He Saw Music Dance & Other Stories
By Raja Sharma
Copyright@2011Raja Sharma
Smashwords Edition
Chapter 1
He Wrote His Way Out
He had achieved all that a person aspires for on his way to success: name, fame, money, wife, children, a big bungalow, three cars, and fat bank balance. Despite all this, he felt that something was missing. He had thought words, produced words, arranged words, and created wonderful stories for his millions of readers but the very thing which he wanted to happen in his life was missing.
That evening, while he was driving home from the house of his beloved, Madhuri, a beautiful unmarried woman of about forty, he was thinking about his wife and children. Madhuri had written her life in his name, for she had refused to marry, though hundreds of rich and handsome suitors had tried to woo her but she was the one who wanted to remain submerged in the stories written by him. She wanted to see her happiness in his happiness.
He had passed two score years of his life and he was nearing fifty, physically tired and almost helpless when it came to doing the works which required physical strength. However, his mind was getting sharper day by day and the stories which he produced gave more delight to his fans and they eagerly waited for his new ones.
No one was there to greet him when he stopped his car in the porch and ascended the steps leading to the main door. He knew that his son would be somewhere in night clubs, drinking away his hard earned money, and his wife and daughters would be lost in the world of their chatting and talking about people, or watching television. His old parents would be soundly asleep in their room on the first floor.
He threw his coat on the sofa in the drawing room and moved towards the bar. He poured himself a large drink and swallowed it in one gulp. Drink was the only consolation which took him away for a little while from the world of turmoil he was living in. It was past midnight. He collapsed in the sofa and switched on the TV; he changed a few channels but nothing pleased him; he brought his laptop from his study and began to create the plot for his new story. He had promised his publisher that he would be giving them two new stories the following week.
Hardly had he typed a few hundred words, when he felt heaviness in his chest; he drank water but nothing changed. The heaviness changed into pain and he fell on to the floor.
He tried to peer in the dimly lit room; he found his body lying on the floor; he was floating in the air. Obviously surprised and confused, he looked at his body once again. His eyes were closed and there was no moment in his body. He tried to enter his body but he failed. He felt light and free, as if he was in a world where he would not be dominated by his physical senses. He turned back and saw a strange light behind his head. A voice informed him, “You have little time. You must be ready for the journey. We have to go away from this place.”
He tried to speak but words did not emanate in any audible form. Suddenly, he felt he was drifting along the path that led him backwards. He was a little child, holding his father’s finger, going to school. Then he saw he was a young man. His mother and father were talking about his marriage. His wife was a good woman, if not wonderful and there was nothing wrong in his married life. His son’s birth was a grand occasion and after the arrival of his daughters the house was complete. Success, as if, was waiting for him. He got rich and bought a big bungalow.
He saw his beloved, his Madhuri, who was the only one who shared his delights and sorrows if there were any. She had loved him for about two decades but he had not been able to give her anything else besides sweet words and suggestions. She had refused to marry and she was happy with the way life was facing her. He visited her at least twice in a week and talked for hours with her, mostly about people, the world, relationships, and tragedies in the lives of the people. She consoled him: listened to him, understood him, for she was intelligent and highly qualified; she caressed his hair while his head would be placed in her lap; she looked in his eyes and gave him the pleasure which can’t be put into words; she never complained about the things which stood in front of her. He wanted to do something for her but she was a woman for great resolution and self pride and she refused to take even a small gift from him. She was happy that he loved her, though she was deprived of the pleasure a woman wants physically, for he never tried and she never demanded. It was a love which touched the heights of the world which is so masterly created by the romantics in their wonderful creations. She believed that she was the richest woman because she had thousands of letters, which he had written to her, in her possession. She had the treasure of thoughts which they had exchanged.
He saw his son, the only son, who had never been able to be close to him. He had studied in the best school and then in college. He had a group of friends who were mostly guided by the modern gadgets. Like millions of other youngsters in the modern world, he had hardly any time for his parents. He had never read his father’s books because he was interested in loud music, fashionable girls, drinks, clubs, and the people who thought like him. He never paused to think that the world he was living in was raised on the strong foundations of the past of which his father was a definite part.
