The Sound Of Jasmines

Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu, India.

Year: 1949.

"Atthai, this is not the vaetti I asked for. It's not soft enough! I don't want it!"

22-year-old Sundar threw the cloth away, which struck a copper glass on his nightstand, making it fall to the ground with loud noise as irritating as his temper.

"Must you be so loud? Why are you such a despicable wretch, Sundar?" His atthai, or aunt picked the long piece of cloth and clenched her fist with it. She wanted to smack her nephew on his head but she knew what consequences it would bring.

The last time she played her tricks on him, she ended up with a severe burn on her hand from his branding iron while she was held in a tight grip by the house attendants.

His attendants.

Sundar had a loyal lot of servants despite his hot-headed demeanor.

"Maybe I wouldn't be such a 'despicable wretch' if you had done your job right. You will treat me with respect, atthai. I may be a fatherless child and blind by birth, but I am the lord of this estate and the assets appa left behind. And I will continue to be. The only reason I'm keeping you and your worthless husband in this house is that amma likes your company. Now go tell the merchant to bring finer silk or I'll find another merchant, preferably a better one."

Thenral cursed him in her thoughts. She knew better than to slip her serpentine tongue in front of Sundar.

The young boy listened for footsteps and the mild sounds of bangles. There were none.

"Are you still here?! What for? Was thieving money from this house not enough? Are you casting black magic on me now?"

"No. I was just-"

"Get out!"

Sundar's voice thundered in the dead silence of the Iyer residence. His tense shoulders relaxed when he heard bangles jingle away from his proximity. The snake was gone. He stood up and made his way to the window. The warmth of the sun made him angrier. His body felt the heat, but he couldn't see the source of it. He never knew the light of anything that released it, because his was a world of complete darkness.

Kamala, Sundar's mother, told him the sun was a huge ball of fire floating in the sky when he was a child.

"Why doesn't it ever fall on our land, amma?" He asked.

"Don't say doomy things kanna. What if the Gods hear you and grant it?"

"Why would they do that? Aren't the Gods supposed to be good?"

"They are."

"Then why do you say they'll grant something bad?"

"I don't know. All I know is that if you say bad things with spite, they might happen."

"If they are good, why did they make me like this? Have I made a mistake I am not aware of?"

He heard a whimper and a sniffle, followed by a caress on the back of his head.

"I don't know that too. Maybe it's because they think you are special?"

"How is being visually impaired special?"

"We cannot have everything in the world; at least not without working for it. The Gods must have kept your sight with them because you were already too intelligent. You work with numbers faster than any accountant and merchant I have ever seen. Your other heightened senses have compensated you for the loss of your sight. You may not see, but you have more wisdom than I do."

Sundar was happy with that answer because it was true, but he was not satisfied.

His mood darkened more with the recollection of the old memory.

Even after learning of the solar system and the sun, his mother's explanation still is etched in his heart. It is a way he consoles and tortures himself parallelly when he is lonely, which is most of the time.

The house was large but empty and quiet. This was an abode whose walls had never heard laughter. Prosperity did prevail, but there was no mirth. Kamala was well aware of Sundar's temperament and thought that getting him married will make things better.

But which father would give her daughter's hand in marriage to a blind boy with a nasty temper? And even if there were candidates, their fathers expected Sundar to be submissive and behaved as if he should be honored to marry their daughter, and asked for a foolishly huge amount of shares from his properties. Sundar had politely refused both, the share in properties and their offer of matrimony. Then came the insults at him as people shed their masks.

Then Sundar had to shed his too. This boy was very old-school. He religiously believed in the phrase, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'

Everyone who disrespected him out of pride was thrown out of the back door like cow dung.

"Dispose of them from behind the house. I do not want people talking about how I let this filth walk into my property," he ordered his servants and they did so without batting an eye.

Ah, the servants.

Everyone wondered how they managed to live there and serve him as if he were a deity. Nobody knew Sundar had been financing their children's education since he took over his late father's authority in the household. His father when alive hired the best tutors to teach him skills a blind person would learn with a little ease, and that's how the lad came to like numbers and science.

