Undying Love

Chapter 1: Her Story

Radha was feeling uncomfortable right through the morning literature class. Today was Thursday and the afternoon session of the school for senior classes were dedicated to practice for the coming school festival. Was her hair all right? Was she attractively attired? She had put on a hint of makeup before coming to school today. Was that looking gaudy? She desperately needed a mirror. One can rarely be comfortable and confident if shackled down by a suspicion that she is not looking her best. And she had the gnawing fear that she wore a dishevelled look today. The pre-lunch recess bell therefore brought immediate relief to her disturbed being. With a sigh of relief, she rushed towards the ladies wash room to set right all that could possibly be wrong with her pretty looks.

Sometimes all that a person needs is reassurance. And the mirror provides that like no other can. It shows you who you are with no malice, no camouflage. It is not diplomatic, not tactful. It is brutally honest and dispassionate. Radha liked the portrait that the honest mirror reflected. As always, she was looking striking and beautiful. There was indeed no reason for any concern. She tousled her hair a little, smoothened her shirt, flashed the gorgeous dimpled smile at herself and walked out – feeling beautiful and confident. This western corner of the school is always quieter. And in the warm autumn sun, the stiff breeze felt refreshing. The faint rustle of the shed leaves were creating a joyous music in her heart. She was walking with sprightly gay abandon towards her class, with music in her heart, when the unthinkable happened. Suddenly she felt someone grab her arms and pull her close in a tight embrace. And before she even realized what was happening, she found her lips locked in an impulsive kiss. Her very first kiss! The ferocity of the pull was contrasted with the tenderness of the kiss. And before a moment had elapsed, as quickly as it had begun, he disengaged, biting her lower lip gently. She felt indignant shock and unbelievable pleasure at the same time – at the audacity of the moment and the waves of inexplicable emotions that rocked her body. Her legs wobbled – if he was not still grasping her, she might have stumbled. In a few moments she gathered control and looked at him. He was still standing there, with a smirk on his face, eyes looking deep into her. Without a second thought, Radha lashed out. Her palm caught him straight in his face. The vicious slap let out a resounding clap. His fair cheeks reddened immediately, and she could see his left eye water with the pain. He however did not flinch. The smile did not leave his eyes. With an unwavering voice he said, “If I let you slap me twice tomorrow, will you let me kiss you again? Because, I am so madly in love with you”. Radha pushed him aside and ran towards her class. For an unfathomable reason, she realised to her dismay that she was smiling all the way to class.

Radha was caught between the horns of a dilemma. Every reason told her that she must protest. An immediate physical reprisal wasn’t enough. Krishna must be taught a lesson. She should complain to the authorities and to her parents. How dare he? Yet, she could not. Deep within, she hesitated. Krishna was the calmest boy in class. While most others were boisterous, vying almost perennially for female attention, he was reclusive. He was never in any group – he always stood apart. At times he appeared cowardly, walking away from indignities hurled at him, rather than standing up for himself. He had no friends. He fared poorly in studies. Clearly, he was tolerated, even disliked, both by his classmates and teachers. Why this shy, timid and insecure boy would choose her for this dramatic expression of love, perplexed her. She never even remembered where Krishna sat in her classroom. The only memory she had was of him sitting alone in a corner scribbling something in his notebook during recess. Perhaps he would grow up to be a writer. She wanted to have a conversation with him – find out what was going on in his distant heart. Incredible as it sounded even to her, she felt her anger dissipating – replaced by a curiosity for this most unlikely lover.

On Friday, she saw him clearly for the first time. He was carelessly dressed; a middle button was missing from his crumpled shirt. It appeared he had preferred to cajole his hair into some order of semblance with his bare hands – perhaps he had a prejudice against the comb. His shoes appeared as clean as can be made by rubbing them against the back of his legs. His left cheek was red, the imprint of her palm still clearly visible. And with a hint of regret, she realized his lower lip had a small cut. She hadn’t realized she had inflicted this much damage. But he walked in with head held high. The smile, which appeared condescending yesterday, looked genuinely amiable. And his eyes locked on to hers from the moment he stepped across the pulpit of the classroom.