He thought about his wife. A very obedient lady, she had listened to him all his life and hardly ever complained. He had only one regret that she had never tried to understand him because she was mostly guided by the people like her, and she was highly influenced by the sense of property. She was happy that she had a big house but she never felt that house remains house if there is no correspondence between the people living in it, if there is no mutual understanding, if there is no time to share the thoughts. The house never becomes home in lieu of the aforementioned. He felt at home when he was with Madhuri though.
He saw his daughters, very beautiful and lively, two of them married and one unmarried. The married ones mostly spent their bigger part of day with their mother in his house because they found their father’s gifts lying around them. The things they lacked in their husbands’ houses they looked for in their father’s house. In past twenty years, he had hardly spent a few hours with any of his daughters because they did not rejoice in the world of thoughts and imagination he was living in.
After about two hours, he saw people gather around his body. Someone pressed his chest and someone poured water through his open mouth. Nothing happened. They summoned a doctor. They were worried or pretended to be worried he could not surmise because there were no tears in their eyes.
He flew to the house of Madhuri and found that she was reading his letters. There were tears in her eyes. He wanted to touch her but it was impossible because his body wasn’t with him. He felt sorry for her. He loved her but he had to go back because the voice behind him kept on reminding that they were getting late.
He saw his dog, sitting at his feet, licking his soles, trying to feel any kind of sensation. He would touch his feet with his paws and when he found no sensation he would keep his head on his paws and close his eyes.
In the morning, he saw a lawyer with a sheaf of papers in his hand. They were haggling about the property. The son wanted bigger share of cash. The daughters wanted to divide the house and get bigger share. The mother was too meek to say anything. She had tears in her eyes, as if trying to understand the sense of regret. She was sitting next to his body.
Madhuri had been informed by someone and she had rushed to the place. She was standing in one corner of the room, tears flowing profusely from her dark beautiful eyes. He had often mentioned those eyes in his stories.
He smiled and felt his heart go to her. He knew that it was too late to change anything. He looked at the faces of the people. Now he realized that he had gained the power to see through the minds of the people. He could read their thought.
His wife was thinking that she had been unable to understand him. His son was worried about the money in his bank account. His daughters were thinking about the gold safely kept in his bank locker. Madhuri was thinking about all those beautiful moments which she had spent with him. She was praying for the peace of his soul.
The voice said, “You have one last chance. Tell me if you want to go back to your body. You can continue to enjoy your body for a few more years.”
“No, I don’t want to go back.”
After that there was nothing in front of him. He felt he was flying towards a world where all his worries would disappear.
A few days after his death, normalcy returned to the house. His photo was hung on the wall in the drawing room. Children were busy, of course, rich and independent, in their new world. His wife was trying to join the threads of life. Madhuri was writing; she had decided to write a book of letters written by him.
His dog did not eat for three days. They tried their best but he was faithfully adamant to his late master. He closed his eyes too on the fourth day and said goodbye to the world full of complexity, uncertainty, greed, and obviously deprived of the values which once were definitely humane.
Chapter 2
Tragic Love
She did not possess the looks which could turn heads; she was not the owner of a body which pulled the attention of the passersby; she did not have that grace of manners which could attract eligible young men to her, but she possessed the heart of gold, a heart that was touched when she saw someone in trouble, a heart that reached out to friends and strangers alike if they had any problems, for she never hesitated from helping anyone who sought her help which they knew she could provide them.
There was nothing special in her personality which could make her stand out in a crowd. She had grown up in a family of six; she was the eldest so she burdened the responsibility at a tender age; she loved her younger brothers and sisters.
With the passage of time, she became stronger and brighter and she instilled a sort of light and cheer to the people she met.
In the first year of her college, she met a boy who was a kind of rebel. He thought he was the centre of attraction in the college. There was no doubt that he was handsome and he could attract the girls. She began to help him in his studies because she was a brilliant student and she often helped her classmates. He was in a way obliged to her because she helped him during their exams and he managed to pass the first year in college.
Sudhir, the handsome boy, fell in love with a girl from their class. Our girl was hurt but she did not tell him. Sumitra, our heroine, never uttered a word even if she was deeply hurt.
Sudhir’s girlfriend was extremely beautiful and the boys there envied Sudhir. The girl was so beautiful that no one could escape her attraction: hair like a hallow around her; the eyes the bluest blue of the ocean; voice the sweetest one could imagine of hearing.