Every day was the same, filled with darkness. Sunlight did fall on the house, but it was very cold inside. Sundar didn't know if it was because of the loneliness, the silence, or the winds.

"A new Christian temple has been built in the town, and it opens today. Say, Sundara. Will you accompany your old mother?"

His mother's endearment for him was Sundara in times she wanted him to do something for her. It mostly involved making him crawl out of his comfort zone. Last week it was a cousin's wedding, and the day before yesterday, it was a naming ceremony of another cousin's child. Kamala went alone for both after he refused to come along.

"It is called a Church, amma. And no, I don't want to go with you. Take any of the manservants or maids. They'll keep you good company. Or just take atthai."

"Thenral has gone to visit her in-laws' place with her husband. Only a few servants remain in the house. The rest have left early in the morning to see the Church."

"It is just a Church. Why is everyone so excited about it?"

"They say the sculptures are exquisite."

"Sculptures are just stones with a definite shape."

"I know, but I want to see them. Please come with me. I won't take too much time."

The silence from his mother's empty wrists slightly stung him. A widow could not wear jewelry or colorful clothes, and in some cities was called a husband-eater. He was told his mother's head had been shaved off completely the day after news arrived that his father died in an accident on his way home.

He loved his mother's tresses that were thick and long. Their touch was in a way, comforting to him as a child. Now that is lost too.

He grabbed his stick and found his way to the dressing table. He began to groom his hair to the side like how his father taught him.

"Next time onwards, take the servants with you," he said.

He heard the footsteps of bare feet travel from the cot to him.

"Does that mean you will come?"

Sundar put the comb down.

"Just this once. For your sake, amma."

The commotion of people from outside the Church was deafening to Sundar's ears. Living in solitude did not prepare him for the noise he couldn't mitigate. He didn't like it when his mother held his hand tight and asked people to make way for them. He was from a noble, elite family. People know better than to stand in his path. But then came the feeling of being watched, of being laughed at, of whispers about a 'cursed' boy of the family.

He kept reminding himself to be brave and walk with his head held high and squared shoulders till he got inside the church. The church was very quiet, but it wasn't anything like the dead, cold silence of his house. It was a calming silence. Almost serene.

"The benches here are so wide...the incense smells different too," his mother complimented the place with the wonder of a child. He smiled at that.

"Doesn't seem that great to me," he said. He wanted his mother to prove him wrong by explaining more details of this place alien to him. He wanted his mother to keep going. His pride wouldn't let him admit to his mother that he wanted to listen more about this place he couldn't see.

"Well, I do not want to trouble you, so I'll have you sit on the last bench," Kamala said and made him sit there.

"Kamala, you've come at last!"

It was Tamil indeed, but it was different. Sundar heard a new voice. The accent was...western.

"Grace! I was looking for you. This is my son."

He tried hard to listen to this Grace's footsteps. The silence enabled him to gain clarity in hearing. They were short and sharp, indicating the sound of shoes.

"He looks like a fine young man," the woman spoke again.

"Kanna, this my friend, Grace. She's one of the few westerners who stayed back."

"Why?" he asked, turning his head in the direction of the woman's voice.

"I like your culture and homeliness. Your mother has been a very good friend to me when the others saw me as the enemy. I don't share the same ideas as the rest of my people who invaded this land."

"Hmm," was all he could say.

He wasn't much of a talker.

"Let me show you around, Kamala. Your son can stay here," Grace offered.

"I don't think he'll like-"

"Please go with her amma. I'll be waiting right here," he told his mother.

"I'll be back soon," she said and left.

And there he was all alone again. He didn't mind his mother leaving him like that. He was happy she was exploring new things. He always felt bad she had to be with him wherever she went in case he tripped and fell or lost his temper.

"Everyone is here for the sculptures, but you seem to be the only one here for God," a girl was telling someone. A sweet scent faintly drifted in the air as soon as he heard a pair of anklets near him. They made a sound louder than any pair he had ever heard, meaning these anklets had more bells on them than normal.

