The slanting rays of the afternoon peeped in through the curtains.Leaves of the banyan,who were married to the branches were eloping with the wind…to an unknown destiny.There were many more leaves..there were many strokes of grey and white in the sky..But the day was nearing its end… He feared death for the first time.He looked inside.Behind the curtains she was looking at him with love.He smiled faintly.She went up to him and gently touched his face. He felt like a kid.He lay on her laps and wept,counting his sins..She was gently passing her fingers through his hair.He looked out of the window of the train of life.Somebody lighted a cigar on the western horizon.Grey crept over the walls of the sky.The day held the dusk tightly.He felt a rare pain.The dusk threw colors.The dusk smeared red powder on its cheeks. The dusk was intoxicated by bhang.The dusk stooped and stumbled in the dark.Lust blossomed as stars just to fall as a shooting star and the dusk was lost..forgotten..His stream of thoughts sublimed into a short nap.
He woke up to a distant clinging of bells and aartis.It was still dusk.She was busy lighting the lamps in front of the huge painting of the Goddess.He suddenly,strangely felt like preparing a lemonade for her..and only for her.He went to the kitchen and took a lemon.While cutting it he accidentally cut his finger.When she came back she found him with a bleeding finger.The blood was not white as pearls..It was dripping from his finger like rubies..She dressed his wound.She was delighted to see the change in him.She drank the lemonade and smiled at him.He drank the rest.She lighted the Dhunuchi.The fragrance and the fragile smoke filled the air.The smoke lashed at his face.A thousand mosquitoes flew out of his mind.A Polash tree blossomed in his mind.And the twigs of the Polash were burning in the sacred fire accompanied by the rhythm of mantras. He could feel his sins burning in it like an age old Chola empire.His heart was no longer cold.It was brooding like a pigeon..warm and cozy.
He took the squeezed lemons and pressed in the middle to form small lemon diyas.He placed them on a plate and took it to the room.
She was in deep meditation. He lit the lemon diyas and prayed to the Goddess.It rained and his mind was smeared by ash from an age old fire..like an Aghori..The smoke from the Dhunuchi was still dissolving in the fragrance of the air…The night withdrew..And the dawn was blushing red…
2 replies on “The night before that dawn”
This echoes of divinity in the reader’s mind. Outstanding.