Roll of dice

Summery: "Buss Yun samajhlo ke tumhe jeetna chahate hai...jaise kabhi kissi ne na kiya ho, aur kabhi koi na kar paaye."

◇◇◇

Amrit wakes up with a little scream.

The nightmare she had had already slipping through the fingers of her conscious.

It is raining outside. She could hear the muffled sound of pouring water. The needle attached to her arm has been removed and a plaster lay neatly over its mark.

By the window in an amber pool of light Veer is reading.

For a moment the vision catches her. She had seldom seen him doing anything other than making merry with his liquor.

There is a sense of tranquillity about him, but also an edge of restrained power. He flips a page and his fingers move. Those hands that had drawn blood so easily the day before, cradles the book with such peace now. There are dark bruises on his knuckles, merging with shadows.

"What are you reading?"

He looks up at her voice, unconsciously marks the place he was reading with a finger.

"Kissi kambhakat ne likha hai - hum kitabon ko nahi, kitabon mein kudh ko padthe hai."

Amrit takes a moment to digest that.

"Mujhe bhi pad kar sunaiye," she says then - in the amber light that fills the room, their eyes meet and hold. "Kudh ko."

For a moment Veer says nothing. The light chases shadows across his face, highlighting shapes and lines that make him. Highlighting the expression that crosses his eyes. He bites his lip. But then, opens the book dutifully.

"Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear.
Let him not love the earth too deeply.
Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire.
Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley.
For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."

For a moment Amrit says nothing. She understands what Veer meant by we read ourselves in books.

Those paragraphs remind her of a home lost, a home town lost - a country she may never see again.

"It reminds me of kites flying over our veranda in Lahore," she says in a soft voice. "The scent on that wind, the scent of that earth - color of that sky."

"Why don't you write of them?" He suggests suddenly. "Woh mitti - woh aasmaan abhi bhi hai Amrit. Tumhare Andar. Kiyun in yaado ko lekar ghoom thi ho, kyun unhe kissi panne pe aazad nahi kar deti?"

"I'm injured," Amrit waves her uninjured hand. "Mujhse likhi nahi jaayengi."

"Hum likhein?"

He voices it differently, as if asking permission for something more intimate.

"Ji?"

"If you allow me, I could bridge this gap between you and a paper. Those will still be your words, your memories - humein buss ek tareeka bana lo apne yaado ko aazaad karne ka."

There is a beat of silence. Then Amrit asks in a voice that she thinks will not disturb the reverence that had fallen over them.

"Why?" The question sounds like a thought, she is yet to take her eyes off his. Veer stands up slowly, and comes to sit by her feet.

"Bus yun samajhlo ke hum tumhe jeetna chahate hai," he tells her. The shift in the air makes her shudder. "Tumhe aise hazil karna chahatein hain jaise kabhi kissi ne na kiya ho."

He leans  across and picks something up from the table beside her. For a moment, Amrit holds her breath, feeling his exhale tickling along her throat.

He wasn't holding her, they weren't even touching- but it was an embrace all the same and she could feel his heat, feel the impression of his next words where he breathes them in her ear.

"Aur kabhi koi na kar paaye."

She bunches a fist full of her duvet and heaves a breath when he moves away.

Amrit stares at him, speechless and a little breathless. What exactly has happened while she was unconscious? Where was the man she married and who was this new, bewildering entity?

What he had taken from the bedside table - Amrit wonders how things appear and disappear from there - is a pen.

Veer twirls it between his fingers now, an unconscious action while he holds her eyes. 

Amrit watches transfixed as if he is showing her some kind of a magic trick. Back and forth, back and forth the pen dances between his fingers, and then it pauses.

Her eyes darts back to his, large with anticipation.

Veer holds her gaze for a moment and then chuckles. Presses the back of his palm to his mouth and his laughter grows, rumbling, booming.

"Haye," he says dragging a long inhale and trying to hold himself. Then he reaches and pats her cheek. "Kitni bholi ho tum, aur itni laal ho jaati ho ke dil bhar aata hai."

"You were jesting?" Amrit tears her eyes away, miffed.

Her heart still beats in her throat, she wishes he doesn't see how pulse bobs at the base of her throat.

Veer's fingers curl around her chin and holds, not letting her steal her gaze away.

"Yeh mazaak nahi tha." His voice grows deep, his eyes darker, his lashes drop when he trails his gaze down her throat, finding that very pulse point she wanted to hide.

Amrit swallows.

"Humare beech ke woh chaar kadam ab nahi rahe Amrit. Phir tum ne hi toh kaha tha, shaadi shaadi hoti hai - sachchi ya jhoothi nahi hoti."

Veer reminds her.

"Tum ne humein jeet liya. Ab hum bhi tumhe jeet na chahate hai. Aur phir, poore zindagi padi hai koshish karne ko."

He pulls back, and unclips his pen, looks at her expectantly.

Amrit wonders where he gets that confidence, how he knows that she would not deny him? Was he that sure of the power of his words or did he know her that well? Or has he already, started winning her?

"Toh Shuroo karein - Ranjhan?"

Amrit inhales sharply. That name, that pen - name which binds her to another man, to all those years long lost, spilled effortlessly from his lips. It sounded different, but not wrong. She nods, and his pen glides across paper.

March 1951, rain, dim lights and conversation between Akif and Ranjhan; of a home lost and a heart left behind, of a part of her that is hers no more; of Lahore.

*

Outside, unknown to Amrit guards stand at her door, shaking their heads at Randheer who had somehow managed to find his way back to her.

"Unke patni se koi na milen, aisa Chote hukum ka aadesh hai," one of them tells him. "Maaf karna Randheer sahab, we wouldn't dare go against his word."

**

[[ Cry, the Beloved Country is a novel by Alan Paton, published in 1948. - so by the time Veer reads it, it's relatively a new book. ]]