He laughed at himself. How could he ever know about women? He had never stepped out from his house and even if he did, it would be to meet men for work purposes.

"And now you do not answer me. Are you one of those lunatics who think men are superior to women?" She asked this person again.

'Who is this rude man who is ignoring a woman without giving her any respect?' thought Sundar.

"You think you are high and mighty because you wear a vaetti and walk around with a cane? You look like an old man in this attire. Pity, no one cared to tell you this."

His back straightened immediately in realization. For the first time in his life, he was caught off-guard.

"Oh, I did not know you were talking to me," he said.

The faint smell now strengthened around him, and the sound of anklets grew even louder.

"How could you not know when I am right here? Are you blind?" She asked.

"Yes," he replied with zero reaction.

People always walked away muttering apologies. He was waiting for her to do the same, but the fragrance remained with the same intensity.

"It is my mistake. I should have observed better," she said.

"I forgive-"

"Wait! You are the Iyer boy people have been gossiping about, the one with the temper of a bull!"

He knew he wasn't a favorite of the townsfolk, but this was news to him.

"The temper of a-"

"People say you're always angry like a ferocious animal. You do not look that bad to me," she said.

Sundar was angry but also surprised.

"And who are you?" he asked.

"I am Mythili."

"That is your name? And what of your surname?"

"Yes, that is my name. What is yours, boy with the temper of a bull?"

He forgot to ask her surname again when he heard the words 'temper' and 'bull'. "Do not call me that. My name is Sundaran."

"That is a tacky name."

"How dare you-"

"Would you like to touch the sculptures?"

He was displeased for being interrupted a third time, but he also secretly wanted to touch these 'stones with a definite shape'.

"If you insist..." he got up.

"I was not insisting. Anyway, let me lead the way."

He expected the girl to hold his elbow like his mother and father used to, but she held his hand instead. Hers was warmer than his but rougher and smaller.

As she took him with her, his fingers traced her nailbeds, studying their size and accustoming his palm to the texture of hers.

"This one is called Saint Michael. Here, feel it," she took his hand and placed it on the face of the sculpture.

He felt them one by one, while Mythili described each of them with their names so clearly that he could make vague images in his mind of what they looked like. The hard stones were smooth but had the textured remnants of roughness in them.

His hand then touched something peculiar.

"Whatever this is made of, it has not solidified yet. This stone is still moldable. This statue is not hard enough."

"That is because it is not a statue," as soon as he felt this statue's lower jaw move and its breath brush his palm, he withdrew his hand at once and took a few steps back out of shame.

"I did not know it was you. Forgive me," though he wasn't touching her anymore, his thumb had already remembered the little tickling sensations of her lashes.

He learned that in contrast to her hands, her face was softer.

"How do you know so much about the identities of the sculptures?" Sundar asked Mythili in fascination.

"My father bought them from another country. He went to pick the best ones from there."

"Your father is a sailor?"

"You could say that."

He stopped touching the sculptures and Mythili held his hand without him having to ask her. They only walked now.

"We have good sculptors in our country. Why could he not have it done here?"

"The carvers of Paris have a different style."

"Your father has been associating with the westerners?!"

"I know what you think. Not everyone is bad."

"They took our-"

"Not everyone from the West is bad. Can you then claim that all Indians are gentle and generous people?"

Sundar could think of no response.

"I have met nice people who are kinder and friendlier than you are, from the West."

"You accompanied your father to his travels?"

"Sometimes."

"No wonder you are so brazen. You left your mother all alone in the house while it was just you and your father who toured through half the world?"

"My mother has long been dead, which is why my father every so often asks me to keep him company during the holidays. It makes things easier to forget the sorrow."

Sundar wanted to solace her, but he stopped before his thought became action. Mythili's life and his was just about the same, but he believed there was a significant difference in their perspectives.

She had everything he wanted. She needed no solace from him. She doesn't deserve it, so he won't give it to her.

"How did she expire?" he asked.

"It was a delivery complication. She died giving birth to me. My relatives were not very....affectionate, so I was raised by my patti till I left town to study."

