1 Picture 1 Story Week #62- The Love That Reached Nowhere

dove11 (77)Verified | Club100in Steem For Pakistan • yesterday

Love for nature gives us happiness. The closer we go to nature, the better we feel, and it makes us happier. The joy of living life with nature is different. But sometimes it gives pain too. I remember the days when I came to Bhuwali for the first time decades ago and met her on the slopes of pines near the Sanitarium.

Today, lying in this small cottage in Bhuwali, I look at the mountains in front of the open window. I can see the circling of water-filled, dry clouds hovering around about to rain. The mountain winds hit my window roaring as much as my irregular breath.

I keep lying, and it becomes morning. I keep lying, and it becomes evening, but I am not feeling like going to the pines where I met her for the first time. I keep lying, and the night descends. The curtains on the doors of my room and windows hang silently day and night, morning and evening wavering like my mind.

Image mine

This morning I wanted to spend the day roaming around. I walked slowly to the market and then stood at the turn of the climb and kept thinking for some time, and then I walked towards the depths of the lake in the late afternoon, but nothing was clear in my mind.

I saw the piles of red apples at the bus stand, but I did not feel that this was Bhuwali. I had been thinking that if I stayed here any longer, I would be suffocating here.

It was the same Bhuwali where the waving winds blew from the tall pine trees. Today, the winds of Bhuwali feel no good to my mind or body. I reached the post office through the intersection and went towards 'Pines' passing through the small hill market.

From the turn of the wide open road, a nice, narrow path went towards the cottage. I looked below the forest, where there was a wide open valley between the isolated mountains. I could see small, straight, and slanting fields spread on the mountainous land. Far ahead, towards the south, a pool of water was shining like a silver plate in the sun.

I came here when the night was about to fall. I returned and laid down at night with a book in my hand and got bored reading. I saw in the darkness of my eyes that I was climbing a mountain. In the distance, clusters of pine trees were visible, the sky was deserted, and there was no sound except the sound of my breathing.

I got up, lifted the curtain of the window, and looked outside. The light of the room was spread on the grass on the right side of the lawn. I took a deep breath and touched my hair. My forehead felt cold. A frightening emptiness in my mind made me even more sad.

I was thinking, "Why did the person whom I had forgotten forever remember her today?" Why did I remember her? Why could I see that hand trying to touch me, which I had seen for the last time years ago while descending from the 'Pines' slope?

I will not say I touched her, because extending an arm to touch her after thinking about it countless times does not mean touching her. Yes, I had never touched her, and now I will never be able to touch her because, after staying in Delhi for two months, when I returned to Bhuwali yesterday, I came to know that she is no longer in this world. For whom should I return here now?

A mist gathers in my eyes; I regain my composure and look back once again. I really did not stay there. I kept descending, and with every step, I went further away from that cottage, the woman living in the cottage, and those two eyes of hers—but not from her memory.

I still remember her. Even today I remember that afternoon when she and I were walking on the walking path along the shore of the lake. It was a lovely day. That evening, when we came to this last turn, we saw some lotus flowers in this pond near a very big, dense tree.

She stood there thinking for some time. Then she took off her shoes and came down the shore barefoot. She put her foot on a big stone and bent down plucked two lotus flowers from the stalk and came back.

The fear of touching her, which till now used to stop me, used to bind me, went away. I wanted to say something while bending over her curly hair that was fluttering in the cold breeze of the lake and encircling her with my arm, but she gently removed my hand from her shoulder and, looking at me, said, "Don't raise your hand for something you cannot get!"

There was no reproach in her voice, no sarcasm, no bitterness. She said only whatever had to be said. I could not reply to this question that day. I could not reply to it even after going to her again and again and could not reply to it in those moments of farewell when I was descending the 'Pines' slope for the last time.

The weakness that I now feel is my cowardice. Today I curse that cowardice for myself and her. But now she is not in this world. She is gone too far away from me.