Till death do us part....

Soulmates … people across this world irrespective of their color, gender, nationality and race instinctively seek for their soulmate as if we are inherently imprinted to do so. In war, in peace , in countries large and small, in sweltering heat and freezing cold, in tempests and tranquil , consciously or subconsciously we look for that individual who will offer us a sense of belonging, the gift of unconditional love and unwavering trust. We look far and wide, sans borders and religions and when at long last they are discovered we are willing to defy the whole world for them.

But who is a soulmate? Why do we assume that it has to be a spouse? Sometimes when we are diligently searching for this one person to render us whole, we so often overlook that someone, who was our shadow in light, a guardian angel in times dark, a port in the storm, sanctuary in the rain, and a warm hand on the shoulder. We are so engaged in staring ahead that we never bother to glance back and appreciate the constant presence defending our back.

Why are our visions ensnared in chains and our capacity to love so constricted? A soulmate isn’t indispensably a husband or a wife, a lover or a partner. He/she can be a friend, a parent, a child, a God or even a pet. Why not? After all, “there are more things in heaven and earth than one has dreamt of….”

Perhaps that’s why I believe to be genuinely blessed in not only having you in my life but also to be able to humbly accept that our souls are attuned to each other. You and I, I and you have been linked before even we were able to spell friendship. Maybe that’s why it has been so untarnished by the ravages of time. Our bond has been so pure yet so devilish, so innocent yet so impish, so simple and yet so deeply intricate. I have heard this sacred vow countless times and you were the first person that had made me comprehend its cosmic connotation. A few simple words casually stringed together but have unfathomable significance.

“To have and to hold from this day forward

For better, for worse; for richer for poorer

In sickness and in health; to love and to cherish

Till death do us part”

What is our friendship if not a solemn pledge to sustain each other in good times and bad? It is inconsequential whether we are rich or poor. We are each other’s balm in sickness and together we shall rejoice in our health. Isn’t it an oath to love and respect each other when our opinions diverge and treasure our converged thoughts? Isn’t it the patience to entertain our individual idiosyncrasies, soothe the insecurities and shouting encouragement even at the gates of impossibilities? If this isn’t what soul mates share then I do not breathe, the earth is not round and we are not friends.

We laugh; we cry,

Together we saw time walk by and by.

A few smiles …a few tears,

We touched eternity in these years

Shinning sunrises & shimmering sunsets

lots of whispers, giggles and daring bets.

Cheating in exams & strolls in the playground,

naughty comments and crushes all around.

Dancing shamlessly in the rain,

pledging to be there in joy and in pain

From a child to a girl to a woman,

together we were on every road, each turn.

I'll be there and i know you will be too,

thats why we are soulmates true..

p.s: ... In ancient cherooke tradition they do not say I love you because love is too dynamic and at times too vengeful and selfish... they say what I am saying now...for my best friends..

                                                                                                    "you walk on my soul"

A Moment of Eternity..

His heart was lodged in his mouth. He swallowed uneasily. Everything felt surreal …as if frozen between reality and fantasy…. eyes glued to the paper before him…they darted up and down with lightning speed hunting for any indication of hope…abruptly they stumbled on their quarry and a grin flashed..Against his name was scrawled “PASS”.

A Stranger in the Mirror…

She stared in the glass hunting for any semblance…a stranger gaped back with haunted eyes. Who was this defeated spirit, drowning in desolation, not her? The chilling truth dawned…”if you want to search thyself, never look in a mirror, for there is but a stranger, a stranger in the mirror.”

The Blood Countess..

The temptation to presume that inexpressible inhumanity is predominantly the kingdom of the males is indeed irresistible. Perhaps, that is why, we being hedonistic creatures succumb to its so called allure. And perhaps it is one of the principal factors which begin the slideshow with names such as Adolf Hitler, Jack the Ripper and Idi Amin etc when we are compelled to confront the atrocities that a human is capable of committing against its fellow humans. It could certainly be argued that it is so because even in this era we live in male dominated societies. But somehow, this line of reasoning reeks of rationalization rather than genuine scientific enquiry. If jabbed and prodded for an authentic reason, it can be speculated and with definite cause that we upheld the aforesaid belief because it keeps our faith in the benevolence of women sacrosanct.

