A waft from the past

Indeed, Jai Mahal -- the ancestral home of Raja Man Singh, the erstwhile Maharaja of Adamgarh, one of the states -- was being guarded for mischief. The instructions were precise and clear- 'sanitize it of all pests'. An extensive hunt for all reporters had been carried out; they were then packed off their land. The whole state was sanitized off media – print and electronic. The offices of all news agencies were forced shut. Only one news channel was functioning since last year, ever since a slew of attacks were launched on its princess.

It had all begun one summer evening about five years back when Aryaman Vardhan or Aman, as his friends liked calling him, was visiting them in Delhi.

Even a sweltering hot summer afternoon held a mysterious charm for him. The breeze, that ran through the rows of trees and bushes, was cool and refreshing and seemed more delicious than ever before. They had an added charm as though they were trying to convey something to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled a long drought of the fragrant air...(ah they were the jasmine flowers...rows of jasmine and lilies were all planted in her garden. At nights the same delicate scent issued out into the air. He loved sitting up late at night inhaling the divine air, but it had an additional scent in it – that of hers, she always wore a perfume...she said she loved to smell good. He loved sitting up all night, gazing at the stars with her.

Her? He immediately opened his eyes in astonishment; he had never thought of her since they had parted ways. He was still angry at her for leaving him and had vowed that he will never think of her again – a promise well-kept for five years but broken perchance today. Then what was leading him to her, today? Was it the waft of the soft breeze that caressed his senses? He was again won over by it.

The eyes gently shut themselves and pictures from the past came fluttering before him. One image was stronger than all the others: that of the lovely childish... haughty... no, almost pedantic in her antics, exuberant and playful Myra. A tranquil stupor enveloped him; it was both peaceful and restful. Once again he was conveyed to those glorious days – she was sitting beside him and they were united yet again.

Nature works in ambiguous ways and more often than not fate always connives with it to lead us to our destiny. While Aman was thus reminiscing his past, Myra's heart was in flutters too. The offender was an invitation card, which was ever so innocently placed on the dining table by the enthusiastic hand of her father-in-law. It was an invitation to a family reunion. But why should that be the cause for such a ruffle?

"We must all attend it." he said, as the family gathered for the breakfast; "You will get a chance to meet our extended family. Everyone will be there."

"Impossible. I have a meeting with the German delegates." – said her husband. "I am sorry, I won't be able to make it today. Who are these people anyway? never heard of them before"

"They are my aunt's grandchildren. My aunt had four children: three sons and a daughter. The daughter married a young man out of the community so she was disowned by her family. Her husband took her abroad where they made their home and have prospered. Having been in exile all these years, she has finally returned home and wishes to mend the broken bonds." – the father–in–law was explaining. "Myra, you will come along, won't you?" he asked, looking over his huge spectacles.

But Myra wasn't listening to them, her eyes were frozen on the names in the invitation and her thoughts had drifted away to her childhood days, away to her Kaki maa, to her 'sandesh', to Amol, Sunanda and Prabhu: their names were as embossed on her heart as on this card. She couldn't mistake them. They sure were her childhood friends, her dear friends, and her 'kaki maa'- whom she loved dearly.

Her eyes filled with tears of joy at the prospect of meeting them again. But what had flustered her was not so much the presence of these names as the absence of one name – dear name. These names had brought back the image of someone ever so dear to her. Once again her heart was thumping with the same lingering ache in it; renewing in her the same sense of loss that she had felt many years ago. It had stubbornly refused to leave her however hard she might try to show it the doors. It had resolutely made her heart it's home, though lying low most of the time and only resurfacing on such occasions as today.

Her joy of meeting her friends was slightly marred by the knowledge of his absence. She feared of the many allusions(mentions) there will be of him. There was nothing they did in which he was not a party: the games they played, their study group, the mischief they planned and executed, their raiding the kitchen when hungry, their plundering the neighbour's gardens, stealing all the flowers: such glorious past, lost in time!!!

"Myra...Myra, don't tell me you don't want to go either." came the sharp voice of her father-in-law who was exasperated at her absent-mindedness.

Unable to find her voice she merely nodded her head in affirmation.

"Does that mean you are coming along?" he asked again sharply,

Unwilling to meet his eyes lest she may give away her little secret, she nodded again.

"Be ready by seven. I will send the pickup." saying so he left.

That nagging ache grew more and more intense as the day wore off until dressing up became an ordeal. As the evening progressed, she wondered if it wouldn't be wiser to beg out of this social engagement. She looked at the watch and realized it was too late for cancellation. And so, what cannot be cured must be endured.

Once out of the house and in the car, her attention was diverted to the lovely moon in the night sky. The silver rays coming out of it mystified everything it touched: even Delhi roads, though disorderly and chaotic, had a magical charm under its spell. The chaos outside had a calming effect on her. She looked out into the sea of vehicles: each of them in hurry, each heading towards an unknown destination and each unfulfilled and dissatisfied with its lot in the world.

Nature works in ambiguous ways incomprehensible to human intellect. And fate decides when it is time to bring two souls to a common ground of communion. If Myra's heart was flustered, then is it possible that Aman's would be calm?