FORGIVEN

It is a quiet night. One of the precious few I have these days. Its been actually six days since I've wanted to write some letters to all of them i ever cared and cared for me, It is quite irritating, how previous actions make reactions which can take up so much of one's private time. Tonight of all nights I am rather pleased with the fact that very few of my… classmates know of my humble place of residence. It is rather amusing a notion, actually, that should I ever be as bold and highly pain-resilient as to persistently ignore the Almighty's traditional form of summons, the greatest escape artist of our age would have trouble matching me then. Unless my pals went on a gossiping rampage about "that horrible shack near the backwater", where our poor dear Saurabh is, but then, why should he afford anything else ,with on a life as a student at a moderate college in the far heart of the city, ha ha. Yes, that would be so like them, telling inconsequential gibberish to anyone who would listen, or rather, be either unable to run away or too apprehensive to end it all. Even Asylum would kneel to change them ,but they remain my only friends,not after I've done with them,i leave all my addressed envelopes on the study table

I amuse myself for a few moments with the imagery of the gang screaming insults at the group of girls passing. They never were tired of praising themselves and their undying loyalty to heaven, however inappropriate the metaphor appears in the context. Let alone the innocent I used to be then. I was far from being frightened by them, not least emboldened with the knowledge that I could probably beat each and every one of them should we ever duel ,words or hands it may ;but the indefinable hyenas they are ,never left the comfort of their group, yet… watching them made my skin crawl, in a highly unpleasant way. That was back in the old times. These days, whenever I find myself in their presence, I simply perform an exercise, hardly necessary anymore, in self-restraint by resisting the urge to Scourge myself.

I have often questioned my seemingly unjustified attitude for Nash, being almost surprised with the repugnance he always seemed to inspire in me. The conclusion I have arrived at was unexpected, to say the least. It would seem that the main reason for my, mildly put, dislike of Nash was his, mildly put, complete lack of moral fiber. Quite a statement to make of a second year, by a fellow year. And yet… Everyone, well, mostly everyone had some thing about them, some splinter in the long-forgotten heart and soul. With enough leverage applied to it, sooner or later, they would bleed. My theory was reinforced by the knowledge of Ranjith perishing in his room long before his close friend and other public-spirited inmates enacted their daring escape. Ranjith, who had always seemed impenetrable, at times more so than Vyshakh, did not survive the torment by his own mind, the most ingenious torturer imaginable, while Nash emerged, appearing unscathed. It is all in the mind.

If that is indeed so, how long would I last imprisoned in my mind? I find myself wondering. A day? A week? How long would I resist insanity through sheer arrogance, before even that would be taken away from me? The system of remorse is flawed. It relies on the assumption that everyone has a multi layered core of guilt in their soul, and the gradual stripping of every layer will eventually drive anyone, anyone insane with the weight of their deeds pressing on them, day and night. Yet not all of us seem to have that core. And who knows whether at the root of the inexplicable revulsion at such people lies simple envy, the wish to be able to have it so easy as well.

Lost in thought, I fail to notice the small kettle in front of me boiling over until the table is semi-covered in the would-be-tea, now resembling the gunk often found in the chemistry lab that we students had the nerve to submit as work results.

"shit", I grumble and leave to the study, closing the door to prevent the still-lingering fumes from penetrating the rest of the house. I do not intend to start over, working on wasted effort being against my principles, however interesting my experiments of making it was and however useful the result could have been. Were it not for my uncalled-for introspection on the nature of morality, I could have brought forth the little fancy of mine I had been contemplating for weeks, never finding the time to do it between the hardly pleasant duties and far less pleasant forced social intercourse.

It is past midnight, yet I feel not at all tired, many years of near-nocturnal existence paying off. I silently muse whether any of my roommates ever wondered why I was so adamant about being up late, and in the last sem,usually being in among the last classes of the day. Quite possibly they would never have ascribe night-owlishness a place among my flaws, and attributed my frequent absences at breakfast to general avoidance of the noisy event it usually is,with all the first years and all the ragging stuff our gang would torment to. No one would dare entertain the notion of their Little Master oversleeping.

I catch my reflection in the dark glass of the window and notice it sporting a little smug smirk. It fades rather quickly, though, as more thoughts creep into my mind.

Ex-Top scorer. Ex-best student.

Just two more 'ex' particles to add to my eternally growing collection of titles abandoned. Ex-son. Ex-lover. Ex-friend. Ex-traitor. Or can you ever stop being one?

Nevertheless, I would be always willing to accept some of more 'ex's in exchange for a few of the old and dusty 'never's. There is much less of those. From a logical perspective, it would suggest that my life had been full of various experiences, very little left beyond my grasp. That, I suppose, is one way to put it.

My eyes fall on the window again. One would have thought I should have learned to put out the light whenever I am visited with the wish to look at the darkness outside. Otherwise, all the glass shows is what lies within.

I reach for the switch and light the nearest torch when a movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. However mirror-like the window may be at this time, there is no doubt about whatever is out there not being my imagination.

Hesitating momentarily, I refrain from extinguishing the torch. True, remaining in the dark would give me a tactical advantage over the intruder – and an intruder if it is, the last thing I would expect of my friends would be dropping by for a cup of tea, for the sheer belief in their self-preservation instincts if anything.

However, choosing to use the advantage would mean combating the impertinent trespasser on his terms, therefore accepting the challenge. Thank you very much. In my house, I do things on my own terms.

