Obsessed

by Ruchi Kokcha

  Avik did not know what to do except give her a hug to console her. He hoped she was strong enough to accept that he did not feel anything for her beyond friendship. He decided that this would be the last time he met her. Only distance could heal the wounds of a heart that faces rejection. But was this a platitude to ease the guilt of breaking her heart or did such healing really happen? He was not sure. Perhaps he had never loved at all. Perhaps the one great love of his life had not yet arrived, despite the fact that he had been in three relationships over a span of ten years. Perhaps he was not born to love but to dream, and his dream was the sole love of his life.

  As the thought of love crossed his mind, he was reminded of Ananki. It made him shiver. He remained silent as he drove Khyati to the metro station as she had requested. After dropping her off, Avik decided to go for a walk rather than return to the apartment.

  With every step he took he reminded himself that his dream to become a famous journalist was the only love in his life.

  It is the only thing that will give meaning to this otherwise meaningless existence. I cannot afford love. Love has never given me anything. I have nothing more of myself to offer for love’s sake.

  In spite of working for ten years, he had not been able to achieve his dream, for he had never really given his all to the job, distracted as he had been by his relationships. It was time he moved away from love and towards his dream. Rejecting Khyati had been the first step towards giving priority to his dream.

  Had I been the same old Avik, I would have accepted her love, even if I didn’t love her. I would have given her love a chance to kindle the same emotion in my heart, just as it happened before with Trisha. I fell in love with her over time. But this Avik is a changed individual, having seen life with the magnifying glass of failure. Mediocrity is not his way of existence now and it is time to say goodbye to everything that pulls him down to the level of commoners, Avik contemplated as he walked.

  Engrossed in his thoughts, Avik did not see the brick lying in front of him on the footpath and just as he stumbled upon it, he heard a shot. It came from a car that passed him on the road. As he looked at it, trying to read the number plate, the person inside aimed at him and shot once more. This time the bullet grazed his arm.

  Avik ran and hid behind a nearby tree.

  Had he not stumbled, he would have been dead already. The thought made him numb.

  The car vanished. Passersby gathered around him as he moaned helplessly, trying to stop the blood flowing from his arm. Two young men stopped an autorickshaw and took him to the nearby hospital, calling the police control room on the way.

  11

  A police car was waiting at the main entrance of the hospital. It was a clear case of attempt to murder. Naaz Mehmood, the inspector in charge of the area, looked at the amount of blood flowing from Avik’s wound and told him to get it treated first. Avik was taken to the emergency room, accompanied by the two young men and Inspector Naaz, who quickly took care of the formalities associated with such a case so that Avik could be attended to. He was given twelve stitches in his forearm and was admitted for the night for observation.

  Meanwhile inspector Naaz asked the two young men for their testimonies as witnesses to the shooting. After the young men left, Naaz feared Avik might be attacked again, so he instructed a constable to stand guard at the door of Avik’s room.

  It was almost afternoon when Avik woke up to find Naaz waiting to record his statement for the First Information Report. Avik had never been in such a situation before. With the effect of the painkillers diminishing, he felt a pulsating pain in his arm. He asked the inspector to call the nurse.

  ‘How long will it take for my arm to heal?’ Avik asked the nurse who entered with a box full of medicines.

  ‘It might take ten to fifteen days for the wound to heal completely, provided you do not strain it too much,’ the nurse replied as she changed his dressing and handed him his medication. She helped Avik sit up in bed.

  ‘When will I be discharged?’ Avik asked, labouring to sit up even with the nurse’s support.

  ‘After the doctor visits in the evening,’ she replied as she made him sit and then left.

  Inspector Naaz took the chair beside Avik’s bed and sat down, crossing his legs.

  ‘Were you able to see the face of the attacker?’ he asked.

  ‘No, the window was only slightly open and there was black film on the glass, despite the rule,’ Avik replied.

  ‘What make was the car? Were you able to note its number?’ Inspector Naaz asked.