Against this canvas, I paint a blossom plucked from the garden of history and portray a blood chilling tale with elements of cruelty, violence, lust, obsession, murder, greed and political conspiracies. A true saga that is potent enough to shame any fiction to death.

In the mid sixteenth century, when Hungary was swamped by the Turkish forces of Ottoman Empire and was a theatre of war for the Turkish and Austrian armies lived a young girl whose name would later be written with black ink in the pages of history. Elizabeth (Erzsebet) Bathory was born to one of the most noble and wealthiest families in an age when peasants and common villagers enjoyed a status lower than animals. Slavery and bondage were the rule rather than the exception and their lives meant less than nothing if they ever committed even the most innocuous errors. Was this noble blood tainted with malice? Was she doomed from the instant she was conceived owing to her regal bloodlines? Was royalty a curse that unfurled its wrath on those it believed to be beneath it? When impressionable children should be taught to revere life in all forms she witnessed the terrible ordeals and punishments carried out under her family’s command. It has also been reported that she suffered from violent seizures as a child. Maybe, nature and nurture both conspired against her, and it was inevitable that she should fulfill her destiny as the Blood Countess.

Perhaps, the earliest warning of her untamed nature was when at the age of 14, already betrothed to Count Ferencz Nadasdy, she gave birth to an illegitimate child by another man. Elizabeth and the Count were united in holy matrimony on May 8, 1575 and only three years later Nadasdy became the chief commander of the Hungarian forces and led them to war against the Ottomans. In absence of her husband, it befell on eighteen year old Elizabeth’s shoulders to manage and later defend the estates. But she was more than capable of it. In the fog of ignorance and illiteracy, the Countess was a spear of light for she was politically intuitive and could read and write in four languages.

Perchance, it was the non attendance of her husband that she grew bored of her isolation and turned to witchcraft. The count was no innocent himself. Though it has never been ascertained whether he was any wiser to his wife’s “hobbies”, historians account that Count Ferencz was a cruel man himself and it was he who introduced his wife to a delectable new practice of torture. The poor offenders were coated with honey and then left in the wilderness at the mercy of bees and insects. For a beautiful woman, tall and majestic in her bearing she definitely had a cruel streak. Her physical exquisiteness masked the hideousness of her soul. Even the Garden of Eden held in its breast a deadly serpent. Her curious pursuits involved parading the girls naked in front of her men, whipping, freezing them in winters and other assorted delicacies of punishment to sate her sadistic appetite. Elizabeth Bathory had given birth to six children of which three daughters and a son survived.

It was the death of her husband that made her conscious of her own mortality. In her deadly obsession with beauty and eternal youth, her soul, black and tarred as it was, gasped its final breath. One sultry evening, when her maid accidentally pulled her hair while dressing her, she struck like a viper and bled the poor girl. In her eyes, she had discovered the elixir of youth for she believed that the skin where the victim’s blood had spilled looked younger and fresher. This conviction of her signed the death warrants of hundreds of victims. They were captured by her associates and each drop of blood was drained from their supple bodies so a blood thirsty countess lusting after the myth of “eternal youth” could have her bath. The devil himself must have quaked in his boots at such a sight. The accounts of her taking greedy bites from their bleeding forms and sucking at the stream of blood on the bodies could well be the seeds that in time germinated into a whole jungle of vampire lore.

Illusions are only that, illusions and one day their fate is to shatter. The Countess could not fight the inevitable victory of age over beauty but she was in the possession of her false pretenses and fixation. A novel twist in this plot took place when she drew the absurd inference that the blood of the peasant girls was not pure enough. She desired the blood of nobility and thus began the fall of Countess Elizabeth Bathory. Under the guise of an educational academy, she took in twenty five girls of noble families and sacrificed them at the altar of her bloodlust.

In all the years that encompassed her killing extravaganza, she had grown arrogant and conceited to the extent of tossing dead bodies out on the street from her passing carriage. Justice, comatose, for all these years came upon her as an avenging angel. She was nobility and therefore a demigod and in those times the noble could do no wrong. She was put on house arrest but never faced trial. Her associates were judged according to their own crimes and each brutally penalized. The number of deaths on her hands were said to be ranging from 40 to 650. A diary was found where she by her own hand had written the names of all her 650 victims as if a keeping track of a grocery list and presented at the trail. All her estates and assets were seized by the King.