I walk to the hearth, leaning to the mantelpiece leisurely, posture evidently relaxed, my swiss pocket knife held loosely at my side. Nothing encourages foolishness like seeing it taken seriously, and vice versa. And the very fact of foolishness is confirmed by the fact that my late guest allowed me to notice her. Hmm. It would not be a female, would it now? The last thing I would want right now is having the questionable pleasure of another emotional therapy session with my friend of the opposite gender or is she now after what has happened ,or whoever else she could have recommended me to as someone to turn to in times of emotional turmoil. I failed to catch the moment when any of my occupations suddenly entailed counseling.

'hello!' a familiar voice sounds from the other side of the door. I cannot suppress a sigh. Suddenly an evening with my principal sounds almost attractive.

'Door bell would have worked just fine ,Anjali.,' I remark, shaking a few gulps of guilt from my clothes.

'Then again, your lack of thinking ability has long ceased to amaze me.'

She stares at me with the furious expression I have almost come to forget after, what, somewhat under a week? Has it been that long? No wonder I seemed to regain some peace of mind, if the phrase can be even remotely applied to my life. Somehow, having Anjali out of the picture, despite my full awareness of the fact that she could never be out of it completely, even if i wished, made it rather difficult to do my duty… for both sides. I did not know how many of my anonymous calls the remnants of the gang believed, and I would not dare sabotage enough missions to let anyone perceive even a hint of a trend, yet… Yes, I owed them nothing. Everyone I had ever owed anything to is dead, my last duty fulfilled "what, somewhat under a week" ago, put so delicately to lull myself into thinking I would ever be able to forget that night,the night i had to choose between my friends their inconsistent subsistent ways and an innocent but invaluable life as far to me .i never was social with her but still i was a traitor at either ships .

And very definitely and absolutely uncompromisingly, I owe nothing to the beautiful girl pointing her index finger at me and flaring right now.

'There's time and place for everything, and this isn't it!' she declares, doubtlessly insulted by my attitude.

'Really,' I suppress a yawn, watching her with a bored expression, while trying to work out some form of strategy for this conversation. I need not pretend that I was not expecting this meeting. However, after all this time I would have expected her vengeful righteousness to cool down somewhat, at least to the level of reasonable doubt. Reasonable, Saurabh? You gambled your plan for this meeting and what is to follow it on Anjali being reasonable? You have either taken leave of your senses or gave her too much credit, or rather both, as the latter would only be possible given the former. Or have you simply refused to plan for this meeting, refused to think about it, hoping to improvise? Then again, any plan would have to rely on some of the girl's more predictable traits. Fortunately, those are aplenty. I observe the girl, waiting for her to make the first move and prove me right.

She does that very quickly by attempting a non-verbal so crude I can almost see "a flying pot" written over her face in large letters.

Dodge, I think calmly, barely flicking my body off her direction of aim, and watching the pot fly through the air as she is thrown back on the floor recoiling with fury.

'Pathetic,' I remark, approaching her at a speed that gives her enough time to either crawl back or stand up just for me to hold on at my words. Unsurprisingly, she does the latter. She is clearly not afraid, mainly for the anger, which is easier to work with than either pure fear or pure pride. With the right leverage, anger can be channeled appropriately, and the sheer fact that I have never done that regarding her ,indicates only my unwillingness to deign her worthy of manipulation.

'Now was there something you wanted to say?'

I inquire calmly, reluctantly forced to admit that, in a way, I find the challenge oddly enjoyable. There is something deeply satisfying about pulling the right strings and watching someone move in the precise direction you have chosen for them, while nurturing the proud belief of making their own choices. As expected, anger flares right up, this time tinged with heroism around the edges.

'Yes.!...you are a heartless git and i don't care what you do to me !-'

'Hmm?'

I cannot suppress a smirk. Does she not care because she is willing to make a pointless sacrifice to her own vanity, being injured in an attempt to have revenge or even more, irresponsibly abandoning the reason for a personal cause? Or does she simply think that I would not harm her right here and now, which would be a grave misconception, given her mostly justified mental image of me as of a traitor and a cheat.

'Except that you wouldn't anyway, because you'd rather sit back and let others work.'

It turns out she has an even greater misconception than I had thought, then, expecting me to take a risk for the reason of personal gain by delivering her and earning favor for myself instead of simply dispatching her now, risking to suffer displeasure yet guaranteeing the desired outcome. Not only a traitor, then, but a vain and stupid traitor. Sheer impertinence.

"What this comes down to, then, is that the brave heroine comes to accuse the cowardly villain, maintaining a firm belief in the fact that the latter will not hurt her on sight for the sake of allowing her to deliver the classical speech titled "the world shall tolerate your wickedness no longer". All that, rather than doing what must be done and being prepared to accept the consequences. Heroic, indeed."

She is silent, almost appearing to consider the point of view presented. Being given the chance to observe your actions from the side is not entirely pleasant, is it? Giving her a minute to dwell on that, I continue.

'Silence is good. It almost makes me believe you have learned something. Now, let us get this over with. You have come to kill me, no doubt. Well then…'

I push her back a pot and take a step back, my own hands lowered.

'Go ahead.'

She stands still, eying me, then lowers her hands with a barely audible sigh.

All too predictable… Had you changed at all, I would be dead seconds ago, or quite possibly before I knew what hit me. Yet exacting vengeance, as the majority of the heroic deeds, requires the opponent to know what he is paying for. The difference between heroes and villains is immaterial, really. Both categories are hopelessly dramatic.

'Just as I thought. You would rather talk than act.'