It took only a moment for her to move from casual curiosity to outright dread as she realized Krishna was walking to her. Would he do something rash again? Would he embarrass her in class, in front of everyone? She panicked. There was no escape for her. As he walked past her desk, he stopped for a moment. Radha felt her heart lurch to her mouth. Krishna placed his hand on her desk but without any further mishap walked away. Radha breathed again. In nervousness she brushed her locks behind her ears. She felt flushed. Her cheeks were burning. And it was then that she realized Krishna had left a small piece of folded paper in her desk. She quickly hid it under her book. Much later in the day, when she could manage a moment of privacy, she read the note. It was unaddressed and unsigned. All it said was “Sorry. But I really meant what I said yesterday. Will you be my friend?”

As the class concluded for the week, Radha took longer than usual to pack her things. She knew Krishna was seated in the back rows. Her friend and bench mate Anju was hurrying her on. She badly wanted a moment alone with Krishna – perhaps he would say something, perhaps he needed to say something. Alas, that was not to be. She could not muster up the courage to say so, or find a reason to delay their exit from class. Finally, in an act of desperation, she slid her book to the floor. And as she bent to pick it up, she turned back to see if he was there. Krishna remained seated, unflustered. There was nobody to hurry him. He simply sat and looked at her. She caught his eye for a moment, and involuntarily smiled shyly at him. Immediately, his face exploded in an expression of indescribable joy. Her’s was the spark that lit him up.

That night, Krishna came to Radha in her dreams. He climbed up the drain pipe and was at her window sill. She was petrified. It was inappropriate to let him in like this at this late hour. Yet, she didn’t have the heart to leave him out. Driven by the magnetic pull of love, against all reason, she let him in. He spent an age with her – respectfully maintaining his distance, yet bonding with her heart. So many stories of his life, of his love tumbled out as he opened his heart to her. She looked and listened. His voice strung melodies in her soul. In his eyes, she could see herself. In her heart, she felt that if anybody could love her, it was Krishna. Theirs was indeed a bond forged of divine metals. Soon it was time to leave. Krishna stepped out into the window sill and looked back, for one last goodbye, for one last look of love. And then disaster struck. He missed his footing and disappeared from her vision. She dashed to the window and looked down. There on the bricks lining the garden lay Krishna. Under the harsh glare of the nearby street light, she saw the blood seeping out from under him. Radha screamed in unending agony.

She woke up from the frightful dream in a start. Her mother also was up in concern. She told her mother to go back to sleep – it was merely a bad dream. As her mother went back to sleep with an advice of not sleeping with hands on her chest to avoid bad dreams, Radha was lost in thought. What did this mean? Did the dream mean anything at all? It was incredulous. Theirs was a ground floor apartment. She did not have a room of her own and shared her sleeping quarters with her mother. The only window in her room looked out onto a stained wall. And it was grilled. The only possible entry to the house was through the main door at the living room. And under such constraints, the Shakespearean settings of love are naturally snuffed out. She laughed silently. Inexorably she was being drawn towards Krishna. Radha was falling in love, she realised, with her Krishna. And a pleasant feeling was beginning to flow through her.

She saw him again on Saturday. They were driving to her aunt’s house and the car was caught in the busy Kondapur traffic crossing. Suddenly, from the other side of the street, she saw Krishna cycling his way along the sidewalk. For some reason, he stopped and got off his bicycle. She saw him rest his bicycle along the street light and walk over to an old beggar. The old lady appeared blind. She saw Krishna, her Krishna, unhesitatingly take her hand and walk her across the street. Radha’s heart melted at this act of kindness. This was not a show. Krishna couldn’t possibly know she was watching. This came from the strength of his character, from the humanity in his heart. She felt her eyes moisten. At that moment, the traffic started moving. She looked at him, willing him to look at her. Strange are the ways in which the connections between souls are twined. Krishna looked and saw her. This time Radha’s smile was unhesitating. The joy in her eyes was unbound. Krishna smiled in delight, tossed his head and waved in return. She almost heard him say, “I can’t wait till Monday”. And she ached to scream out, “So can’t I”.

