Meera

It was dark as he stumbled in the room, feeling his way around, until he came to his familiar spot and sat down on a footstool. He let out a sigh, as his tired legs found respite from too much strain. He liked it here. There was a sense of solace that he found nowhere else. The spot was in the back of the store room in the house, a cool and silent spot. Not even the rats ventured here, they preferred to stay in the front part of the room. The walls were thin, like all the walls in his house. And beyond the walls, was another house, another landscape, another set of people, ones he had never met. His mother had once asked him why he preferred to sit at this spot and he had replied that he didn’t know and that he only liked it here. However, he had concealed the real reason from his mother. The reason he sat here was that the wall was very thin at this spot and he could hear what was going on in the room beyond the wall, in the other house. Usually, in the afternoon hours when everyone was sleeping, he could hear someone come in stealthily, and then close the door. For a while everything would be quiet and then it would start. The dance. He could hear the sound of the anklet in her feet as she danced, the rhythmic sound like heavenly music to his ears. He did not know her name but he guessed that she was called Meera. Once he had been listening to her dance and then suddenly she was interrupted and someone called out, “Meera”, rather too harshly in his opinion. She did not dance for the next one month almost and he had been so depressed then that his mother had begun to wonder if something was the matter with him. And then one fine day when he had decided to stop coming to his spot, she had come again. More stealthily, more silent than ever. Ah! What bliss!

He sat there in silence, waiting for Meera to come. He was very tired today. He began to feel drowsy and perhaps he did fall asleep when he was woken up to the sound of ghungroo as Meera started to dance. He immediately sat up in attention, as if to honour the dancer. He sat there and wondered how lovely it would be to look at her as she danced. He imagined a hall, decked for the occasion, full of connoisseurs and admirers, and musicians from exquisite places. They would play their music while Meera, his Meera, would spin and dance and sway the entire crowd off their feet with the sound of her ghungroo. He imagined her in shades of vibrant colours, a bright jade green one day, and deep blue the other. A shining purple or a rich yellow. And he imagined her face, a face of concentration and immense beauty with a circlet around her forehead, and dangling ear-rings in her ears. Oh! What grace and what beauty! And as she would dance, the crowd would cheer and applaud her and with every applause, her dance would get better and better, till the crowd, so overwhelmed by her performance, would start to weep tears of joy and thank the Heavens with fervent prayers for their good fortune at seeing Meera dance. His heart swelled in joy. Ah! Meera, the Lovely. Meera, the Gracious. Meera, the Charmer. Meera, the Queen of His Heart.

And thus he would sit, all afternoon, watching Meera dance in the eye of his mind. Then Meera did not come for one day and he was heartbroken. The next day, she came. But something was different. He heard her come in but something was different about the way she put her feet to the ground. He could immediately sense that something was wrong. Previously, whenever Meera was not in a good mood, or was angry at something, he would immediately get to know by the way she set her feet to the ground and by her dance. There would be a change in the rhythm, her motions almost angry. Yet today he could not discern what Meera was feeling. It was as if his Meera had ceased to exist entirely and someone else had taken her place! His heart started beating wildly. What had happened to the love of his life? What had cruel Fate thrown in her path? Meera started to dance but it was a dance so alien to him that he could not enjoy it even for a moment. 

Then it stopped abruptly and he could feel someone sit next to the wall. At first he heard nothing, but then he could make out the faint sound of someone crying. He went mad with grief as his heart burst into wild palpitations. Meera! What had happened? Why was she crying? Yet his throat was dry and his tongue tied. He could not say anything. He placed a hand on the wall, where he thought her shoulder would be, hoping to console her, but the weeping stopped abruptly. It was as if she felt someone’s presence. Then he heard the sound of someone moving and then the door closed. Meera had gone!

And so it continued for almost a month. She did not come some days. And when she did, her dance was foreign to him. Most of the time, she would not dance. Or else stop abruptly and sit and cry. His heart went out to her but he could not do anything. He wanted to go to her, to place a comforting hand on her shoulders, to make her feel that someone cared. That there was someone who loved her, loved her more than anyone would ever love someone. He wanted to place a hand on her cheek, to make her look at him, to wipe the tears from her rosy cheek and whisper consoling words in her ears. But of course, he could not.

And then after a month, she stopped coming altogether. He sat day and night in that spot but she never came. He grew mad in his grief and cried and called out to her, but she never came. He prayed to all the Gods he had heard of and he prayed in vain. He longed to listen to her dance one more time. But she never came.

And life went on for everyone else. Little did he know that Meera had been married off to someone in a different city. She was lonely and unhappy in her marriage. Often during the day time she would sit and cry and hope that there would be someone who would love her and make her feel loved. And little did Meera know that there lived a blind boy who sat day and night, in the darkness of the store room, hoping for his Meera to come back.

- Parekh, Pravesh

May 04, 2013; 01:50 AM