Ironically and life in all centuries are so absurdly full of them. The justice that came knocking on her castle was not on behalf of the dead victims but the King’s reluctance to repay the mammoth loan that her husband had given to the King. It is so disheartening to realize that life has no value before political aspirations and motives, be it in a democracy or a monarchy, a castle or a 21st century General election. It seems some things are set in stone. Some hold the belief that she was innocent of the crimes of which she was accused and this production of trial was politically motivated. She merely existed after the trial and was on house arrest. The Countess who wrote the destinies of innumerable victims was walled in and only a narrow opening was her umbilical cord to the world. The woman who had madly lusted after eternal youth embraced death a scant four years later in 1610.

So who really was Elizabeth Bathory? Centuries later when we observe the landscape of her life what do we ultimately believe. An evil woman who left wreckage, blood and dead bodies in her wake or a psychotic who was trapped in an ignorant era with no respite. Did her soul shudder and scream at least in the earlier stages of her malevolence? Or was it all a fair game to her? Or she was an innocent pawn on a political chessboard? In her defense, she was probably more insane than evil. Well facts were buried with her but whoever she was, she was someone whose name was forbidden for centuries and that’s evidence to the terror that must have struck in the hearts of people. She was The Blood Countess.

Just a page in a book!!

Faith dispassionately scrutinized the blood twisting downwards on her thigh alike a scientist observing a routine experiment and her hand flexed unconsciously on the gilt edged handle of the dagger. Her mother would be aghast if she was ill fated enough to be caught in the act. As it is, her sisters thought that the word insane should have her picture against it in the dictionary but cruel labels like nutty, batty, crazy, and wacky had long stopped injuring her feelings. For a moment her hypnotic concentration was scattered from the path of the blood and she speculated on when the snide remarks had stopped spoiling her day. Perhaps, when he had walked into the threshold of her bedroom in the middle of the night for the first time. A storm had violently raged that night but no one had witnessed, for it had wrecked havoc only on the terrain of her mind and body. She pinched her eyes shut to stop the brutal film running in her mind and struggled to center herself by focusing on the blood. Her breathing was shallow and she was gasping for air. In a frantic attempt she wielded her dagger like a sword and it sliced softly through her velvety skin. A moan escaped her parted lips, agony and ecstasy blended into a heady rush and her lashes fluttered as satisfaction coursed through her entire being…mind, body and soul.

She would have gladly lived through an eternity suspended in that addictive state of pain and pleasure but reality rushed in, bursting her bubble. Someone was knocking on her door. She hastily wiped the blood away, cleaned her dagger and flushed the tissue. She quickly replaced the dagger in its secret place. Only a dumb idiot begging to be trapped will leave such incriminating evidence behind. A wry smile touched her lips as a thought crossed her mind, “insane she may be, stupid she was most definitely not.” She closed the door of the bathroom, walked across the room and with a deep breath opened the door of her bedroom. Her mother glared at her, “why was the damn room locked. How many times do I have to tell you that you are not supposed to bolt your door?” Faith belligerently stared back for a few seconds, and then said, “I wasn’t doing drugs you know, I just wanted some privacy.”

“Faith, I do not like this attitude of yours, why can’t you be normal like your sisters.” At her mother’s absolute horror, Faith started laughing hysterically. Her mother warily stepped back and stared at her youngest daughter with her jaw dropped open. “Normal she says, normal!!! How can I be normal when you never let me forget that I was the result of your forgetting to take the pill one night? How can I be normal when I have sisters whose idea of fun is to be vindictive to me? And last but definitely not the least, how can I be normal when he visits me in the night when you are sleeping the sleep of the ignorant?” Such heart rending questions were on the young girl’s lips but Faith didn’t voice them. What would be the use except to invite more heartache? She already was getting more than her fair share.

Faith turned and went to sit by her desk, and busied herself with her studies. She let out a deep sigh as her mother went away. She fervently prayed that she would be left alone throughout the evening. Apart from the sight of her own blood, the thing that calmed her best were books. The next time Faith came out of her reverie she was pleasantly surprised that seconds had given birth to minutes and minutes to hours. Maybe this was going to be her lucky day, maybe he won’t come to her tonight. And for the first time in days the veil of sadness lifted from her eyes and hope flared in her heart. Deciding not to push her luck, she immediately went to the dining room when her mother called for dinner. Usually, these times with her family were akin to awaiting the verdict from a jury. But she determined not to let it dishearten her.

