Fiction
“Finally the time has
come?” Vasavadatta groaned. “But it’s
too late. Too late.”
Upagupta sat down beside
her on the bare ground of the graveyard where she was left to die with her
limbs cut off. He looked at her. She could easily perceive the compassion that
welled up in his eyes.
“When I was whole and
beautiful, I waited for you time and again with my body bathed in the finest of
perfumes. You sent my maid back with
those cryptic words: the time has not
come. Now why are you here when I’m
rotting and dying? Rotting before dying!”
“I wish you to know that
my love is with you,” he said.
“Love?” She tried to smile. Or was it a smirk? “I
loved you all those years. The other men
were only clients for me. But you? You were my love. You scorned my love.”
Upagupta sighed. He continued to look into her eyes.
“Whenever I see a lake or
a river, I long to bathe in it. But I
feel terribly unworthy.”
“So you never bathe in a
river or a lake?” She remembered
watching him once stripping himself off his monk’s robe and stepping into the
Yamuna while she was on a journey with a rich client.
“I do, but standing as
close to the shore as possible. Having
asked pardon from the water body.”
“Why do you hate yourself
so much?”
“Do I hate myself more
than you hated yourself?” He wondered
why he used the past tense when he referred to her.
“Hmmm…” She struggled to
chuckle. “Now you say your love is with
me. A cruel joke!”
“No, I mean it.”
“Could you not love me
when I was whole and beautiful?”
Upagupta hesitated. Beauty
is too relative. Love is a dangerous word. It carries a kaleidoscope of meanings. Yet he knew he owed her an answer.
“Which man would not be
swayed by an invitation from the most desired courtesan of Mathura?” She deserved the honest answer, he
thought. He perceived a sparkle flash
momentarily in her eyes.
“Swayed? Were you?”
“I did not sleep many
nights. You were with me, keeping me
awake.”
“I wish that were real.”
“The distance between the
real and the unreal is as flimsy as the human mind.”
“You are the mind. I am the body.” Vasavadatta seemed inspired momentarily.
Upagupta did not say
anything.
“I’m dying happily. With the knowledge that my love kept you
awake in the nights.”
“I love you,” he said.
She closed her eyes. Her breathing became hard. And then it stopped altogether.
nice story telling
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteNice fiction. Loved reading it.
ReplyDeleteObliged for the appreciation.
DeleteUnable to interpret much except love and narrative. ...that's enough. ...
ReplyDeleteCan I help? Is love akin to hatred in a way? Do both sensuality and asceticism arise from a form of self-hatred?
Delete