  ‘It was a black Scorpio. I was too panicked to note the number’, Avik said, placing his right hand over the bandage, trying to feel the extent of the wound.

  ‘Who do you think was behind this?’ Naaz inquired, noting down the details of the car.

  The question initiated a circle of arguments in Avik’s confused mind.

  It has been only a month since I returned to Delhi after a long absence and I’ve already made enemies here who are after my life. Who could have done it? One thing is for sure – the person who attacked me or the one who hired an assassin is someone related to Ananki. Perhaps someone close to her, one of her family members. There is only one person in her family who could arrange such a thing. Her father. He would not want me to publish her story and dishonour the family name. I am sure Mr Rajput is the one behind this attack. Should I tell the inspector about my suspicions? If I tell him, he will question Mr Rajput about this and Ananki’s case will be closed forever. What should I do? I am not even sure if Mr Rajput is behind it. Taking his name would mean the end of it all, the end of the hope of solving the mystery of Kalki’s death, the end of my dream. To say or not to say? It is better not to say when I cannot back it up with proof, for the stakes are high.

  ‘I do not know who attacked me.’ Avik kept his answer short.

  ‘Any other details you want to share?’ the inspector probed for information.

  ‘I don’t think I have anything else to say. I am still in a state of shock and I am struggling to arrange the pieces of this puzzle. Give me some time, Inspector Naaz, I will come to you when my mind is clearer,’ Avik replied, feeling tired. He wanted to lie down again.

  ‘Okay. I have your address from your licence. I will send a copy of the FIR there,’ Inspector Naaz said as he stood up to leave.

  ‘The address you have is for my mother’s house, inspector. I don’t stay there. I am currently based in Mumbai and am staying in an apartment arranged for me by my company, as I came to Delhi for a short assignment. Please don’t let my mother know about this attack, as she will be very worried. I will come to the police station to collect my copy of the FIR. You can take down the address of my apartment and my friend Khyati’s phone number; you can call her to confirm the information I have given you,’ Avik looked tense as he replied.

  ‘All right. And if you feel threatened, you can always ask for protection,’ Inspector Naaz told him before leaving.

  It was 4.30 in the afternoon. Avik was thirsty and hungry. He called the nurse who gave him water and ordered a meal for him from the hospital kitchen.

  After eating, Avik lay down and tried to recreate the entire incident in his mind, not knowing when he fell asleep.

  The sound of a man’s voice woke him up. It was the doctor. He reviewed Avik’s file and checked his wound. He showed him certain exercises that would ease the stiffness in his arm. He finally signed Avik’s discharge papers.

  After the doctor left, the nurse told Avik that someone had been waiting to take him home. She called the person into the room.

  It was Khyati. She took Avik’s file from the nurse, placed it along with her bag on the table, and stood in front of Avik who was still sitting on the bed. He lifted his hand, beckoning her to come near. All he needed was a hug to console him and make him feel that everything would be fine. Khyati held him in her warm embrace where he felt safe, safe from the world that had turned hostile towards him all of a sudden.<
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  ‘How did you find out about what happened to me?’ was all he could ask.

  ‘Mine was the last number you had dialled. The nurse called me and told me you were injured and had been admitted here. She said that no one had come to get you discharged. So I came,’ she said, handing him a packet.

  ‘Did you tell Ma?’ Avik asked as he placed the packet on his lap, trying to open it with one hand.

  ‘No, I did not, but you should. She should know what is happening in your life. She has the right to know that you were shot. Someone bloody tried to kill you, and for what? A madwoman’s story? If you have any sense left in you, pack your bags right away and leave for Mumbai. Your life is above all this mess,’ Khyati said, helping him open the packet.

  ‘My dream is above my life,’ Avik said, looking at Khyati.

  ‘Your dream can be pursued through other channels provided you have a life, provided you can walk on your two legs, provided you are able to use your hands, provided your heart and mind are functioning and not opened up by a bloody bullet,’ Khyati replied, taking a shirt out of the packet and handing it to him.