Sudhir told Sumitra, his tutor and guide, about the girl. He addressed his girlfriend as ‘a beautiful angel’. Sumitra felt deeply hurt because she was not beautiful and she did not have the heart of the one he loved, but the girl did not mind it at all because she was happy in the happiness of Sudhir. Sumitra helped him write the most beautiful of the love letters to his beloved. She taught him how to dress well and how to say the right words. She also taught him to buy the right gifts for his angel.
Sudhir was very happy but Sumitra was in much pain, though she never disclosed; she cried behind her smiles.
The destiny had some other things in lot for them. The angel, in the due course of time, met a richer boy and she left Sudhir. Without any prior indication she left Sudhir. He was extremely afflicted and so was Sumitra to see him sad.
With the passage of time, the wounds healed. Sudhir realized something about Sumitra which he had never realized before. He had never noticed before that she meant something to him. Now he began to see how her laughter sounded heavenly and how her smiles said a lot and brightened his darkest days. He began to realize that she was simply beautiful and he began to fall in love with her.
He did not have courage to speak to her because he had hurt her in the past by going after the girl whom he called ‘an angel’.
One morning, Sudhir decided to visit her. While walking to her house, he was nervous and fidgeting. His mind was restless. He had already determined to inform her how beautiful she was to him; he was going to disclose he was wonderfully in love with her.
His knock at her door did not bring any response. There was no one in the house.
He was informed by a neighbour that the family had moved away, shifted to Mumbai. It was about three hundred kilometers from the town he lived in. He did not have any clue where to find her in Mumbai.
After about one month of gloomy existence, one day, he picked one of the books Sumitra had gifted him. He had not even opened that book at that time when it was gifted because his mind was fully occupied with the thoughts of the angel he was in love. The book was given to him about one week before his separation from the girl he called angel.
Sudhir opened the book and began to turn the pages. There was a letter, neatly folded, between the pages of the book. He hurriedly opened the book and began to read.
Dear Sudhir,
I was happy to see you happy and I did not want to disturb you but last week when I came to know that your angel has left you and gone with a richer boy I was deeply hurt. I wanted to comfort you and speak to you but I did not have courage. I have always loved you, Sudhir, but I did not say because I know you don’t like me. I am not as beautiful as your angel.
We are going to Mumbai next week. My father is transferring his business to Mumbai. Actually, he is doing it for my sake. I did not tell you but now I must tell you. I have a brain tumor and there is little chance that I will survive. This is, perhaps, the first and the last letter to you.
With love
Sumitra
Sudhir began to cry and he did not stop for a long while. He did not know what to do because it was not going to be possible to find her in Mumbai without an address. However, he packed his bag and left for the city where he hoped to find her. Little did he know that she had already gone to the sleep of no return.
“No, Sumitra, you are the most beautiful girl in this world. I am coming, Sumitra, I am coming….” he was whispering to himself while packing his bag to nowhere.
Chapter 3
He Saw Music Dance
When she danced, music seemed to be oozing out of her graceful figure; when she laughed, watery pearls of cataracts were heard to be splattering; when she spoke, her voice seemed to be emanating from the unfathomable depth of her heart; when she looked in your eyes, the entire world seemed to have been narrowed in those two beautiful crystals. Yes, such was Nrityangana, yes, Nrityangana Sharma, around twenty, about five feet ten inches in height, with fair complexion. The mesmerizing appeal in her turned many heads and eyes remained glued to her figure.
Three years older than her, Mrinal Guru was an expert of music and dance.
When her education of music and dance was near completion, one day, Mrinal Guru felt gloomy. Though having instructed many young girls in his teaching career, this time Mrinal Guru was not at ease. The same was quite obvious in Nrityangana’s eyes. She did like him but she never allowed her feelings for him to be obvious.
Then came the day when Nrityangana had to leave for Mumbai to present her first dance show. Her parents were accompanying her too. Mrinal had also reached the railway station to see them off. His eyes were moist and a glimpse of wetness in Nrityangana’ eyes was visible to him. On one hand, Mrinal Guru was happy that his disciple was going to present her first dance show, on the other hand, he feared lest she should go away forever.
Their destiny had already chalked out their future. Mrinal Guru came back home and got busy in his dance school. It was not easy for him to forget her. Every evening, after the class, he would watch her dance videos for hours, thus refreshing her image in his memory.