Sundar's mouth parted in amazement. "You study?"

"Yes," she replied.

"That is absurd."

"I do not blame you for how you see- I mean how you view women, Sundaran. I am an educated woman who is undergoing further education."

"Well, I have heard it is common for some women to study till the tenth grade. Are you in school?" he asked Mythili, waiting for a chance to mock her. He was tutored in the subjects of mathematics and science till his father passed away, which was a few years ago. Sundar was one of the most learned men in town.

He will not let one girl trample over his 'scholarly' vanity.

"Not in school. I study medicine," he heard a reply.

Sundaran chuckled. There were a few local aged herbalists in town who sometimes had apprentices.

"You are but a local healer, without schooling. I knew you were not so educat-"

"Oh no, you are mistaken. When I said I am not in school, I mean I graduated from school. And I am not a herbalist. I am a student studying medicine at a university."

Sundar heard the sound of glass shattering in a distance. It resembled the current status of his ego very much.

"Is....that so?"

"It is," Mythili said with a happy tone.

He didn't like talking about it anymore.

"You could have stayed home and enjoyed a few days of leisure before you left to study again. What are you here for?" he asked with added bitterness to the word 'study'.

"I am here because I killed a man, and I buried him near a tree. I came to check if someone has found the body. And now I know, the body has not been found by anyone yet. I am very dexterous, just like my professor mentioned."

"....you have a bad sense of humor," he said.

"Even though it is bad, at least I have it, unlike a certain someone," she retorted.

"You have a crafty tongue, Mythili," he said.

This was his first time hearing banter. He couldn't think of anything smarter to make her speechless, because he has lived all his life with minimal communication, and people never dared disrespect Sundaran Iyer.

"Mythili, time to go home!" a manly voice cut through Sundar's thoughts.

"My father is calling for me. I have to go," the distinctive smell began to fade away with the sound of her anklets.

"Wait, where have you brought me?" Sundar almost panicked.

"I brought you to the same place I picked you from," she assured him.

"Where do you live?" he asked her.

"Why do you ask?"

"I want to know if you have any books to read that you can give me."

"Does anyone in your house speak English?"

"No. I can hire someone who speaks it, and make them read the book for me," he began to get restless.

"And what if this appointed reader of yours chances upon a word neither of you understands? And what if that word does not exist in the dictionaries? What will you do then?"

He held his cane so tight, his hand began to ache. Yet again, he had nothing to say.

"Your silence speaks lengths. It speaks that my books are useless to you," she said as the sweet smell came back to him with her coming closer.

"I never said-"

"Once you get a taste of good company, it becomes irresistible. Doesn't it, Sundaran?"

Now, this felt like a punch in his gut.

"You are still silent. It was nice talking to you," she said and left.

Sundaran had never felt so small and insecure before. He wanted to change that.

And fate had given him the opportunity for it.

After garnering a lot of information that took him a few months, in 1950 he hired a tutor from Palayankottai to teach him English Braille. Sundaran became snappier than usual because he was a slow learner but he never gave up.

He was now almost proficient in Braille, and better in English than he used to be. He studied and understood various cultures of the various states in his country and other countries. But it was not enough. He did not just want to learn Braille and stop there. As he learned more things, his hunger for research grew along with his knowledge.

The year 1951 arrived, and so did the day he met Mythili. He didn't know if she would be at the church, but he wanted to go there.

This time he went alone and asked his attendant to take him to the last bench, or as he now knew what it's called, a pew.

He sat there for a while, but nobody came. So he decided he would go to the statues instead.

He wandered around the place for a while, when a familiar sweet scent wafted in the air again.

"You are here for the sculptures, but why do I feel you are not here for the sculptures, Sundaran?"

Sundar preferred everyone call him by his shortened name, Sundar because his father used to call him that. He wouldn't tell Mythili this, because she did see him as a narcissistic halfwit, but always said his name with reverence. It was indeed her voice near him, but there was more boldness laced in it.

"What are you doing here, Mythili? Still checking for the corpse you buried?"

She laughed.