  ‘Khyati, I am not going back to Mumbai right now. Not until I have the story. And I am not going to die before that. Not until I make a name in the journalism industry, not until I make a worthy amount of money, not until people look up to me and say, that’s who I want to be, that’s the life I want to live.’

  Khyati knew he was stubborn, she knew he would not listen to her, but as a friend – as he thought her to be – it was her duty to try to make him understand the value of his life, for himself, for his mother for whom he was the only source of hope and happiness, for her, who had fallen in love with him despite knowing that he might never develop any feelings for her.

  She helped him get up from the bed and took him to the attached bathroom so he could change his clothes. She took the hospital shirt off carefully, taking care not to hurt his injured arm, and made him wear the new one she had got for him.

  ‘How did you know I would need this?’ Avik asked, surprised.

  ‘Pretend it’s your birthday gift in advance,’ she smiled and left him to change into his trousers.

  When he was ready, Khyati completed the discharge formalities and called a taxi. She had thought of every little thing that Avik would need and he noticed it too. He felt lucky to have a friend like her. However, he worried that she might be doing all this in the hope that her actions would kindle stronger feelings for her in him.

  But his notions about love were clearer than before. Three failed relationships had made him realize that love could not be earned. It just happens, like a flash of lightning striking a tree and burning it to ashes within seconds. Such is the nature of love. It changes the entire being of the person who is struck with its arrow. It is like an illness that possesses the body and mind alike, rendering the person vulnerable. It is like a temporary madness that makes one turn a blind eye to reason and logic.

  Avik cared for Khyati, he knew he would do everything he could to make sure she was safe and happy, but he could never love her.

  Khyati caught Avik staring at her and asked him what he was thinking about, to which he smiled and replied, ‘Thank you.’

  She forced a smile in return, realizing that the verbal gesture was perhaps the only way in which he could thank her.

  The taxi had arrived. She helped him get into it and, deciding it was best not to go with him as she had originally planned, closed the door gently after him.

  ‘I would advise you to go home to Ma,’ she said, almost begging him.

  ‘You know I cannot, and promise me you will not call Ma and tell her about this.’

  ‘I won’t. But you should. She has the right to know. Take care and give me a call if you need me,’ Khyati replied, standing back as the taxi pulled away.

  On the entire way back to the apartment Avik kept thinking about the attack that could have taken his life. One thing he was sure of was that someone related to Ananki, someone close to her, someone who did not want him to meet her and learn her version of Kalki’s death, was behind it. Once again, he could think of only one person: Mr Rajput.

  No one else would have a problem with my meeting Ananki to learn the truth in order to publish her story. I am sure it’s him. What concerns me is why he doesn’t want Ananki’s version to be published. Is it just because of the family’s honour or is there some other reason? Does Ananki know something about her mother’s death that she should not? Was Mr Rajput responsible for his wife’s demise? Did he get involved with his daughter? Did he kill his wife because she found out about it and is he now after my life for trying to unravel the mystery behind Kalki’s death? Whatever his reason is, it was him, Avik concluded as he entered the apartment.

  Tired, he took his medication and went to bed. He soon fell asleep.

  12

  In Ananki’s cell, her lean hands turned black from wiping the charcoal off the walls. It was a ritual practice that completed her day and welcomed the arrival of dusk. In contrast to Avik’s response to their meeting, Ananki appeared quite composed. Her breath was gentle, her posture was relaxed and there were hardly any frown lines on her face.

  Avik’s question – did her mother find out about her feelings for her father – should have disturbed her as much as her story had disturbed him. But she had grown accustomed to accusations of every kind that had come her way ever since her mother had died. Nothing bothered her now. Nothing could break through her shield of non-responsiveness, not even him.

  She wanted to meet Avik again, not to speak to him but to hear from him about the world outside, the world where Da lived. She wanted to feel the air Da breathed, fill her nostrils with his scent once more. She wanted once again to see the land where he walked tall and gracefully. It had been a long time since she had last seen or heard from him.