After about a week, a phone call informed him that Nrityangana’s dace show was a great success and she had been approached by many film producers. Mrinal did not like it at all, for he knew that one she got lost in the dazzle of the movie world, she would hardly ever remember him.
After that he received only three phone calls from Nrityangana in the ensuing three years. There was nothing much to talk between them, or they were unable to say what they had in their hearts. Mrinal wanted to tell her about his feelings for her but he lacked courage and remained quiet.
Nrityangana was progressing by leaps and bounds. She found herself in an absolutely new world and she had begun to enjoy the glory which had easily followed her.
Then came the unfortunate day: her parents died in a car accident. They were seriously injured and they were rushed to the nearest hospital. Nrityangana summoned the best of the available doctors but they were unable to save them. Nrityangana was completely shattered and lonely after the death of her parents.
When Mrinal read about the accident in a newspaper, he was deeply perturbed and he wanted to rush to Nrityangana to console her. Unfortunately, new students were being admitted to his dance school and it was not possible to leave the assignments. He phoned Nrityangana and comforted her in every possible way.
In the following three months there was no phone call from her. One evening, she phoned him and informed that she was getting married and going to America. Her prospective husband was a doctor in New York.
Everything seemed to have been over for him but he was relieved that she had found a good husband.
After about six months, Nrityangana began to call him regularly, sometimes twice in a week. She had opened a dance school in New York. She never talked about her husband and her married life.
Mrinal was happy that she was doing well there.
After about seven years, one evening, while teaching dance to his disciples, Mrinal felt that his legs felt heavy. He collapsed in a chair and could not stand up for quite some time. After about three hours, he visited his doctor. The doctor advised him to reduce the hours of dancing and he prescribed some medicines.
The inevitable was bound to happen: one evening, while dancing, he collapsed and fell unconscious on to the ground. His students rushed him to the hospital. After a thorough examination, the doctors reached a decision that his body was paralyzed below his waist.
Mrinal was a rich man and he could hire the best medical help, and as a result he was sent back home in a wheel chair. A full time nurse was hired, though there were his students who were ever ready to help him.
One month passed but Mrinal felt that it was impossible for him to pass his rest of life sitting in that wheel chair. He was depressed and one evening he decided to end his life. He was about to open the bottle of poison, when the phone rang.
It was Nrityangana.
“Hello!”
“Hello, Nrityangana, how are you?” said Mrinal, trying to bring life in his voice.
“How could you hide such a big thing from me?” she seemed to be worried and disturbed.
“Congratulations, how is your married life?”
“My marriage was just a contract. My husband married me to make his dying mother happy. After one month of our marriage, we got separated. He has his girlfriend with him. I am independent and I am very happy. My ex-husband says that you can walk again. He is ready to help you, Mrinal,” said she.
“What?” Mrinal said with surprise and obvious delight.
“After the death of my father, I did not want to live in Mumbai so I agreed to marry him to go away to America,” said Nrityangana.
“No, Nrityangana, it is too late now,” said Mrinal.
“Nothing is changed. I wanted to tell you but I was waiting for the proposal from you. Now it is clear. I am reaching there the day after tomorrow. You will be flying to America with me,” Nrityangana’s voice was trembling with joy.
The line got disconnected but Mrinal’s heart was filled with extreme joy. He switched on the video and began to watch Nrityangana dance. He was watching her dance not to keep her memories fresh but to strengthen himself to face her.
Chapter 4
Unreasonable Guilt
Like any other day, I was busy working in my father’s ornament shop. We manufactured gold ornaments and displayed them in our show windows. Being the son of a goldsmith brought me the respect which follows the rich in the society. Since our work requires extreme concentration, we hardly ever speak to people who visit the shop.
Of late my mother and father had begun talking about my marriage. They had shown me the pictures of a few girls but I had rejected them all on one or the other ground. It is not that I did not want to get married; on the contrary, I wanted to fall in love with a girl and then marry her, though I could not tell my parents about my intention. At least once in a day, either my mother or my father reminded me that I had to meet a so and so girl on Sunday or Monday. I met them, talked to them, and finally rejected them. I was looking for the girl who could think like me.
There are two sales girls who attend the customers and sell them the ornaments which my father and I, with the help of three assistants, mould, design, and give finishing touches. Designing gold ornaments is not an easy job, for eyes have to be very sharp and mind precise. For all that, when a beautiful girl or a woman entered the shop, I stealthily lifted my eyes from the work I would be doing to have a glimpse of the girl.