"I need not worry about the corpse being found out. The soil must have eaten the flesh by now."

Sundar shook his head. "Graphic as usual."

"What can I say? It comes with academic objectives. Now tell me, why are you here? This is not a place a typical Iyer boy like you would visit."

"A typical boy is not deprived of his eye-sight, but I am. This concludes that I am not so typical."

"That is an acceptable argument."

"Have you treated sick people before?" Sundar asked her.

"I can tell what is wrong with their body, but that is all."

"My atthai has been sick for a few days. She has a severe cold and fever. Now my amma is showing the same symptoms."

"Did you take them to a doctor?"

"Everyone is afraid of needles."

"It is just a quick prick."

"Easy for you to say."

He heard a loud sigh from beside him.

"Take me to your place," she ordered.

"Oh...alright."

He wanted to show off to her how much he had learned through a year. He wanted to make her speechless. He didn't lie though, his mother and aunt had been running a fever, and yes, they were all afraid of injections.

"My carriage is right outside the Church," he said.

"Who have you brought with you apart from the coachman?" she asked.

"Two of my retainers."

"Good. Send one of them to my car. My driver will need directions, while you travel in your carriage."

This is not what he had planned. She would accompany him on his carriage, while she talked and he tried ways to say something smarter, something more clever than her. She would at some point give up and admit defeat. She would be impressed by him. But now it was like she pulled the base of a pyramid(his plan) and watched in joy as the whole thing collapsed.

"Car? Is that the wagon that runs on motors?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"What is it like?"

"A desserts box with windows, on wheels."

"I have never ridden one before. Can I ride it with you?" he asked, meaning, 'Maybe this way, I can find ways to dominate you in conversation."

"No," came her reply as cold as winter.

"I asked nicely."

"And I refused politely."

"You are being rude to your host, Mythili."

"You are not my host yet, Sundaran. I am yet to be your guest."

"Fine. Because my family is ill, I will spare you."

"The same goes for me. Because your family is ill, I will spare you."

That made him very, very angry but he took her to his place anyway.

She checked his mother and his aunt and said she would have to visit again tomorrow because she didn't bring her equipment. Sundaran's estate was on the outskirts so he would have to wait longer for a doctor to arrive.

The next day, after a lot of convincing and support from Mythili, Thenral and Kamala agreed to take the shot.

Thenral wailed like a baby when it was her turn, whereas Kamala took it well.

Mythili told Sundar that she'll be back after a few days to check on his family again.

Something terrifying had happened to Sundar while she was gone.

Mythili was everything to her father. She had accomplished in life more than he, a man, could ever. She was lucky to have a father who was extremely supportive of his daughter's life choices, because he had been inspired by so many powerful women all over the world in his travels, that he wished for his daughter to be like them, or even better. This made him work harder for her, so he could provide a comfortable life of affluence and dignity above the rest, more than he had.

Her father, Devaneyan was told everything about Sundaran by Mythili. He felt no aversion to the young man's blindness because Devaneyan was an amputee. He used a prosthetic leg and wore pants because they were comfortable during travel.

"Oh no, I am running late. I am going to Sundaran's place, appa," she said.

"Bring him over at least once before you go back to Calcutta," her father said.

"He does not like traveling, but I will ask him," she said and left.

Back at the Iyer estate, everything was in chaos.

Mythili came home to a babel of commotion leading to one single room on the first floor.

One of the attendants saw her and rushed down the stairs to greet her.

"He has not stepped out of his room for three days. We do not know what happened. The whole day, he is quiet but when night falls, he screams in his nightmares. He will die of starvation if he does not open the door!" the woman exclaimed.

Mythili made her way to his room with haste, where Kamala held her and pleaded her to get her son out. Sundar was screaming like a mad man, telling them to leave him alone.

She knocked on his door. "Sundaran, open the door. It is me, Mythili."

A second passed, then two.

"I will open the doors if everyone leaves this floor. Only Mythili stays."

And so he was obeyed.

Mythili had only read of such disturbing behaviors but never witnessed them. She was nervous to see what she would find in the room. She hoped she wouldn't see him injuring himself.