As obvious as her feint is, given her complete ineptitude of non-verbals combats, I need an effort, if minimum, to remain completely still . Certain events in my life have made me rather… allergic to being at the receiving end of abuses of people I… like,.......what...where did that feeling come from..,do I still ..?

'Very well,' I sigh, 'it is obvious that we shall have to do this… your way.'

'As opposed to your way, breaking life's in silence?' she snaps at me, the disdain of my last two words hitting the mark carefully outlined by my earlier words.

'You obviously give me too much credit,. As you may recall, I have no yet mastered speaking in a nonverbal form.'

Her face is immediately distorted with such pure hatred, I feel tempted to take a step back. Almost. A hand slashes through the air before I can react. Almost.

The rebound from my reflex must present her with a lesson on slapping in close ranges. She barely manages to dodge , which, according to my estimation, even rebounded, would be enough to gash her left cheek open. I appreciate her agility for saving me the trouble of having to heal her, lest the blood loss dilutes her judgment capacity and pain is no more a contributing factor.

'How many times do I have to TELL you? trying to hit me will do you no good. It is still as true as on the day i met you . You believe you can afford to not pay attention.'

'While you believe that you can afford to treat me as if I am still a friend of yours, Saurabh !' she aims another vase at me

I feel an urge to immobilize her to cease this tedious dodging business. I am saved the trouble again, as she dodges the rebound less elegantly this time, failing to notice a chair behind herself.

'As long as you act as one in need, I can afford anything, ,' I reply, approaching her, . This time, by the time I reach her, She is trying to scramble to her feet, groping around for another tool. I assist her by kicking a vase aside and pressing the point of my own hand knife just below her chin.

'How else do you expect me to treat you? Always the childish petty ambitions, arrogance, cheek, and not a shred of behavior worthy of a grown woman'.

My glare at the end of the sentence makes her flinch slightly, as if the very words are a curse.

I take a step back and observe her with unveiled despise before lowering the knife.

'You want to fight me, then act on your thought, and not your pathetic impulses!'

She remains silent, holding my gaze before looking away. I shake my head ever so slightly. Who would have thought that this case would be so completely, utterly hopeless. A part of me, and not an inconsequential part, advocates giving up . There is nothing I can possibly tell her that she will hear, blinded by her own self-proclaimed righteousness. I should have known better. Nevertheless, I continue, it not being in my nature to waste my work.

'But you have not given it much thought, have you,? You are… hurt, and the most natural thing to do is to lash out on the one you believe to have caused you the pain.'

And this is so true. You of all people know.

'Ever tried to work it out,? Remember the time when we met last? Did not anything strike you as odd when you were hasting to the corner with your precious pride?'

She gasps, faint traces of thought that were just beginning to form on her face, gone immediately. For a moment, I wonder whether I may have overdone it a little. Her voice comes out almost a growl.

'How-'

'…dare you accuse me of being a coward?' I supplement helpfully. She is glaring at me with the same genuine, undiluted hatred as a short while ago.

'Or do I even? Maybe it is just your guilty imagination?'

At that moment,She spits at me, catching me off-guard. I lean aside just in time, but not fast enough. Her shoals barely brushes my cheekbone as the blow aimed for my face misses and staggers past me. The brief contact is more than enough, however.

My reaction is one of a complex nature, an infernal mix of emotions: surprise, fury, hint of humiliation, and even more fury spurred by it. Having taken a step back to keep my balance, I almost raise my hand. There is nothing, nothing in this world that I want more right now than to shower the insolent brat with every unforgivable curse I know and possibly finish up with one particularly attractive stab. To leave her writhing on the floor in agony, to finally collect the long overdue revenge for… everything she had done. For everything she is. To revel in her helplessness, and…wait did she hurt me ever, with her actions , that look of pure loathing from a girl you love ,the days I've spent banishing those memories, all is heavy in my heart.

A realization strikes me so hard I am almost fooled into thinking that she had picked up my knife and Stabbed me. No, she is eying me, seeming almost frightened with what she had done, justly expecting swift retribution.

I lower the hands. I will not do anything to her. Because no matter how sweet revenge would seem, the aftertaste would be unbearable. Because I already know one person who would torment people for what they were and revel in their helplessness and it is partly because of him too that i am standing here the way i am .

Besides, my thoughts helpfully guide me into a safer venue, was it not I who was lecturing on rational thought and pathetic impulses just a few minutes ago? Of all names she may want to call me in her mind, I would not give her the satisfaction of adding 'hypocrite' to the list.

Suppressing an instinct to wipe the place where slime grazed my skin, I speak, weighing every word as ounces of the precious Kohinoor.

'Have you worked it out in your system,Anjali ?'

She is staring at me as if I had suddenly addressed her in French. she obviously expected something… different.

'Now finally do yourself a favor and think ONE sentence through before blurting the words out. One at a time. It may seem an alien concept, but thinking before speaking does help sometimes.'

She is silent for a few seconds. An improvement, it seems, because she genuinely appears to think.

'I have seen everything with my own eyes,' she speaks, obviously fighting back emotion. The odds are, of course, not in her favor.

'You gave the statement against Neha ,' she finally says, her voice trembling with… Hate? Anger? Well-concealed grief?

Grief......? Well-concealed, yes, but not well enough. Not for me. I need no hypnotism to read her. So does she ....now did i make the wrong choice ,I stare her squarely in the eye. Pain. Writhing, unbearable pain of losing one of the precious few cornerstones in the never too stable foundation of life. Who would have thought… Who would have thought that she was capable of handling such feelings... ones that match my own so dangerously closely.

'Yes,' I answer, keeping my voice level.

