These days I feel at peace. I’m rather glad to be free of the turbulence that had plagued me when I was with Nirmaan in Bhubaneswar. The furore in my mind was actually the manifestation of a guilt that I couldn’t share with anybody, so much so that at times I did my best to keep it away from myself as well.
Some damages can never be fixed. There are some mistakes from which even the wisest sage would be at a loss to find a life’s lesson. And there are tumults to which one can never get inured. These upheavals encapsulate the meaning of love. Nobody will ever know the truth about my fictitious illegal abortion or that Mihir was a mere figment of my imagination. I had asked the older brother of a classmate’s boyfriend to reach out to my dad on that fateful evening thirteen years ago with some forged abortion papers, and demand money from him for an abortion that never happened. I knew that my infuriated father would severely chastise me and perhaps even ostracize me. Everything happened as I had expected.
However, that was but one part of the plan. The other part happened when I sought out Tarun, instigated him against Nirmaan and motivated him to keep him captive during his IIT entrance exam. I thought these two lies would suffice to launch Nirmaan and me on an adventure like no other, far from everyone else and together forever.
The third lie was necessitated by Nirmaan when he swore blind to wait for Affu. I didn’t tell him all of what she had told me when she had called me. I didn’t tell him that she would come back in a year and had asked me to tell him to wait. How could I have told him that? I was blinded by my love for him.
Although I didn’t hate Affu, I realized that she had eclipsed me in Nirmaan’s eyes. So what if I was his oldest friend? I was his oldest everything. It was only when I repeated a year without him that I understood how much Nirmaan had come to mean to me. No matter how shitty reality becomes, there’s always that one person who makes you believe in fairy tales. Nirmaan was that person for me and I couldn’t let the fairy tales slip away with him. Although I knew I wasn’t ready to part with him, I wasn’t sure if I loved him. I’ve not understood this ‘love’ thing even to this day. I only wanted to be with him. That was all. When Affu said she was in love with him and Nirmaan reciprocated the sentiment with equal fervour, I was really happy for them. However, with time, I understood that the moral of their love story was that they would be together and the more they were together, the more I would have to stay away from Nirmaan. That’s the norm, right? Three’s a crowd . . . who made these diktats?
I did my utmost to stay away from both of them, but it didn’t help. I knew that eventually I’d have to go away from him, but I wasn’t ready for that. When I went over to his place one day with a chicken dish that I had made and found Affu there, I excused myself and left immediately, but I couldn’t sleep for days. Their intimacy troubled me, inflamed my inner demons and took me to a place where prayers didn’t work.
I swear that when I thought up the lies, I didn’t know that they would lead to where they did. My then innocuous mind thought that my lies could make me stay close to Nirmaan. One of those lies made me revel in its possibilities to such an extent that I didn’t bother to calculate its consequences. I was, in any case, the dumbest of the trio. I really thought he could and would forget Affu with time; that we would get married, have babies and start a family. But I was wrong. In the thirteen years that I lived with Nirmaan, I realized—spool by spool—that he was all about Affu. He was born for her. And she for him. I was merely their stepping stone to happiness. I hated myself. But by the time I realized my blunder, I was in an irreversible situation. I didn’t have the guts to call off the bluff. Hence the disturbance; the guilt started chewing at my conscience from the time I heard Nirmaan utter Affu’s name in his sleep. And then him taking up smoking the same cigarette brand as Affu only to feel her presence. It dawned on me only then that I was the ogre in their fairy tale. What was even worse, they had no inkling of this.
They’ll never know of it. If I had confessed the truth to him, Nirmaan would have left me hurt. I can accept that he doesn’t love me, but to have him hate me is nigh unthinkable.
The fact that we err doesn’t make us human. I think the fact that we want to correct that error and redeem ourselves is what makes us human. Ever since I realized my grievous error, and even though I have cried a million tears of remorse every night, I couldn’t assuage the guilt. Each time I looked at Nirmaan during our long Bhubaneswar stay, I was reminded that he and Affu could have easily been together and enjoyed a happy life, had it not been for my interference, my stupid lies and my stubbornness to gain his exclusive proximity. Whenever he was happy, I was in a dilemma: to be happy with him or to be sad because he didn’t know at what cost his happiness had come. Only I did. Although I constantly reassured myself that I wasn’t all bad, that one unacceptable action of mine—those lies—called my bluff every time.