The door opened. Sundar let her in and latched the door shut.

Mythili did not like that.

"Are you sure there is no one on this floor?" He asked her.

"Everyone is downstairs, Sundaran. Now tell me what happened."

His hair was a mess, the bedsheet was crumpled, and his hands gripped his clothes as if they would fly away with the lightest breeze of the wind. Mythili saw dried tear stains on his cheeks. He looked like he was possessed.

"I did not know whom to trust in this house, and I did not want amma worrying. It was not my fault, Mythili. I swear on appa's grave. I can only tell you because you have the wit to seek the truth. Nobody else."

"Okay. First, we have to get your stomach full, else you will lose strength. Let me bring you fruits."

"No! Do not leave this room. Do not leave me."

He clutched onto Mythili's hand and she was taken aback. Something had terrified this boy so much that he, who always kept his distance from her now held her for his dear life.

"If you are afraid, latch the door from the inside. Open it only when you hear my voice," she gently caressed his hands as a sign of consolation.

He slowly let go and felt her sweet scent fade away as soon as he bolted his door from inside. His foot stepped on something smooth. He picked it up. It was a long piece of cloth, a ribbon. Her ribbon. It had her scent on it. It was soothing to him. He also found the source of the scent. It was a flower. This is why she smelled so pleasant all the time.

After a few minutes, Mythili showed up at his door, and he let her in. He hid her ribbon and the little flower in his pocket. He didn't know why.

After he finished eating, Mythili asked him to narrate everything.

"I went to bed, as usual. A while later, I almost fell asleep, but I heard footsteps in my room, coming in my direction. I asked who it was, and got no reply. Then they held me by my hands on the bed, and-"

Sundar groaned and hugged himself tighter. He began to tremble and cry. All Mythili could do was hold his hands.

"I do not know what made you like this, but if you do not want to talk about it, I will come back tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. But not for long. I will be gone after a few weeks," Mythili told him.

"I know, I will tell you all there is. I must hear myself describe it till the end. Someone touched me....there."

Mythili didn't need to ask more. She didn't need to ask where he meant by 'there'. But she couldn't jump to conclusions yet.

"I know this is very hard for you, but you need to tell me what happened next. Take deep breaths."

"This is not the first time it has happened to me. It happened once when I was nineteen years old. They untied my vaetti and tried to feel me up. Whoever it was, they only groped me and left. But this time, they tried to do more."

"Could you discern if they were male or female?" she asked.

"I think it was a female."

Mythili understood his pain, but she knew she would never be able to imagine the wounds these horrid incidents left on his soul. No, this was beyond horrid.

Sundaran was sexually molested in his own house. Twice.

"Last time, I was weak and my mouth was covered by a hand. I couldn't push them away. This time though, I struggled and managed to push the person and cried. The footsteps were quick and faded away, meaning they were gone. I ran to the door and latched it shut. I never opened it till you came."

'The world is such a terrible, terrible place,' Mythili thought to herself.

"I found this. I showed it to nobody because I do not know who the culprit is. I can show it to you."

Mythili was ecstatic when she saw what Sundaran pulled from his pocket. It was a toe ring with a distinct pattern. Only wedded women wore toe rings.

"This makes things easier for us. Wait right here and latch the door again. I'll bring your mother," said Mythili and left.

She brought in Kamala and told her everything that happened. Kamala was broken to bits when she came to know everything. She felt so sorry for her son and cried saying she failed as a mother.

She cried, even more, when she realized that toe ring belonged to Thenral.

A lot of drama followed. Then the puzzle pieces slowly fell into place. Her husband was gone for days and nights, gambling and drinking away, leaving his wife alone. She loathed Sundar but in a way stuck to him in the house, always bringing him new clothes, food, being aware of when he went to bed, and when he woke up. She refused to go to her in-laws' place even after being disciplined by a scarring burn on her hand.

The deduction of the purpose was repulsive.

She and her husband were immediately thrown away from the house, from the back door of course.