'You betrayed her,it was your friends who did it you know it ,you were there' she continues, barely audible. I was expecting her to shout this in my face.

Last chance to reestablish yourself as the villain she had started to perceive you to be. In a way, it would be even a kind of mercy. Do you think she can handle the truth? Let her keep hating you. Despise you for being friends with them, who've raped her friend . Or… try her and see whether Neha's trust in him was not ill-placed?

'No.'

Her head shoots up from staring at the floor, from reliving the events of that night. Silence. Then…

'I don't understand.'

I silently thank her. For breaking the silence, for giving me another perfectly legitimate excuse to berate her.

'You don't, do you, ? I would not expect you to. Not you, who is always right'.

I stare at her, not bothering to conceal the pain in my eyes. Not that I ever did. She meets my gaze. As usual. But not quite… less arrogant. Unbelievable, but true. Looking not to stare me down, but almost trying to understand. Giving me the benefit of doubt. Almost as if she wants to believe me.

I turn and take two steps towards the window. Congratulations, Anjali. For the first time in a year, you have beaten me in a staring match.

'I still don't understand,' I hear a low mutter from behind.

I take a slow deep breath in a way that does not show. Control yourself. You could do it in front of Nash and others. You can do it in front of her too.

'Never learned much about research, have you,?' I ask almost casually. She flares up immediately, predictably so.

'What does this have to do with anything?'

'Typical,' I remark just loud enough for her to hear, then turn to face her again.

'Had you known anything about research, the true nature of it, you would have remembered that… You do not assume a hypothesis and discard every single shred of evidence against it. You consider all sides of it, you THINK, you ANALYZE, you TRY to unearth the TRUTH, and not what YOU believe it to be because you have SEEN it with your own EYES!'

The eyes in question are directly in front of mine now. I cannot even remember moving across the room. Steeling what remains of my heart against the piercing black, I speak quietly this time.

'You have three options. One,' I lift my finger and her gaze switches to it, thankfully.

'You pick up yourself again, and we continue this, for lack of a better word, duel. Two,' another finger extended, 'you pick up yourself, turn on your heel, walk out that door' (I point. she does not look.) 'and close it very quietly behind you. Three, you keep your righteous anger to yourself for some time, and do something you had consistently failed at for the past seven days – listen. Decide already.

My manipulation is so hopelessly obvious at this time it isn't even manipulation. Only one excuse available. She also knows perfectly well that despite the options presented, she has only one.

'Fine,' she says after a few seconds, pushing my straining self-control to the limit. 'I will listen to you, but-'

That little word was one too many. Self-control shatters spectacularly.

'But me no buts! You are in no position to state conditions, nor sound as if you are doing me a favor. It is YOUR interest to hear what I choose to tell you, not mine to waste my time enlightening you on the issue!'

Maybe I finally did give her a reason to include hypocrisy amongst my innumerable flaws.

'Now sit yourself down,' I slide a chair from the corner with an off-handed push. She complies reluctantly, but not before picking up her purse half way in the room . This gives me a few seconds to gather the swiftly fleeting resolve.

How low you must have sunk, I muse to myself, to choose a girl ,a girl you love or do you ,of all people as your confessor. How desperate you must have become if you grabbed at this chance to, believe it or not, redeem yourself, even if it is in the eyes of… your one and only love.

'There is something I am… compelled to admit to you,' I begin, eager to get this part out of the way. It is something that must be said. Now is not the time for personal stabs, but for unadorned and objective truth. And if there is one person I am objective about, it is, regretfully, myself.

'I was not being entirely just on your account earlier during our conversation,' I manage, boring her face with my eyes, daring her to look surprised or sarcastic. Well, at least she had finally learned what is good for her.

'I refer to my words of you not being one to understand the circumstances surrounding my statement at the principal's office regarding Neha. While you certainly lack the mental capacity to comprehend the issue without detailed explanations, which, fortunately for you, I am going to provide – you are not alone in failing to understand the truth. The reason being, only two people had known the truth all along. One of them is on a car with her parents on her way out of this city.'

'And the other one, conveniently, is you. Not what I would call a convincing tale,' she sneers. I turn. Slowly.

'tales...... tales I would offer to the mass-the spectaors. The best I can offer you is the truth.'

'Your version of the truth, you mean.'

The snarly tone becomes too much, again. I lean over her menacingly.

'THE truth. Complete and unadorned. You have the last chance to walk out that door now! Or listen and speak only when I ask you something!'

Her jaw squared, she nods stiffly. Good enough. I resume my slow pacing. It is always easier when I pace…

'Do you recall anything unusual about Neha after the incident,when she came to me before my statement ? Anything about her looks that was out of ordinary?'

For a short time, she seems to restore the image in her mind, then mutters softly,

'her hand…'

'Outstanding. Her hand,she wore a bandage now didn't she, that too a man's kerchief ;in fact mine, with blood all over it,never wondered why,.......rather went for you irrational thinking and irresponsible actions '

my curses continued to spread like cancer, bringing with it slow and painful death to her pride .

.'But why…' she starts speaking, but the words come out a barely audible gasp. she coughs painfully. Without thinking, I reach for the jug, pulling a glass from my desk and pouring it in. In a moment I find myself holding a glass of water, and ridiculous though I feel, the only logical thing to do seems giving it to her. she takes it, as always her hand less than steady,brushing mine, sending shivers , takes a few sips before looking up at me in what appears to be amazement beyond words.

her eyes are fixed on me in a fashion that is almost unnerving. In 365 days of being her friend in and out of class, I have never been subjected to such attention. Resisting the urge to clear my throat, I continue

'You were saying,?'