I understood that although Nirmaan and I could be an ideal couple, we weren’t made for each other. People never understand the difference. I could have left him years ago hoping he would reconnect with Affu, but at that time he had not made anything of himself. His dream of being an entrepreneur became my dream as well and I devoted myself to it because in that devotion I found redemption. I worked, overworked, and pushed myself beyond limits as never before, I became a different person and when Nirmaan’s dream was fulfilled, I knew it was time. I couldn’t have left him midway so I left him when he had something solid to fall back on. His successful business and . . . Affu.
Even though I was gone just like that, overnight, I did keep track of Nirmaan through my confidante at work, Lavisha. When I learnt that she too had left the job, I contacted her only to learn that she had been diagnosed with an obscure and rare skin disease. As she was an orphan, I took her to an NGO and admitted her under my name. When she died a couple of days later, it was ‘Raisa Barua’ who was dead. In the meantime, I located Affu on Facebook and was upset to learn that she had got engaged. I found Shanay’s details from her profile and went to Bengaluru to talk to him. I almost met him once but something told me that if he didn’t know the story of Affu, Nirmaan and me, he would never be able to make an informed decision. That very night I started sending him the voice notes with the alias of the long dead Lavisha Mishra. And later met him as her. I chatted with Nirmaan as Lavisha to provide him with proof of my death. If he comes to know that I’m alive, he will look for me. I know it. And if he comes for me, so will Affu and our cycle will play itself again.
For this cycle to stop, this emotional suicide of mine was necessary. I had to strike myself off from his life. Once and for all.
My first deception, a set of lies really, as an eighteen-year-old was fabricated to remain close to Nirmaan so that I could live; the second deception about my demise was invented as the means to stay away from him so that he could live. After my talk with Shanay at his bachelor bash, I felt that all my efforts had been in vain. I was praying the two to stick it out somehow. I’m delighted that everything has fallen into place: Affu and Nirmaan are together at long last.
Life lulls a lot of things to sleep within us as memories fade. As long as Nirmaan and Affu keep me awake within them, I’ll feel worthy. I’ll feel alive even if I’m dead for them. I’ll feel I have redeemed myself even if they never knew my sins. The ripe mango that I once gave Nirmaan will never lose its aroma.
Raisa steps out of the shower drying herself. Her eyes fall on an old photograph pinned on the wardrobe—a snapshot of a pair of eight-year-olds, Nirmaan and Raisa, dressed as Krishna and Radha. She kisses the picture and wonders, Krishna may have married Rukmini, but he would always be idolized with Radha, isn’t it? I think I can live with that.
Acknowledgements
There are some books that aren’t just books. They are part of an author’s life. Half-torn Hearts is one such book for me. It made me depressed, tested my patience and at the same time, helped me introspect that which I’d consciously shied away from. The process and experience of penning thi
s book will always remain special. In the end, I’m happy the way it shaped up. And I can’t take the credit myself for sure.
Heartfelt thanks and immense gratitude to:
As always (in all ways), Milee Ashwarya, for having an unfaltering faith in my stories. Here’s to creating bigger and better things together in the near and distant future.
The entire sales and marketing teams of Penguin Random House India, for lending their prompt support to my books whenever needed.
Indrani, for the awesome edits as usual.
My family, for being there like a prayer.
My friends, for not judging me when I tell them my favorite time pass is to dance on Govinda numbers.
My readers, for appreciating my work each time I present something to them.
Paullomy, Titiksha, Kratika, Ankita, Vaishali, for listening to me patiently when I am impatient. About what? You girls know better!
A: For destroying me so poetically. I only wish you knew the consequences of those three words you’d once told me. It altered my life.
Ra: Just be there, okay? Just. Be. There.
R: My everyday light, for you anytime. Anywhere. Anyhow.
THE BEGINNING
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This collection published 2019
Copyright © Novoneel Chakraborty 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © iStock and Unsplash
ISBN: 978-0-143-44269-1
This digital edition published in 2019.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05474-8
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Half Torn Hearts Page 21