The hope in her heart was mercilessly murdered when she saw the blatant hunger in his eyes. As a thousand times before, she mutely wondered why no one else ever could spot the lust. How her mother was so oblivious that her new husband was raping her daughter? Was she really so naïve or was she secretly relieved that he left her marital bed? Would it have been different if her father had been alive or her mother had not married such a monster? The food stuck in her throat as terror edged inch by inch into her soul. Her sisters snickered at her but she was blind and deaf to their malicious comments. They dwarfed before the catastrophe looming on the horizon. She all but sprinted from the room when the dinner was over.

At midnight when he stealthily walked into her room and fastened the lock behind him, she was lying curled up like a fetus holding her breath. She was so frightened; she could scarcely breathe let alone move. He sat on the bed beside her and caressed her legs in a manner that mocked the pure act of making love. Faith whimpered and tried to make herself as small as possible. He sweetly murmured to her, “so smooth, just like silk.” She froze, her mind unable to process the horror. Then suddenly, with herculean effort she tried to struggle vehemently like a cornered animal. But he subdued her easily for physically she was David to his Goliath. His weight crushed her to the mattress and a hand clamped over her mouth, while she kept sobbing inconsolably. He was grunting like an animal and whispering guttural words in her ear. After a few unbearable moments, her mind blanked and scampered to seek refuge in a faraway place. When he was gratified, he kissed her forehead and this act beyond anything repelled her. Before biding her goodnight he said,” oh Faith, you are so perfect, not a mark or blemish on your skin. Till next time baby.” and walked away without a backward glance to the devastation he had left behind.

“Perfect”, she thought as she lay bruised and bleeding. How heartless and sadistic life can be? A young heartbroken girl desolately yearned for the scars on her soul to heal. Ironically, each time she smeared a little hope on her lacerations to heal, they were cruelly ripped open again and yet the body she slashed again and again absolutely refused to scar no matter how many times she brandished the dagger on it. She swiped the back of her hand across her face and abruptly ceased to cry. Tears had never rescued her from her plight.

Faith, a sixteen year old girl who was forced to become a woman way before her time stared out her window with haunting eyes as dawn creeped in and slowly the dark was devoured by the light. She was Faith, who had lost her faith in humanity when her step father had unleashed the animal in him on her. But if anything it was measure of her strength because she had long decided that he could break every bone in her body and drain each drop of her blood but he would never be able to conquer her spirit. And one day she will truly be David to his Goliath.

P.S : The reality of child sexual abuse exists across cultures and countries. But often people around the abusers and victims refuse to acknowledge it. Sadly, adults in position of trust and authority often are the worst culprits. In such circumstances the victims do not come forward for fear of recriminations. Also, a high number of such victims become self mutilators. It is every adult’s duty to ensure that children around them are safe and protected. Everyone deserves a childhood.

The legacy of Sins..

The screams reverberated throughout the ancient manor…Her sobs chased him even in dreams…there was no escape …he was a man teetering on the brink of insanity. He desperately pleads, why me, I am not your sinner…..”Silence”; suddenly the wind gushed in condemning him,” it was you who forcibly held me down while he raped me”.

Betrayal...

"Her fate was sealed the instant their eyes locked..she was dead..she just didn’t know it yet..She giddily hugged the love to her heart and ran to him..he embraced her closely. She was just sighing in pleasure when he stabbed her in the back..shocked she looked up with accusing eyes …he smilingly said..”Nothing Personal”.

For you, my daughter..

"In my beginning is my end..My gaze falls on the bundle trustingly sleeping in my arms , my brain greedily captures the sight…for as I despairingly fight for my last breaths, my daughter lustily draws in her first….Death you are not absolute..I shall vanquish you...In my end shall be my beginning."

Tagged..Useless Facts..( was fun though)..

I have never done one of these before, but there is a first time for everything. So here it goes. Thank you Isha for tagging me and giving me this opportunity.



Some Useless Facts About Me:


• What is your current obsession?
The novels by Agatha Christie.. especially the Hercule Poirot series. Dame Christie would have been tremendously pleased to have acquired such an aficionado.


• What are you wearing today?
Black Harem pants and a short black tee!! Umm...incredibly comfortable..not to mention deliciously sexyy..


• What's for dinner today?
Oranges and watermelon…they hold up the scale of health foods sufficiently for me to glutton on chocolates.


