and from Avanti. He doesn’t want to snatch the thing they love the most away from them. He doesn’t want to walk away from what he loves the most.

  He musters up the last of his strength and tries to talk. His throat is like it’s on fire.

  ‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE,’ he mumbles.

  The three of them burst out crying, hearing what he just said. His mother buries her face in Devrat’s chest. Devrat mumbles again.

  He’s sweating now. Avanti runs a hand over his forehead. She says, ‘You are not dying. You’re just falling asleep.’

  Devrat cries. His eyes close. Darkness. He can hear the howls of his mother. He can hear his father break down. And he cries. And then, all of a sudden, he’s gone. He has killed himself and three others. His obituary would read—Devrat survived by a dead girlfriend and his dead parents.

  Thirty-Three

  It’s been a year since Avanti injected Devrat and saw the light go out of his eyes. And since then, never have her fingers trembled so much. There are more than fifty people outside, waiting for her to come out and take centre-stage but she’s pacing around, wanting to run away.

  ‘You will be great,’ says Sumit.

  ‘Shut up! There are people outside, Sumit! There are people waiting outside. I’m so sure I will screw up. I have never played the guitar in front of anyone except you and him.’

  Avanti’s is now a part of new band, it’s called Seven Hills, and it’s scratchy and not perfect and they haven’t performed anywhere yet. It’s just the vocalist and her. She plays the guitar and the vocalist sings. She’s not that good. It’s been a year that she’s been practising, but she doesn’t think she’s as good.

  ‘There’s no way you’re backing out now, Avanti. You will be great,’ says Sumit, sipping on his Red Bull. He offers some to Avanti who refuses.

  ‘I’m a pile of nerves, Sumit. I can’t do this. Look at my fingers! I can’t play with these fingers. Send someone else in,’ she says, holding her head, looking outside at the dimly lit stage and the expectant faces.

  ‘It’s not for you. It’s for Devrat. You think I couldn’t get a better guitarist that you? Of course I can! But you have to do this!’

  ‘That’s what I’m even more scared of. What if people boo me off stage? What if I snap a string?’ asks Avanti.

  ‘None of this is going to happen. Just close your eyes. They are anyway going to concentrate on the vocalist,’ says Sumit. And then starts to chuckle.

  ‘What!’ snaps Avanti.

  ‘You remind me of Devrat and his first paid performance. He was so anxious that he would disappoint people. He paced around the room just like you’re doing right now.’

  ‘How did i
t go then?’ asks Avanti.

  ‘I think it was one of his best performances,’ answers Sumit. ‘And so is yours going to be. You’re good, Avanti. Have faith in yourself.’

  Avanti nods.

  ‘And if you still don’t think you’re confident enough, I recommend a shot of this!’ says Sumit and offers her a shot of vodka.

  Avanti promptly downs it. ‘That was disgusting! But I think that will work.’

  Sumit hugs Avanti and tells her that it’s going to be great. Avanti nods and tries not to cry. ‘It’s for Devrat,’ says Sumit.

  Avanti walks out from the door and sits at the seat designated for the guitarist. The vocalist of the band smiles at her. A few people clap, others are still busy eating. She adjusts the microphone and a piercing static sound fills up the restaurant. Everyone looks at her. She closes her eyes and waits for the panic to settle down. She strums the guitar to check the levels and mutters ‘test’ thrice. The nerves have settled down a little.

  ‘Hello,’ says Avanti. The crowd mutters a Hello back. She looks at the crowd which is expectantly looking at her and the vocalist who’s smiling calmly. She closes her eyes and tries to dam the tears.

  ‘We are here to sing the songs Devrat, the love of my life, used to sing. For years I had obsessed about those songs and always wanted more people to hear them. This is my small attempt to make his songs heard by more people. I’m not a musician. I’m just a girl madly in love.’

  The vocalist smiles back at him. Avanti’s already crying a little inside.

  The crowd claps slowly and at this and Avanti begins strumming the guitar. The vocalist starts to sing the song, and it’s not how Avanti remembers it, it’s not how Devrat used to sing. But just to hear that song again, fills her up with so much joy that she can’t put it down in words.