On Monday, Krishna did not come to school. She had wanted him to be there. She had spent all of Sunday working out various machinations so that she could spend the lunch hour with him. The wait was painful. Krishna did not come on Tuesday too, or the day after. Her grief turned into concern. But she did not know where he lived. She asked several of her friends – but nobody knew. Perhaps he had dropped out. Perhaps his parents were transferred and they moved out of town. Perhaps he changed school. For the entire week, Radha grieved and pined for Krishna. If he had to leave, why did he come close to her? Why did he have to break her heart? She shed bitter tears in the ladies wash room. And lingered on in the place where Krishna had suddenly burst upon her and turned her life topsy turvy. But Radha knew she would get over the pain and grief. Krishna, it would appear, was not her destined lover after all. In anger she resolved, never again would she give her heart so easily. Never again would she allow anyone to play with her love thus.

Chapter 2: His Story

If there was one thing that Krishna loved, it was poetry. If there is one thing that Krishna was good at, it is poetry. It was not merely his self pride or vanity – his only listener and admirer, his foster sister Chitra, swore on their poignancy, melancholy and brilliance. Krishna had a flair for words. He could make sweet strains of heart stirring music with his verses. He was introspective and reflective. And what he could not express otherwise, he did so beautifully with his poems. All that was before Krishna fell in love with Radha.

He had spent all of Wednesday night composing poems for Radha. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, what she meant to him. Chitra loved all his seven compositions, but Krishna was unsatisfied. Mere lyricism and wordplay could not substitute the music of the heart. It had to be something different, something soul stirring and it had to come from the heart, rather than the mind. He decided to skip the mathematics class after the pre-lunch recess on Thursday. Mathematics never interested him. And he was sure no one would miss him either. It was therefore with a sigh of relief that he headed for the quieter western corner of the school premises at the pre-lunch recess on Thursday. It was a warm autumn morning. A stiff breeze was blowing and he could hear the chirp of the magpie synchronize with the rustle of the leaves in ecstatic symphony. It was indeed a perfect morning to compose something beautiful. There on the far western corner, under the giant mulberry tree, Krishna would sing his love for Radha.

With hope in his heart and love in his eyes, Krishna skipped along the school corridor, when all of a sudden before him he saw Radha. Her hair was neatly tousled, a magical orderliness amidst chaos. Every strand of her hair appeared designed to emphasise her beauty. She was immaculately dressed and the red tie appeared to accentuate the faint blush on her cheeks. She had playfulness in her eyes and her dimpled smile streaked through his heart. He could not breathe and stopped in his tracks. She appeared not to notice him at all. And as she passed him by, her fragrance enveloped him. In a momentary lapse of reason, he caught her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He did not recollect anything after that – just a heavenly feeling of bliss and content. The stinging slap brought him back to his senses. He muttered something incoherently about his love and when she pushed him aside and ran away – the enormity of what he had done dawned upon him. She would never hear his melody, never know the depth of his love. His insanity had probably driven away the only person whose proximity he desired. His impetuousness had probably brought hatred in the heart of the person whom he loved more than anyone else. Crestfallen, he walked away, out of the school and back home. Like he had rightly surmised, no one really missed him that day.

He remembered the first time he noticed Radha. It was exactly two weeks ago to this day. Well, that is not exactly true. He had seen Radha from the day he joined the school about seven months ago. How would it be possible for him to not notice the most beautiful and popular girl in his class? But then, she was just another girl from his class. And to even think of a friendship with him was futile. He had avoided all contacts with her, just as he had done with the rest of his classmates. But two weeks ago, on a windy rainy afternoon, he had noticed Radha in the classroom during the lunch break. He was seated in his favourite corner, writing verses when faint lyrical mumblings reached him. He looked up and saw Radha move away from her friends and stand in front of one of the many windows in their first floor classroom, looking at the rains lashing out at the hills beyond. Her eyes were awestruck, mesmerised in the beauty of the rains on a lush green hill. He saw her lips move in recitation. And he strained to hear. It did not take very long for him to realize that she was reciting Wordsworth’s immortal verses – “The Daffodils”. His interest immediately grew manifold. Here was a beautiful, fun-loving popular girl – who was sensitive and who loved poetry. Besides, “The Daffodils” was one of his favourite poems too.