• What's the last thing you bought?
 Wat do u think..books . I bought The Blind Assasin by Margaret Atwood ( Winner of 2000 Booker Prize)


• What are you listening to right now?
Mala jau dya na ghari ( Let me go home).. Its a Marathi song from a movie called Natrang...


• What do you think about the person who tagged you?
She’s an integral element of my life’s tapestry who has been very intricately woven with each of its aspect.


• If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Hmmm..I am so greedy.. :P Bt if pinned down ...I would love one either in the stunning city of Paris...or in the big apple...New York..( Please whoever is looking after the real estate..dont forget the house better be in Manhattan)


• What are your must-have pieces for summer?
Sunglasses and short skirts...( Its so freaking hot here already) & a very good Anti tan cream.


• If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Hmm...this is not good..Why only one place...Such miser options...Still...I would go to Nashik( So that I can meet my sweetheart !!)


• Which language do you want to learn?
I would love to be the most multi lingual person in the world...Gaelic and Latin are the ones I would love to learn .


• What’s your favourite quote?
God..anyone who knows me will recognise the perils he has invited by asking me this..I am an absolute English Literature buff..
“ To see a world in a grain of sand ; & heaven in a wild flower
   Hold infinity in the palm of your hand & eternity in an hour." – William Blake ( The Auguries of Innocnece)


“ I do not agree with what you have to say but I will defend to the death your right to say it” - Voltaire


“Nothing begins and nothing ends that is not paid with a moan,
  For we are born in other’s pain and perish in our own” – Francis Thompson


• Who do you want to meet right now?
My best friends ...Its been so long....


• What is your favourite colour?
Black!! Black!! & Black!!..( though when the whim strikes me ..i love red as well)


• Give us 3 styling tips that work for you.
Hhmmm... (a)Perfectly shaped nails polished with deep colors.
(b)Stylish eye makeup..especially a good application of Kajal..
(c)A striking haircut..

• What is your dream job?
Dream job.. I wouldn’t say job..but my dream work is to be able to write poignant , thought provoking and thoroughly compelling books..


• What’s your favorite magazine?
Magazines arent really my cup of tea...lonely planet, reader’s digest are what I like ...


• If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

Hah!... Spend the most of it on books...( incase u hadn’t noticed it yet I am a bibilophile) and the rest on clothes or maybe a nice bag..


• What do you consider a fashion faux pas?
Wearing a gorgeous designer gown with your lingerie lines clearly visible for anyone to..err...notice..( Appropriate lingerie for each type of clothing is absolutely vital)


• Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon?
Kim Kardashian


• What kind of haircut do you prefer?
Bangs and Layers...( the one that flutters around your face when u walk..)


• What are you going to do after this?
Oh..I am going to have an afternoon nap and have an very intriguing session of dream entertainment.


• What are your favorite movies?
hmm..Loads and loads...But to name a few Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge,Hum Apke Hain Kaun, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, 88 Minutes, Passion of The Christ, The Hills Have Eyes ,etc, etc..


• What inspires you?
Everything and Nothing...(the civilization enveloping me and the world within me... Life and death, light and shadow)


• What do your friends call you most commonly?
Nicky or Nick generally...Some respect the effort of my parents of naming me proper and use that one only :P


• Would you prefer coffee or tea?
Neither in hot form..Iced Tea..if that counts..


• What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?
Haunt my house like a ghost , talk to some imaginary people , & if that doesnt work..Dance to some really loud and fast music...:)


• What makes you go wild?
Wild as in a good way or bad??...In a bad way its hypocrisy and betrayal...in a good way..loads of things make me ecstatic..


• Which other blogs do you love visiting?
To be brutally honest..I read the blogs what this girl (who tagged me) asks me to read by holding a gun to my head...


• Favorite Dessert/Sweet?
Yumm..Dark Chocolates, Belgian Chocolate Mousse..in Indian sweets.. I love Jalebi..


• How many tabs are turned on in ur browser right now?
Two...am in a lazy mood rite now...


• Favorite Season?
Winters ...any day, any time, any where ..


• If I come to your house now, what would u cook for me?
Whatever fancies you...


• What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you?
Hmm...depends on who the person is..but I would be terrifyingly polite and socially correct ( it always confuses them)


• What are you afraid of the most?
Shattered dreams....


• When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
Ooooooohh..I am pretty..( So go crucify me..I am vain...)