Sundar was psychologically damaged by the events. It was like a part of him died. He didn't know whom to trust and whom not to. He didn't let anyone touch him.... except for Mythili.

Sundar showed his mother the flower stuck to Mythili's ribbon and asked which flower it was.

Her mother said it was a Jasmine.

He had never smelt that flower before, probably the reason why he was so drawn to it. His mother wore other flowers on her head when his father was alive, and he always kept his aunt away from him.

For years, he didn't know the various fragrances of flowers.

"I know how you must be feeling," Mythili told him the next day his uncle and aunt were banished from the estate.

"You do not know how disgusting it feels," he said.

"I know exactly how disgusting it feels. It was going to happen to me too, once. It was my mama."

Sundar was bewildered by what Mythili said. She seldom opened up, which only added to the shock.

"What did you do then?" he asked her, sipping coconut water.

"I think you already know. The soil of this land knows," she told him.

"Hmm?" he was confused. It took him five seconds to realize what she meant. And when he did, he choked on the coconut water.

"There, there. Do not panic," she patted his back.

"You were serious when you said you killed a man?!"

"Speak gently. There will be trouble if someone hears you."

"You killed your uncle?"

"I just meant to cut his fingers off, but he moved too much and I ended up slitting his wrist. So I panicked and ran away. I also had to look over some of appa's work so I went to take care of it. I remembered he was tied up and bleeding when I got home. He was gone by then. There was nobody at home, so I took the car with his body and buried him very deep near the trees. So far he had a very bad repute which made the family think he ran away because of debt."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"I am telling you this because I want to let you know that you are not alone in your suffering, whether you take a life in the process or not."

"I- I see...." he replied. He did not bother that she had killed a man. He found comfort in her company. There was finally someone he met who could understand him.

And then a few days followed. They became close. Mythili liked Sundar. He keenly listened to everything she said. He was a snob in the beginning, but she realized that was his only defense against people who spew slanders at him. Most of all, he was kind and never expected credit or acclamation for it.

And Sundar liked Mythili too....a little too much.

He wanted her to visit his place every day, to which she agreed for a week. He also visited her place and met her father once.

Then she stopped visiting because she had to study and had other errands to run. He didn't take that well. He began to yell at his servants whenever they entered his room. He became scared again. He threw things and injured himself from recklessly moving around. He had nightmares again, lost his appetite again. Shut himself in his room like a hermit crab again.

His mother understood the cause of his behavior this time, but she wanted Mythili to make the choice. Another week later, Mythili came over.

"Mythili, it is so good to see you!" A busy Kamala left her work and hugged her as soon as she entered the house.

Mythili was happy with the hug, but she felt weird.

"It is good to see you too. How have you been? How has he been?" she asked.

"I have been well, thanks to you. Come have a seat with me. Let us talk for a while," Kamala said.

"May I join you after I check how Sundaran is doing?" Mythili asked.

Kamala sneaked glances at his door and gently pulled her to a corner where he wouldn't be able to see her if he came out of his room.

"No, my beautiful girl. Do not go to him. That boy has gone feral ever since you stopped coming here."

"I do not understand."

"He has been asking for you all the time. He is always talking about you. He gets upset when I tell him I do not know when you will come. I think...I think he has grown dependent on you."

Now she understood.

"I get it. It is like how patients become attached to their doctors after getting treated by them for a long time. It will pass."

"This is not what you assume it to be. He often talks about the sound of your anklets and how they tinkle as music made just for him. He never lets go of the ribbon you left behind, and he keeps a jasmine flower that fell from your hair in a book and runs his fingers through it all day. Is this madness curable?"

Mythili had goosebumps by the time Kamala finished explaining her son's odd behaviors. But she had to be professional.

"Please do not call your son mad. Sundaran is maybe a handful at times, but he is not irrational."

Kamala did not know how else to explain to Mythili that her son had taken a compulsive inclination for her.

"Let me go talk to him. He always listens when there is a proper explanation," Mythili said.

"This feels ominous, Mythili. I am scared for you."