'Why did you change your statement… when you did?'

'Because I promised,' I reply, looking anywhere but at her,I felt like an open book then,.

'Neha asked you to change the testimony ,did she ..did she..... cut?' she was having a hard time actually saying it out loud she was stuck dumb,and clueless.

Reprimands, retorts and ridicule are lined up just behind my lips as I turn to her again. However, only one word escapes.

'Yes'. she did indeed stabbed her veins, did loose quite a lot of blood and that's why she looked pale and collapsed not because of my so called 'betrayal'.

'And you agreed?' the black eyes look huge in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

'I assume that you would not,' I sneer. 'You would never do such a thing, am I right?'

'But… There must have been another way…'

'There was NO other way, ! How difficult can it be to understand that there are times when there IS no other way? Or would you rather let her be abused by the media, or , or those fucking advocates, or the society themselves? Would you rather watch her tortured? Would you rather endure seeing her tormented into insanity? Have her watch the papers describing how she lost her morals. taking her spirit apart stone by stone? Or see her bewing forced polygraph test ,the society taking her as an outcast ,you of all people know this is India , here the girl being raped is guilty not the ones who does it, none of the witless gnomes are going to change, finding pleasure reading her story, feeling pity at her ,showering her an exemplified stratus ,a hive of arrows, a stab of death ,did you wanted her to suffer a painful death.....did you wanted to see her end it all or even worse end up in an asylum ...loose her mind ....her place .....her future.....,did you,' I lean over to her again. She seems to try to disappear into the back of the chair, her face a mix of emotions I cannot quite place.

'Would you have the strength to stay put if the court announced she invited them over for pleasure? stating with proofs that she is not more worth than a filthy whore?'

'Would you have the courage?' I demand in a hoarse whisper. She seems to be shaking. Her lips form an inaudible answer.

'No.'

My mouth curls in a snarl. I push myself away from the chair and walk towards the window briskly. I know that my back is straight and betrays no emotion. While my fingernails are close to drawing blood from the palms. finally letting it out means that its been done ..irreversible....fixed... no way back to where I've been.

It must have been some time before I trust myself to turn, maintaining an expression worthy of a statue. I need not have bothered. she is slumped in her chair, her face buried in the palm of one hand,her other hand drawing support from the chair. After a few seconds,she looks up, sensing my look. Some unwelcome part of my mind notes that this was the first time I see her look so innocent . She looks curiously helpless and several years younger, and… for the first time in long time ....not loathing.

'You… you never told… anyone…' she mutters. I arch an eyebrow.

'All these time… even after Ranjith's death… It is not possible!' she suddenly cries out, staring at me.

'Not possible, as I have told you before, for fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves.'

She slumps back again, her lips forming words I cannot and do not want to hear. There is no end to my regret that this conversation has taken place at all.

'Now you know everything that you need to know,' I say coldly. she looks up again, this time more obviously having trouble speaking.

'Saurabh… I…'

She is looking at me as if she had never seen me before. It takes me a few moments to notice a strange shine in her eyes. Holding back an expression of utter shock could have easily been the most difficult thing I have done in days.

'You… you're right… and…'

She swallows, for the first time I had known her looking vulnerable and… repentant? Impossible. Getting up from the chair, she loses her footing, and… I manage to stop my hand that has already started reaching out to catch her. Not noticing any of this,she gets up still looking at me with positively tear struck eyes.

'I…'

'For goodness' sake, spare me your sentimentality!' I snap, aggravated beyond measure by struggling to stop myself from… reaching out to her, looking at her with sympathy, allowing her a moment of weakness, waiting for her to calm down, and accepting the apology I can see her trying to form… Just what a man would do for… his love. Unthinkable!

Our eyes meet again, her flaring up immediately, no sign of the renegade emotions of a few moments ago. She turns and bolts, no other word for it, out of the room, slamming the door soft enough to even leave a child sleeping.

I watch the window thoughtfully as it slowly creaks back and forth, letting in a still-chilly wind that ruffles some parchments on my desk. I sink into the chair she got out of, having no will to close the window. A gust of wind catches a small piece of parchment and tosses it towards the kettle. I watch idly. There is nothing on that desk worth saving, worth moving a muscle at this moment. The parchment tumbles through the air as I find myself thinking what it could actually be. Some random scribble? Note of another crime? Note passed to me in a meeting with them? It turns to me for a moment before landing in the fire, and I freeze for a split second before knocking the chair over and bolting – no other word for it still – to the stove, sticking my hands into the flames up to the wrist.

It is barely damaged when I grab it, yet I pull out my hanky and wipe it clean,then applied a lotion used to restore things damaged by fire. Kneeling in front of the fire and holding a small picture of a girl resembling the one who left the place a few minutes ago, in my burned hands, I weep. Just as a man would do for… his love. It seems a little less unthinkable, however.

No time passes. No time has ever truly passed in this house. Passing of time means change. And nothing ever changes here. Fire burns low, leaving glowing embers behind. Cold air from the window still hanging ajar permeates the room. But those things do not qualify as change. Change – real change – only ever happens within. And that is something I am both blessedly exempt from and painfully robbed of.

I get up from my knees, replacing the chair , then turn my own armchair from facing the desk to facing the window. The darkened glass is now out of the way, and I can look out into the night without being confronted with a mirroring surface.

