Fiction
“History
is as shifty as the kiss-curl that moves so seductively across your cheek in
the fan’s breeze,” He said running his finger gently on her cheek.
Outside
the hotel room, the Sarayu continued to flow listlessly.
“Is
your research coming to an end?” she asked.
“Well,
almost. It’s not research really,” he
paused. “I wanted to have a feel of this place.
For a novel that I’m writing.
Ayodhya of Rama and Sita finds an appearance.”
“Is
this the Ayodhya of Rama and Sita?” She asked that more to herself than to him.
“For
the novel’s purpose, yes. Otherwise the
Sarayu mentioned in the ancient scriptures could very well be the Hari-Rud
flowing through Afghanistan, Iran and Turkmenistan.”
“I
knew you’d come out with something like that,” she said. “You were always like that. In the class too.”
“The
names of rivers mentioned in scriptures can be very deceptive,” he said
ignoring her mention of the class. “The
Buddhist scripture, Samyutta Nikaya,
has a verse which goes thus: ‘Once Lord Buddha was walking in Ayodhya on the
bank of the Ganga river.’”
“Oh,
yet another Ayodhya!”
“Needn’t
be. Another verse of the same scripture
reads, ‘Once Lord Buddha was walking in Kaushambi on the bank of the Ganga
river.’ But Kaushambi is on the bank of the Yamuna.”
“Kiss-curls
of history!” She giggled.
The
giggles brought him memories that he did not wish to revive. In fact, he didn’t want to meet her at
all. She had seen his Facebook status
update from Ayodhya and contacted. “I’m
in Lucknow,” she said on phone. “Practising
the MBA theories.”
“I
thought you studied literature,” he said.
“Yeah,
first that, bewitched by you. Then I
became more practical and went on to do MBA.
So I have a job now.”
“Why
didn’t you marry?” he asked when they met.
“Is
love a tender thing? It is too rough,
too rude, too boisterous, and …”
“…
it pricks like thorn.” He concluded the lines from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. “Like history, in fact.”
“History
and love,” she giggled again.
Oh, no! He wished to
tell her. Don’t giggle like that.
“Did
Babur demolish a temple to construct his masjid here?” She asked.
“Most
probably, no. There’s no mention of any such demolition in contemporary
literature. Baburnama does not mention anything. Ain-i-Akbar
does not. Not even Tulsidas gives any
hint.”
“I
read somewhere that the demolition theory was first mooted by some British
academics,” she became serious.
“That’s
quite possible. Academic excess more
than divide-and-rule aspirations in all probability.”
“Nothing
is quite certain, right?”
“Except
this kiss-curl that tantalises.”
“Tantalisations
of history.”
“Hmm.”
The
fan went on whirring above them.
Comments
Post a Comment