I was around twenty two at that time and it was quite natural to be attracted to the young girls who visited the shop. I reached the shop early in the morning and left it late in the evening, so it was not possible to see the girls outside the shop. My shop was my only world, the only window to the outside world, the only way of meeting a beautiful girl one of these days.
One day, the sales girls were on leave because they had to attend the marriage of a relative. The sales girls were cousins and both of them had to go, though I wanted one of them to stay in the shop.
I did not know that the very first customer was going to be in my memory for the rest of my life.
A tall beautiful girl entered the girl, in blue embroidered suit, her long black lose hair reaching up to her waist, her eyes full of confidence, and the voice the most pleasant of the sounds I had ever heard.
“Good morning,” the twinkling voice my ears and I looked up from my seat on the floor. I was working on a design, hiding behind the counter.
I left the piece that I had in my hands and left the ground. I took two steps and reached behind the counter.
“Good morning, yes madam?” I smiled, the very rare act which I had reserved for such occasions which were equally rare.
“I don’t see any sales girls today?” she looked around.
“Yes, madam, they are on leave today. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, Seema, one of the sales girls working here was my classmate at college. She told me that I would get some reduction in price if she recommended…” she was hesitant.
“No, problem, I will solve your problem. Seema’s friends are always welcome here. Tell me what should I show you, I mean, necklaces, finger rings, ear rings, or any other special design which you want to get made?” I said in a highly professional manner.
“Nothing special, actually, I have a broken gold chain. I was thinking if you could make a pair of ear rings using the gold of the chain. It belonged to my grandmother. She is no more now and the chain was lying uselessly. I thought of getting a pair of ear rings made…”
“Of course, we can do that. May I have a look at it?”
She began to look inside her shoulder bag but my eyes were fixed on those beautiful hands, especially the fingers. She had the most beautiful fingers with long polished nails. I imagined those fingers would glitter if she put some of our gold rings around those slender fingers.
My reverie was broken when she pulled the chain out and handed it to me. It was a heavy chain, more than thirty grams.
“You can have two things made because the ear rings of this weight would look quite heavy on your face. If you say, I could make a finger ring as well?” I looked in her eyes.
“How much would it cost?” she said softly.
“Only the labour cost, not much, two hundred and fifty rupees,” I smiled.
She began to pull the money out of her bag but I stopped her, “Not now, you can pay when you come to fetch the ornaments. Would you like to see our design album?”
“Yes, please…”
I could notice that she was excessively shy. She would have stopped at the first page and chosen the designs but I was not ready for that. I wanted her to stay in the shop for some more time.
“There are some other designs, please take your time. There is no hurry,” said I and rushed to the backroom to fetch some other albums.
“Would you like to have a cup of tea?” I took a step forward.
“No, thank you, I don’t drink tea.”
“All right then, we will have orange juice,” I said ecstatically and began to go out of the shop to order two glasses of juice at the juice vendor across the road.
I could see that she was trying to protest and stop me but before her voice could reach me I was out of the shop.
When I reentered the shop after a minute, she said, “It was not necessary. Why did you take so much of trouble?”
“No, it is my duty, after all you are Seema’s friend first and our customers second,” I gave her a pleasant friendly smile.
She smiled back but she could not hide the demureness, so rare in the girls in this blunt modern age.
I could see the tinge of pink on her cheeks. Her fair complexion was glowing, perhaps, more because of the hot weather than the exchange of words. I immediately switched on the fan and turned to her.
“It is quite hot today,” said I.
“But it is pleasant,” the girl smiled.
“I would write a receipt of the gold. Your name please, if you don’t mind?”
“Minerva…Minerva Sharma…”
The name immediately stuck to my heart and I liked it, the name of the goddess Minerva. I was the student of Ancient History and I was doing my M. A. as a private student. The Greek Gods and Goddesses always appealed to me.
“Do you know there is something special in your name?” I began to write the receipt.
“And what is that?” she was obviously curious.
“It is the name of a Greek Goddess,” I raised my eyes and looked in her eyes.
She liked it because the smile that appeared on her beautiful face was eloquent enough to suggest me that I was not one of those boys who she must have come across during her college days.