Time for the daily – or rather, nightly – exercise, one I had been trying hard to perfect, only to find it as at other innumerable things involving discipline. Empty your mind of all emotion. Good practice for someone who is still learning a reason to live, and a helpful exercise in control even for a pulverized soul. For me, however, it had been unnecessary for many years now. Except possibly the days following Neha's incident, when I took meticulous care not to interject a mournful feeling into the atmosphere of exuberance surrounding my friends or what used to be our gang .Nash ,he was the leader ,he always had an idea to have fun and parents worth every penny,for whom love to their son meant monthly paychecks. Vyshakh-the influence man ,son of the MLA,how many times did we elude cops and that too for what all. Ranjith-the boy icon ,a good singer ,and well me ,don't know how i ended up in the coolest gang in college ,rich-well yes but what is money worth,a mother who doesn't love you and a father who left you long ago ,only used to be good at studies . but its all over Ranjith is gone ,hanged himself with guilt. Vyshakh not himself anymore,Nash wonder-why he still remains the spoil brat, they were all good when alone but when the trio is together they can be quite a menace and even barbaric,its really my fault i should have never let them drink off their senses that night ,or should have directed them to their rooms ,or they would never have ended visiting the girls changing room or met Neha,or never would have anything happened......'Anjali' she never would have left me and taken Sreejith's hand either.

The corner of my mouth curls up at the memory of her expression, of her barely concealed – oh,god! – blush at my snide remark as to her failure at learning organic chemistry. Women. Strange creatures. There is no understanding of their reasons for liking some men and not other, and no end to the most bizarre attractions imaginable. Instead of choosing someone who would be a good man at times that matter the most – the most natural instinct for selection of a mate – they are infatuated by power, swept away by popularity, or drawn in by morbid fascination… I feel a strange burning feeling on the left of my chest and reach in the pocket of my jeans to see whether the picture kept there is spontaneously combusting for some melodramatic reason. There is no fire there, except for the flying black hair, so I tuck it back, musing that it would be a very poetic way to dispose of someone who holds the accused, dear. Present them with something small, silly and sentimental, with a likewise request to carry it over their heart, and watch them slowly succumb to a treacherous curse that would wear out their heart slowly, while they remain completely unaware and assured that the pain is coming from within their soul…

This picture holds no curse, however – no evil curse, that is – so the logical conclusion of the reason for my pain coincides with the illusion just described. I draw a breath and empty my mind. Cold, rational thought, no room for emotions or impulses, the only way to preserve one's sanity. Yet something is wrong. My mind is empty, yet it does not help in the least. My thoughts are cold and rational, but they are a picture of straight, clear lines drawn on a backdrop of a mind-boggling chaos. Explosions of indescribable colors where there should be solid blackness, as if a desperate artist had flung an entire palette of fluorescent paints into the dark waters of a still lake, ruining the perfect harmony of black surface and white moonlight.

It is getting starry. I have not moved from my position, nor closed the window, despite the deep chill that usually settles in the body at the same time as the dew falls outside. It matters not whether one is inside or outside, naked or under several blankets – the chill comes from the inside, as if blood itself slows its flow in the veins. At times like this, having held another night's vigil over an unfinished essay, an unsteadily bubbling crucible, an unconscious prisoner or an uncomfortable thought, I would reach for a cup of hot tea, spiced up with cloves or cinnamon , depending on the circumstances. An influx of warmth would almost fool one into believing the feeling to be something more just than a hot liquid poured down the throat, and provided no one was around – in any case, I would not admit to this minor concession to the flesh in anyone's presence – I could close my eyes for a few brief and precious seconds, savoring the warm feeling and sometimes, very, very rarely, allowing in a smile, my highly infrequent visitor.

However, I am not feeling up to it right now. I am simply… tired. Another weakness of the flesh I have never shown to anyone. Maybe I should not break the tradition no one knows about. Maybe I should get up to my feet just enough to summon the large black kettle, restore the fire, and see if I have any of that chappathi left in what, for want of a better word, I call my kitchen.

I grasp the armrests, willing myself to get up, just a few seconds before a sound of footsteps appears barely beyond the edge of hearing. Am I imagining them? Fortunately, imagination is not something I possess in abundance. My movement halted, I remain seated.

From my position, I cannot see anything that is happening in the room. However, the careful creaking of the door and deliberately quiet footsteps tells me that my early visitor is alone, hesitant and has much to learn about moving stealthily.

I speak without turning my head.

'Came to have another stab at it,?'

A creak of a floorboard out of rhythm indicates that my voice has startled the intruder. There is no reply, from which I surmise that it is her.

She approaches slowly, and I can see her face reflected in a corner of the treacherous windowpane. Pale, the mole on her forehead showing more prominently than usual, hair wet and sticking to each other as meant for them. The eyes escape my scrutiny

She stops just behind my right shoulder and out of direct view, her left foot a few inches away from my knife, carelessly abandoned on my way from the study. I make no attempt to reach it. Unless she points a gun at me I can defend myself easily. Should she do that, however, I would just make a mental note to explain some things to Ranjith about getting dunked should I meet him in whatever afterlife there is. At length.

There is no movement, no sound except for that of careful breathing. I just hope that she is not considering another attempt of anything foolish or melodramatic.

Well? Go ahead, say what you want to say, and do me a favor by relieving me of your company. Every second of your presence makes me feel more insecure I never expected you to believe a single word I said. And how could you have, believe that a heartless selfish brute like me could have done all that?

The thought rushes through my head, and I am grateful for my own advice of thinking before speaking. Were it not for her presence, I would have smirked at myself. Who would have thought, Saurabh, that after all those years you still had it in you to be offended, nay, insulted by a nineteen-year-old girl. Did she hit a raw nerve? I was not aware you had any left.