• What brings a smile on your face instantly?
Lots of things... I am pretty cheerful person ( exception only when I am haunting my house)


• A word that you say a lot?
Hmm...( Translation varies from I am only pretending to be listening to you ...to I don’t agree to what you say but Mom said to keep quiet in this case...to thats an interesting point..)


• When was the last time you did something nice?
Oh...Does encouraging someone to achieve their dreams count....Oh wait I remember..I stopped a boy from throwing pebbles on the caged leopard in a Zoo...:)


• What would you do if you were made President of India for one day?
Declare Emergency :P ( Bcoz in our country the President is the Supreme Commander of Defence Forces and rules in time of War ..rest he/she is constitutionally bound to agree with the PM , Cabinet , Lok Sabha..)


• Do you Know who Master SHIFU is?
I didn’t know him by name rather by his face or should I say “raised eyebrows…But I took the pain of finding out ..


So now to do the rituals I shall tag some of my friends and/or blog-friends. If you despise tags and them as a farce, then you are excused. If not then I insist that you complete this tag and share with the world all the useless facts about you. Cheers.


And they are..


Rashmi


Blackbox


NesQuarX

Unexpected Blessings..

She lay on the ground struggling to shield her ears with numb hands, futilely making an attempt to shut out the sounds all around. Ironic, because she had always loved sound in all its manifestations since she was a baby. All kinds of them be it soulful music, the clinking of bracelets, the swish of the skirt on the grass, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the pitter patter of tiny feet, the sigh of her mother or the booming laughter of her father. Mama, Papa..She thought with a sob, dead, her entire family obliterated instantaneously. Despair crashed onto her like a tidal wave and she fervently prayed that she lost her ability to hear. Maybe then she would not have to listen to this resonance of inhuman pain. At this precise moment she was willing even eager to sell her soul to the devil if that would end the unbearable screams of the mutilated, the heart wrenching cries of toddlers , the animalistic whimpers of infants, the silky moans of the dying and the eerie silence of the dead.

It had been snowing unremittingly and though she was clad only in a sheer cotton dress, she felt nothing. The anguish in her heart had somehow cushioned her against callous veracity. Everything was so surreal that for one blissful moment she coerced herself to believe that it was only a nightmare. Oh but the shrieks, the inhuman screeches dragged her back brutally and compelled her to confront the truth. She glanced around her making an effort trying to haul herself up, summoning her strength but could only lift her head. It was virginal white and pristine all around as if mocking the war everywhere. Snow had smothered each peak and valley, every roof top and pathway was painted with it. It was heaven on earth...no it was just a cruel trickery. For when she looked intimately she could see shallow rivers of blood surging towards her. It seemed that the pure virgin had been debauchered viciously.

The heaven had been usurped by demons and his disciples and the screams were witness that Satan himself was ripping off the wings of angels. One bloody slash at a time savoring the pain he bequeathed upon them and inhaling the delicious aroma of grief. Oh how she yearned to crawl back into safety but the gates of hell had been unbolted and she couldn’t crawl back to the one place she would have been protected, her mother’s womb . Dead she thought desperately, the mother she had rebelled against, fought with, the mother who had sung her lullabies at night and known her deepest uncertainties and potent aspirations. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the images and miraculously and mercifully fell asleep.

He found her curled into herself like fetus and his heart lurched at the thought of another dead child. He started to turn away; he had observed enough death and was unsure if he could see more and not snap and fall across the edge of insanity where he had been teetering for days. As he moved he heard something, thought his mind was playing pranks on him but no, again there was that ….sob? He swiftly crossed the boulder to reach the child and he bent and gently brushed aside the hair masking the face. He realized with a startle that it was a woman, albeit a very young one. But in times like this, innocence and childhood is a luxury no one can afford. As he moved his fingers to feel the pulse her eyes opened. Their gazes locked and the earth stilted, time stilled and his heart stopped.

She should be terrified, the thought floated somewhere deep in the caverns of her mind but she was not. Why? There wasn’t any overt evidence of anything soft and kind about him but yet she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. She stared at him drinking his sight as if painting his face on her mind will erase all her agony and heal her broken spirit. His eyes were a midnight black as was his hair, with a face that seemed to be carved in granite. He couldn’t have been labeled handsome even remotely but his harsh features and razor sharp angles made her feel  as if he was a Greek God at least to her eyes. For a moment he speculated whether he had finally lost his mind, what was this angel doing in hell. But no she was there. He caressed her cheek to reassure himself of her ethereal presence and she trembled. He snatched his hand thinking he had terrorized her even more but she clutched his hand and their hands were locked as their gazes.