He had observed her incessantly since then. He had observed her every mannerism, her every attitude. He saw how her nose twitched when she laughed, how her eyes twinkled when she was happy. He noticed her courtesy. He took pride when she excelled in class. He loved it when she mingled with the crowds spreading joy and happiness. And one day, when she was asked to look after a junior class due to an absent teacher, he had seen how she had become friendly with them and how much they enjoyed her company. Try as he might, he could not today recollect the moment when he fell in love with Radha. Her essence gradually enveloped him in a loving embrace. All he wanted was for her to know, how much he loved her. And now, on this ruinous day, he had completely shattered it.

No one noticed his injury at home that day. No one observed his drooping shoulders. No one perceived the pain he was experiencing. Krishna was an orphan, living at a foster home. While he was treated kindly, there always was distance. He probably needed a father’s rebuke, a mother’s hug now. But the Sharmas were not his parents. Such a relation never did come about – although they catered to his every need and he never hesitated to express his gratitude. He was not worried about any punishment, what he feared was hurting Radha. He decided that he must apologise – not in verse, but in rude, abrupt prose. Repentance, after all, should match the transgression.

He walked in to class on Friday with a prayer in his heart and a smile on his face. From the moment he entered the class, he held her gaze. He wanted to say through his eyes how deeply he regretted his recklessness. She held his gaze for a few moments and then looked down. Perhaps she received his message, perhaps she did not. As he passed by, he left his apology on her desk. She neither looked at him, nor reacted. Was Radha angry? Indignant? Would she ever be able to forgive him this misdemeanor as a boyish prank? Would she be able to look beyond the incident into his genuine heart? All day he was tormented. He wanted her to react. He could not bear her indifference. Several times he thought of an excuse to go up to her on one pretext or the other and broach this topic of his apology. But he could never gather enough courage to do so. He simply waited and grieved. He simply waited and hoped. Finally when class ended that fateful Friday, when he had lost hope, she turned back and looked at him. Their gazes held for a brief moment and then she smiled. That one smile to him was like the first rays of the sun breaking through the dark clouds of ages. It shattered the darkness with the brilliance of its radiance. It spread warmth within his cold morbid soul. He felt alive again. Relief and joy spread like warm butter across him and he felt joyful. His heart was again light, songs of happiness back on his lips.

He spent all of Friday night thinking about Radha. Would he discuss poetry with her? Would they talk about how they felt for each other? Would they open their hearts – talk about their joys, hopes and fears? Would they be friends? On Saturday morning too, his exuberance knew no bounds. His smile was infectious. He was hovering around Mrs Sharma trying to be helpful. She couldn’t but smile at his cheerfulness, his enthusiasm. Several times she asked him what the matter was. Each time, he simply shook his head, unable to stop smiling even then. Chitra knew and smiled secretly. She was happy for Krishna. For such a loveable person, any happiness is too little. Finally, when Krishna was getting in the way of household chores and not having the heart to reprimand him, Mrs Sharma sent him out on an errand. Krishna cycled gaily to the departmental store – happy to be of help, happy to be so joyfully alive. At the Kondapur crossing, he noticed the old abandoned granny waiting for help to cross the road. Like always, he stepped off his bicycle went to her and helped her cross the road. Like always she blessed him and wished him a long life. As he was about to cross back to his bicycle, he saw Radha in the car. She was smiling at him – there was no hesitation here. It was a smile of familiarity, of friendship, of love. He waved wildly at her. He wanted to shout out to her that he couldn’t wait till Monday. But in the roar of traffic she probably wouldn’t have heard anyway.

He waited for the traffic lights to turn red again and started crossing the street. And at that moment, a speeding car swerved to jump the traffic lights and hit Krishna. He died instantaneously. The smile remained on his face – his last memory that of love, his last vision that of Radha, his lady love. That remained frozen in time, for ever.

The police arrived shortly and removed the body. Nobody could identify the victim. Nobody could recollect the registration number of the car. There were too many vehicles answering the description given by the onlookers for them to really apprehend and punish the driver. This case would simply add to the long list of hit-and-run accidents involving unknown vehicles and unknown victims. The Sharmas waited for a long while for Krishna to return. Mrs Sharma and Chitra were distraught. They searched around the neighbourhood and even inquired at the departmental store. But nobody could recollect seeing Krishna that day. Mr Sharma did not prefer filing a report with the police. He considered that an unnecessary hassle. Krishna had probably simply run away, he concluded. They would never know.

Radha too would never know of his undying love.