Growing weary of the ridiculous silence, I break it with something better balanced.

'Do whatever you came here for, then, and leave me to enjoy the solitude you have disrupted in your very typical fashion.'

Because my much abused patience on your account has about run out.

She clears her throat and shifts her weight from one foot to another, causing me concern for my safety or who cares.

'No, I didn't. I mean, did not come to....err… have another stab.'

'Noble of you,' I intone under my breath, unable to not notice the change in her voice. It may just be the effect of wandering under the rain, but somehow it sounds as if its owner has gained several years of age overnight.

I came to say that…'

Do you expect me to urge you on? . My eyes do not leave the now visible brown bark of the tree just outside the window.

She draws her breath, almost angrily. I hide my amusement.

'That…'

Did I hear something along the lines of 'damn' under her breath? Never had much experience at admitting something for a change, had you? It tends to hurt, just so you would know.

'I believe you,' she finally manages. I assume an ironic expression, raising my eyebrows just enough for her to notice, should she have figured out that she can see my face in the window. Something shatters inside my chest, something that was stretched taut for hours? months? years? I ignore it.

'What a relief,' fortunately, making each word drip with disdain is a skill I had mastered long ago.

A relief indeed, is it not, considering that I was losing my sleep over the issue. Come to think of it, I was, interrupts the blasted objectivity. I ignore it, boring her reflection with my eyes. She stares back. Silence lingers. I let out a carefully weighted exasperated sigh.

'Was that your only purpose here? Then let me congratulate you on successfully accomplishing it.'

Now get out. Get out before you start crying and apologizing again. No more teary-eyed stares. No more awkward attempts at words that are reserved for others.

A memory floats out of nowhere. Tear struck brown eyes, my eyes.

"Mom…"

She look over my shoulder, frowning.

"Mom, wait, please wait!" She stops and do not turn. She circles me, trying not to look into my eyes. Finally, I manages to push her hair aside, clinging onto her shoulder with my hand. It is difficult for me, as she was much taller.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"That's alright."

"No, it isn't, I know it isn't, I know I should never have done that ,i promise i will never speak of him to you anymore nor insist to meet him or …...or......!"

"Everything is fine, Saurabh."

"No mom I promise"

"Nothing more as I've said earlier you're going to the boarding school"

"Mom… Please forgive me for saying that, I never meant to insult you mother, I just wanted to say that Dad would have never left you, if…"

"if?.. "

"if…" i turn to look away.

"If you never treated him............... like that."

"he never did abandon me,Saurabh," She speak in a hollow voice .She stares at me for a few seconds, her eyes widening.

"Boarding .............tomorrow.............that's final". A few tears find their way down my cheeks and get lost in negligence and helplessness of a juvenile.

I come to my senses with a start, only to find her still standing where she was. Damnation. No more words reserved for others,. Don't you dare. Don't you dare remind me whose life should have been a never ending plea for forgiveness.

I shoot her a burning look. She looks a little taken aback and makes a few uncertain steps backwards.

'Right… Right. Er. Thank you.'

I huff scornfully. One gratitude long overdue.

"Can I wait, here its raining outside" she forms the words hardly driven by an outspoken intinct than anything.

I see no rain ,just drops ,like smothering whisper to make you forget your pain ,rain-an excuse i decide to move on with her game

"feel free" i said still not looking but i can see her reflection making it to the chair in front of the study table in the glass

Expectation. Curiosity. Hope?

"So what do you intend to do..?" she gets on to this straight ,i fell like choking but situations demand actions

I think it best to reveal the truth ,lies are getting hard to find ,unusual scenario ,Saurabh ,what is happening to you in this girl's presence, get on with the exercise clear your mind ,erase all your thoughts ,be rational not emotional.

"Revenge" i speak in cold voice I'm sure wasn't mine.

"what.....how .....what did you say" She's getting tensed ,i like it ,as I always did when she was thinking... she kinda looked beautiful .

"I speak my actions to achieve, i wish justice to be executed" I stress on the word 'execute' ,she gasps.

My intentions are clear ,maybe more than they ever seemed to me,yes i might have to agree this ,this girl has an effect on me,now seems to be the time to relish it ,soon it will all come to an end and i don't want to leave without any good memories to cheer on ,death could just be an angel now.

"but.........."

"I started it ,now i will end it,all fair ,everything back to normal" normal what not would I give to lead a life that's normal,not just money in your account every month but a letter, nothing more just addressed to me ,never... in boarding either.

"you want to bait yourself" her tone was shaky ,yet it seemed like a logical request emotional rather than anything else.

"well put ,i think the term scapegoat would go well" as usual just a try to unnerve her,just as predictable, she bores me with so concentration ,i wish to be at its end forever but that seems a long enough time to go.

A mild gust ,swarmed through my meadow , cold it is ,colder it is getting ,more unnerving, temperature could play quite ridiculous games with the hot bloods we are.

"like some tea then" I ask pretty much for nothing

"yes......." shivering....she was more than happy to even accept my offer.

I leave to my stove ,unnoticed something falling off my jean pocket,my pitiable excuse for a kitchen is unusually welcoming today maybe because i may not be here another day.

I leave two and a half cups of water to boil, feeling a pain i slide my sleeve ,burns caused by my heroic, no villainous retreat of her photo,the culprit smiles at me so i put it off to cure apply, the lotion for healing burns ,the photo healed quickly maybe some scars are not to be healed.This little experiment worked out fine ,the result stood as two steaming mugs of tea at my disposal. I took it to her she seemed to adjusting my study her hands hiding something partially,a photo.......... how did it......?

