She ran hard. Heart pounding against her chest, legs numb, but
she didn’t stop. She crushed the frothy waves on her way and crushed the little
snails. She was running away from the deafening din of thoughts. She was
running away from the image of blissfully happy face of her husband, transforming
into a dense smokey claw.
Two weeks ago her dreams shattered on her bathroom floor when
those red lines emerged on the plastic stick. She had planned long years of travelling,
writing and exploring, with her husband which had brought them to the remote coasts
of Kerala. They would stay there for few months, she working on her book and he
collecting pictures for his grand gallery opening.
She remembered the day when they first met. It was a
November sun set when he stealthily took pictures of her while she wrote in her
notebook sitting on the white sand as the waves kissed her heels and shied
away. The thin strap of her white tunic would reveal a strip of pale skin on
the crimson shoulder as she stirred to wrap her hair around on one side. He
would later admit that he had fallen in love with her that very day, weeks
before he called to tell her that her pictures had won him award and that he
wanted to apologize over a cup of coffee for the undue liberty he took.
The rocky shore was tearing through her shoes now, hurting
her feet – yet she ran to grasp that ever elusive future she had imagined. How
could he put his life, his passion, his camera aside, she thought, for the
nameless, shapeless unsolicited life that she was carrying? They had argued for
three nights when she finally broke down. He cupped her face, looked at her
with his moist eye lashes and begged “Sweetheart - the only thing I want to do
is to give this child everything that my father denied me. Please let me have
this closure.” She relented, just to see the childish smile on his face.Then
why did she wake up in the middle of the night every day since, dreading her
decision and devising a way out? Why did she take up running on the beach every
day since, as soon as he left for the shoot?
She returned to their cottage exhausted enough to think anymore.
She took off her shoes and hung them on the fence. As she crashed on her bed, melting
into a trance, a fragile little ‘dream’ like thought sneaked into her
consciousness. She heard a giggle, and saw
two silhouettes. It was more lucid now. She saw herself as a child, pure and
vulnerable, and then she saw herself, older, wiser, holding the child’s hand. She
was teaching her to write. She planted a
kiss on her nose. They giggled again. ‘What is happening?’ A shadow witnessing the dream, questioned. ‘This
is not what you desire – Or is it?’ Her countenance grew serious. She tried pulling
away from the child who clung to her waist. It was late; she had to go but the
child held her tight around her waist, so tight it hurt.
She came out of her trance in pain. The white linen of her
bed was now red. She cried. It was indeed too late to ponder over the lucid dream.
He had returned to their cottage and rushed to her side.
“Baby- we need to get you to the hospital. It’s a long way. ”.
He was heartbroken but his wife was his first child and his first concern. He
carried her outside in his arms and gently laid her inside the car.
“Let me get your shoes.” He ran back to the threshold of
their cottage and picked the shoes that hung on the fence. It was drenched,
battered and sand smeared. He stood there frozen momentarily as it dawned upon
him - a cruel possibility. His steps grew heavier as he returned to the car to
his suffering wife. His piercing glare ordered her to look him in the eyes and
refute the allegations that his wounded heart was throwing. She didn’t. He gave
the shoes in her hand, not by her foot, but in her hand and drove off in
silence, not comforting her, just a hollow silence - leaving behind only the
dreams undulating over white sand.