If felt as if a hundred lifetimes had raced by but only a few minutes later there was sound of gunfire shattering their fantasy . He pushed her further under the rocks and made his body her armor. Pressed to his back which was as unyielding as the rock, she belatedly wondered who he was and reality burst on her like a cracked dam. She stared at his clothes and only one word reverberated in her mind ….enemy. He was the foe who had wrecked havoc on her world. But why was he jeopardizing his life for her? Was it a maneuver to lull her into a false sense of security, did he some clandestine agenda? He felt her body stiffen and whirled back and noticed the wariness and dread in her eyes. He uttered a simple cluster of words that irrevocably altered her life forever.

                                “Do not fear me angel, I will protect thee with my life”

Till this day she is uncertain as to why she had trusted him that dawn, but trust him she did, with her life, with her freedom and ultimately but inevitably her heart. He had whisked her into the safety of his arms and had given her refuge in a haven she didn’t even know existed. While he was carrying her to his unit, she had wondered with trepidation and horror that her foot soldier will surely be executed for being her savior. But to her absolute astonishment, he was no mere foot soldier but the Captain of his unit. A battle scarred warrior trapped in a war he didn’t desire, combating with an enemy against whom he had no vengeance and seeking to massacre a conscience he wasn’t aware ,was still breathing. That day when she had lost her conviction in humanity she realized that these soldiers were not the adversary. They were just mere pawns in a colossal game of chess that leaders entrusted with power engaged in to quench their bloodlust. When war becomes a hobby for leaders, the rest are only victims.

She reminisces about the days that had come after, how the warrior had soothingly tended her wounds and in restoring her body, had mended her heart. How he hadn’t uttered a single word in his defense when she had hurled venomous accusations at him. Even today she vividly recollects her shock when she had learned how these enemies had tried to save some of her own people and the heart aching revelation that her family had breathed their last by the hands of their own combatants. The demarcation between friends and foes are often smeared by blood.

                      "She reflects on these memoirs as she watches her warrior, no her husband, sleep with a hand stroking her belly where their child is nestled and is secure.Life may not shape into our preconceived moulds but sometimes one is gifted with blessings in a very unexpected package"

Au Revoir, mon ami...

A year has departed…….Even though everyone eagerly anticipates the arrival of a new year with great delight, shining hopes , honest prayers and crossed fingers , the passing of a year is alike a separation with a dear friend which fills the heart with nostalgia. Memories stalk you and no matter where you run they turn up at unexpected alleys and compel you to take an intimate glimpse at one’s saga so far.

At times this year sprinted at breakneck speed urging one to buck up; lest you are the one being left behind, at others it meandered unsure of itself and apprehensive of the busy boulevards ahead. Yet there were instances when it sauntered away smelling the wildflowers along the way. But there were many ,many occasions that it came to an abrupt halt jarring one from his comfort zone.

There were exhilarating new encounters and somber goodbyes. A few friends metamorphosed into strangers making one question the illusion of permanency enveloping our lives. And certain strangers weaved themselves into the fabric of our lives reassuring us that we aren’t deserted in our joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, anguish and solace and more imperatively in life or death.

It brought with it new beginnings and old ends. New journeys, novel experiences and same old; same old me. Am I? Am I identical to who I was the year before or did I transform with my experiences, hard lessons, fulfilled dreams and shattered hopes? Was I a mere spectator in my own life’s production, unscathed by tragedy, indifferent to sighs and whispers of a lover and unappreciative of my happiness? I would not admit it as the truth for I know that each breath altered me a little and yet the more remained the same. Yet when the dusk settles in, it does not matter as in each beat of my heart, every flutter of my eyelashes and all the pulsing in my blood there was irrefutable evidence that I was alive. And living is the greatest adventure of all.

So this is my personal ode to the passing year. I say a bittersweet goodbye to you old friend and ask that in spirit of our cherished time together you pardon my sins, revel in my triumphs, shed a few tears for my defeats, and pray that my new friend treats me as warmly as you did. In return I wish that you fade into the night with the same feat with which you were born. Au revoir , mon ami…..