Before either of us can react, two figures burst into the room. I initiate an act of self defense , yet abandon the attempt after recognizing the guests. Well, well. It must truly be the time for… friendly reunions.

'Anjali!' Vidya cries out, as she stares at her. The gangly stupid boy Sreejith is looking between me and Anjali with a look of utter amazement. I rise to my feet.

'Vidya...,. Sreejith,' I nod to each of them in turn. 'How may I help you?'

'Sa----au--ra--bh?..' the girl stammers, finally tearing her eyes away from Anjali, whom I notice to also get to her feet and give me a look of what,something,I've never known .

'Yes,Vidya?' I prompt. Her eyes are moving over the scene quickly, noting everything in her signature fashion that had kept her on top of every test throughout the year I had been able to observe.

'Blimey…' Sreejith mutters, obviously failing to keep up with his companion, yet stepping between the girl and myself, hands clutching others. I conceal a smile.

Vidya pushes him somewhat to the side, continuing to examine Anjali and myself. I can almost see the details line up in her mind: Anjali is unscathed if pale appearance, my clothes still covered in blood and ailment i slipped on, an abandoned knife on the floor, just next to the study table some opened envelopes....opened? mug of tea both in mine and her hand. I am rather intrigued to see what the usually clever girl is going to make of it.

However, whatever short time I have allocated myself for breathing room has just run out, and I am silently grateful for the visitors for the cue. I finish my drink in one sip and send the mug to land on the floor next to the knife, turning to Anjali.

'Well, Anjali, I believe that concludes our business,' I say, her meeting my eye as soon as I start speaking .I pointed to her hand still behind her back

'That, I believe, belongs to me,' I note, wishing there was a place to lay down the photo, yet forced to hand it directly from her.

She did not reply, looking at the letters . I nod and turn to Vidya and Sreejith, who observe the scene silently.

'Have a nice day.'

I sweep past them, and neither dares to make a move to stop me, whatever they may be thinking at the moment. A part of me reminds me that this is my house. I am, in fact, leaving. However, it would hardly be… elegant to show the trio the door in the situation at hand. One thing I do know for sure is that I would rather face Nash and Vyshakh immediately at this time instead of either providing explanations or observing Anjali do that. Sometimes, doing things on one's own terms requires actions that would appear foolish to an ignorant eye.

As I reach for the door, I hear voices.

'Anjali, what's going on? What happened? You left a note saying-'

'You got some nerve, Anju, to swill Tea while we go out of our minds-'

'Sreejith!'

'What? I thought that you, that we all thought — well, didn't you too, Vidya?, Anju, wasn't he supposed to be the traitor? Since when have you two become friends again?'

I grin darkly. This type of thinking, Sreejith, is the reason you would usually arrive closer to the bottom of the class. That, and your affinity for oversimplification.

'Hold on, ,' Anjali's voice finally sounds, strangely quiet.

'You'd better explain what-'

'I said — HOLD ON!'

I wonder about the sudden metal in her voice as I close the door behind me and make my way across the front yard and on the street. I turn a corner before I hear the sound of running feet behind me.

'Saurabh!'

There is no time for this.

'Saurabh!'

No time to explain, no time to talk, how difficult can it be to understand,? I started it now I'll end it

'Damn it, Saurabh!'

I freeze in mid-stride. A hand grabs my arm, turning me around halfway and forcing me to face the pursuer. Anjali stares at me with a look of indisputable… wait....what ?

'Yes, Anjali?' I try to keep my calm

'What do you think you're doing?'

'Exactly what makes you think you have the right to question my actions, especially in that tone of voice?' I inquire icily. Her gaze is steady.

'A number of things.'

'Very well. Let me tell, you, Anjali, that I am leaving the area and advice that you and your friends do the same as soon as possible.'

'What are you running from?'

I take a deep breath to suppress the urge to push her out and continue but ,limbs a fell of immobilization. I speak of clear frustration.

'I am not running,. However, I know the gang well enough to understand that they will prefer to pay me a visit . I feel reluctant to save them the trouble of locating me and let face it ,end it for good .'

The black eyes study my face in a fashion that is highly uncomfortable for some reason.

'I thought you didn't believe in pointless deaths?'

'Which is exactly why I am leaving.'

She shakes her head, then looks away with a… chuckle — no other word for it. I stare. No other word for it still.

'I never thought you'd do something you mocked so much about.'

'Your… meaning… Anjali?..'

She is silent for a few seconds. I am acutely aware of each of them, of the time growing shorter and shorter. The very tableau of us standing in the middle of the street under a streetlight is utterly ridiculous. Needless, pointless drama serving only to endanger everyone, to waste so much effort. What is she trying to achieve? her actions spoke this time.

She covers me in an embrace ,I'm too shocked to even move a muscle ,what if i disturb her, she removed wild strands of hair from her face and looked into my eyes, black met brown ,i found eternal solace or whatever there should be to find a reason to live ,maybe her looks were letting it know.

Finally, she stops regarding me with a look of what, against all logic and reason, appears to be… love?

'My meaning,Saurabh… Stop acting like a hero.'

Being with her ,made a difference. 'To love and to be loved'-that's how our mortal should be spend .In a sense of scrutiny I feel reborn from the ashes like a phoenix ,the end is always perfect so let this be the end of my suffering. Forgiveness-'a seekers treasure' bu it does with a heavy price tag. I've got mine now try your's.

Srv