A Time To Look Back

They walked slowly through the tall trees, holding hands lightly, their fingers barely touching. But every step was taken in unison, as though they were not two people but just one – an upright, four-legged being, if that was even possible. Away in the distance, the sun was going down for a well-earned rest, giving way to a gradually enveloping darkness, as the mountain peaks started to merge with the sky in the fading light.

A careful observant would however have noted the violent contrast in their clothes –  dark maroon gown of the woman that glided smoothly as she walked, and the greenish black, Arab-style robes  and loose pyjamas of the man. It screamed out for an explanation, but none was forthcoming, because their souls were joined as one, even as their personal lives were a world apart. In the half-hour that they had been together, neither had spoken a word, there was actually no need, though much could have been said. The eyes sent out the messages to and fro.

Amongst the towering but dense vegetation, there were nearly a dozen warriors, completely concealed from anyone but the most well trained in covert Military Action. Each of them would willingly give up their lives to protect their Warrior Prince, as their Ancestors had done for generations. And they followed him everywhere across the world. Shadows are a man’s best friend, rightly said.

The vegetation began to clear up as they neared the edge of the cliff, beyond which was a sheer drop of 1200 feet, which no human being could survive. The couple stopped a little before the edge, as they had done many times in the past several years, and settled down gently on a patch of grass. The guards moved closer but just out of earshot, so that the Prince and his beloved could be secluded, yet safe.

From the folds of his shalwar, he fished out a joint of Malana Creem, put a flame to it and inhaled deeply. As the smoke swirled out of his nose and mouth, the gentle breeze of the evening carried it towards the woman. She let it play on her tanned cheeks and then around her nostrils, taking in barely a whiff of the smoke. Her turn would come, perhaps within moments, and then she would have her fill of the powerful fragrance that always transported her to another world.

In that world, free from the bonds of religion and language, family, tribe and ancestry, the partnership of Shaquille and Ritambhara must have been pre-ordained for they were the most unlikely couple that anyone could ever imagine. Yet for more than two decades, they had existed as Twin Souls, completely subsumed in each other.

Together they slipped into a trance, induced by the Malana Creem, where the two minds became one, and they travelled back and forth in time, to the many exotic destinations across the world where their unique partnership had taken them. That first meeting was eons ago, would normally be a memory blurred by the passage of years but at these times, it would emerge in sharp refrain as though it had taken place just yesterday.

Shaquille heard it first, a slight rustling of leaves and birds screeching high up in the air – the first hint of danger, while Ritambhara had still not broken out of her reverie. Within seconds, it became louder, till a small crowd of four-five people broke into the clearing. He stood facing them, still expressionless, as a welter of thoughts and emotions raced through his mind. Had his rivals from back home finally caught up with him? Were they people that Ritambhara knew and had reason to fear? Would they be torn apart after almost a lifetime of being together?

“We found them trying to get too close to you, Sir,” one of the guards said in a North African dialect that Ritambhara did not understand at all. She did not need to, for she felt completely safe in his presence, assured that he would never stand by and watch her come to harm. The guards were holding on to a young man and a girl, both dressed in jeans and casual shirts, looking rather scared but defiant.

“Are they carrying weapons?” Shaquille asked.

“No, Sayed, they are not.”

“Then set them free, they cannot do any harm,” he instructed them in their native tongue. The guards complied instantly, and the faces of the two youngsters lit up with sheer relief.

“Who are you?” Shaquille asked them, this time in English.

Both of them started talking at once, then stopped and glared at each other, as Ritambhara broke into a smile. “Have you lost your way?” she asked.

“In a way, yes, we have,” the young man answered, “We were arguing furiously, shouting at each other all the while and took a wrong turn somewhere there.” He pointed vaguely towards the East where the thick vegetation made it difficult to see beyond 20-30 yards.

“Will you be able to find your way back, too at this time of the evening?”

“Perhaps not,” the boy answered.

“Then why not sit down and tell us all about yourselves, where you came from and what has made you both so angry with each other,” Shaquille said, gently.

“My name is Prakash and I am from a prominent business family in Rajasthan, while Divya is the daughter of a Senior Government official in Madhya Pradesh. We met in Mumbai a couple of years ago and slowly became very close friends.”

“Now we would like to get married but our families oppose the idea,” Divya said.

“Why is that?” Ritambhara asked.

“Both of us belong to different communities, and my parents do not want me to marry into a business family. They want a match from a family like ours, a boy who has a government job,” Divya answered, already sounding a bit tired of the conversation.

“What if you both get married against the wishes of your parents?” Shaquille asked.

“That would make things extremely difficult for us. I joined the family business three years back just after completing my B. Com, so I don’t have any independent income. Neither does she,” Prakash said.

“Besides, my father is a very vengeful person, and Prakash’s family is worried that he will use his position to hit back at them,” she explained.

“So, you have quite a complicated problem. Obviously, you have to choose between what you are willing to give up and what you wouldn’t,” Shaquille said.

“That is what we have been arguing about throughout the past week,” Prakash said. “Today is supposed to be the last day; if we can’t make up our minds by the end of today, we would each go our own separate ways.”

“But I can’t live without him,” Divya said, fighting back tears.

“Neither can I, actually,” he added quietly.

“When you are faced with two choices, both of which are painful, the next step is to look for possible dangers. And try to work out the path which is least dangerous,” Rithambara said.

Prakash looked even more confused.

“If getting married is going to create a lot of problems, it may be better to avoid getting married,” Shaquille said.

“Which does not mean going away from each other,” his partner added.

“How would that be possible?” Divya wanted to know.

“Are you suggesting that we both end our lives, a suicide pact?” Prakash asked, his voice now tinged with anger.

“Hardly! Far from suggesting anything like that, I am saying that you can both stay unmarried. But in touch with each other, may be in different cities,” Rithambara said.

“The way you are talking, it seems you have had some personal experience in this regard,” Prakash said, throwing a hint of a challenge.

“You might say so. At a certain stage in our lives, we were also face with a similar situation,” Shaquille said, with a twinkle in his sharp eyes.

“Please tell us about it,” the two youngsters said.

“We can’t. We agreed many years ago that our arrangement would not be revealed to anyone else,” Shaquille said.

“Now that both of you are here, you can agree to end the agreement,” Divya said.

Shaquille glanced at Rithambara but she remained completely expressionless. After a few moments of complete silence, Prakash said, “You are in the golden phase of your life, having enjoyed the longest part of it. What is the worst that could happen if someone comes to know your story?”

“Not much for me, I guess,” Shaquille said, “but she might lose her position as the head of an ashram.”

“Perhaps not. The path we have chosen has not harmed anybody, or broken any law,” Ritambhara said, “on the other hand, it might do some good to these young people.”

Both Prakash and Divya anxiously waited for their story to unfold.

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