  All this while he had existed either as an apparition of her memory or as a figment of her imagination. She had missed seeing the real him, ‘the handsome man who could give an inferiority complex even to the gods, such was his stature and grandeur’, according to her.

  The last time she had seen him was when he had brought her to Dr Neerja’s NGO, to get rid of her. A pearl of sweat seated at his temple – although it was mid-January and the Delhi winters were at their peak – proved the amount of passion he had within him, if only he could share it with a woman other than his wife. His deep dark-brown eyes had watched Dr Neerja intently as she spoke to him, as he nodded in consent to whatever she told him. His lips seldom moved except twice during the entire conversation, in the beginning to greet the doctor and at the end to say goodbye to her.

  He did not say goodbye to me, nor did he look at me one last time. I was shattered seeing him leave me in this terrible world all by myself, she remembered.

  Avik did have some effect on her. How and to what extent, she could not fully understand. He was the second man who had shown kindness to her, despite knowing who she was. Although she had nothing more to say to him, she wanted to see him again. Telling him anything else would mean allowing him entry into her dark world; she preferred him just outside it, neither too near, nor too far away, in a space that belonged neither to her nor to him. In that space she wanted to meet him. Ananki closed her eyes to allow utopian dreams to float through her mind.

  There is nothing more calming than walking barefoot on the wet green of a vast pasture. I have never felt at such ease before in my life. I have been walking here for a long time, yet I do not feel even the slightest fatigue. The sight of golden-bearded barley in the faraway corner of this flat earth makes me walk at a fast pace.

  I am almost running now, but the barley field seems to be at the same distance as it was when I started. I look at my long, lean legs with a sense of wonder, thinking what might be the secret behind their endurance. All I know is that they take me somewhere I should be, to a place where I should have been long ago.

  My body does not feel any pain, but I am feeli
ng very thirsty. I move where my intuition leads me, walking about seven kilometres across the green pasture towards the bearded barley. My dried nostrils can smell water somewhere, not too far from where I am. I inhale deeply and then move towards the right.

  A great orange ball is right in front of me now, turning to a deep red with time. The entire canvas is now covered in a bright orange hue. I have reached the corner of the earth where it meets the orange. I move into it, flip and reach the other side. There is no green or gold here, only orange. Orange grass, orange trees, orange flora and fauna and amidst them an orange lake. I run towards the lake, wanting to drink its sweet orange nectar. Drawing close, I see a huge orange scallop in the middle of the lake. For the moment I ignore it and gulp down the nectar, drinking as if my thirst is as old as the blazing ball itself, as if I will never get to drink anything ever again in my life. My being is bathed in orange. The more I drink, the more tired I feel, making me confused. The nectar should energize me. On the contrary, it is sucking out the energy that I have. All I want to do now is lie beside the lake and rest, rest timelessly underneath the great orange tree on its banks. My eyes drift shut, but I can still see that scallop in front of me, floating over the orange lake.

  Suddenly the scallop begins to open, emitting deep purple rays that reach the horizon. The purple is filling me with my life source. I get up and move towards the source. I stay on the shore, for I can’t swim. I sit there waiting for the scallop to open completely, expecting a pearl to be born from within it. I feel like my spirit has been waiting for this pearl for centuries. Just like a phoenix that rises from its own ashes, it has been sitting here since my childhood to my death, coming back again and again to complete the wait. I do not remember how many cycles have passed, but something within me tells me that this might be the last cycle, that the wait might be over, that I might have been heard this time.

  The scallop opens, throwing out a spectrum of light that makes the surroundings glow with the seven most beautiful pastel shades I have ever seen. Something emerges from the scallop. A female figure hovers over it. I cannot see her face, but I feel she is familiar. She looks like a newborn babe, born fully grown though, each and every curve of her body showing forth its new-found splendour. I can see her stretching her arms upwards as if awakening from a long sleep.