"I am grateful that you are worried about me. I am touched, but I have to know what exactly is going on in his mind. You can stand by his door and wait for any alarming behaviors of his. If something does happen, you can help me escape."

"That sounds better."

Mythili had little knowledge in psychiatry, and that made her conclude that he was mentally latching onto her as a distraction from his trauma.

To her surprise, the door of his room opened when she was only a few steps away.

"Mythili, is that you?"

Before she could respond, Sundar was already in front of her, looking weak. She saw dark circles under his eyes that held a demented look though they were blind.

"Of course it is you. Your anklets have a distinctive sound."

"Yes, Sundaran. How have you been these days?"

"Why don't we talk in my room?"

"How about we have a change in environment and sit in the dining room? I'd like to talk to your mother. I treated her before I treated your mind."

"My mother is busy. You can talk to her later. Talk to me first. This is important."

"What is so paramount that you can't wait to tell me?"

"It is about you and me."

They were now seated in his room.

"I have made two very serious plans," he stated.

"That is good. Why does it involve me?" she asked.

"I will tell you, do not fret. The first one is that I may get a chance to gain my sight."

Mythili was happy to hear that.

"That is great news."

"It indeed is. I have come to know about something called an eye transplant surgery."

Now she was almost proud of him for procuring such beneficial knowledge.

"Eye transplant surgery is a good choice, given the perfect donor. What is your second plan?"

"Once I gain my sight, I shall go to you, and ask for your hand in marriage. And if you agree, I shall go to your father to ask for his permission to marry you."

"Are you on drugs?" came immediately out of her mouth.

"No. I am perfectly sane. You do not sound happy."

"That is because I am not happy. I like you a lot, Sundaran. But marriage is not what I am looking for at the moment. I cannot guarantee how long it would take me to prepare myself for espousal."

He stood from his chair and began pacing back and forth rapidly in his room.

"I do not want to wait. I do not like waiting. Without you, I am always scared, Mythili," the change in his tone saddened her, but Mythili mostly preferred the bitter truth.

Sundar was all at once feeling so much emotion that he did not know how to contain or control it.

"Think it over, Sundaran. Marriage is not so simple. The attachment you have for me might be temporary. I am leaving town tomorrow."

He felt his heart stop.

"You leave tomorrow? That means I will not see you for another year?"

"You may not see me for more than a year. As classes progress, subjects become harder. More time is needed to study. Perhaps you might be lucky enough to see me after three years. Now, good day."

The fact that Mythili was so near but he couldn't see her face, or convince her to marry him drove him mad. He thought of many ways to properly court her, but he knew none. All he could do was ask, or imprison.

"You will not leave. I will not let you," he said.

'So this is what his mother meant,' thought Mythili.

"Even if you stop me Sundaran, you may have obtained my body, but my heart and soul will travel farther from your reach," she sternly said.

She sounded as strong as ever, but she was scared. Her mind ran through ideas to escape him with as little damage as possible.

Mythili liked him. It was a pity to see him turn diabolical for love. He did this to himself and she wouldn't take as much as even half a step further in their relationship unless he came to know how wrong he was in trying to keep her by his side all the time.

"If that is the case, I will simply bring them back at all costs, your heart, and soul both. If it is not you in my life, it cannot be anyone else. Only you," saying that he stepped closer and reached his hand to grab hers, but she luckily ducked, escaping him.

Kamala came inside, but Mythili put her finger to her lips, sending her a message that it's best she kept quiet.

"This is not right and you know it. You must come to your senses. You will regret this, Sundaran. Do not worsen things," Mythili warned him but he was not himself anymore.

He was stretching out his hands now, looking for her while she moved away from him. Mythili knew she could bring him comfort, but she did not want him to rely on her for it. Not like this. Never.

"Do you even know what I would give or take to keep you with me? I do not understand. You say you like me but you find it easy to live far from me, and you are not ready for marriage?"

"I have more important things to do. You are not the only priority in my life."

"But you are, to me."

"It is sad we are not on the same page, but not sad enough to keep me from accomplishing my ambition. I am leaving. Do not come after me."

"Do not go. I will die," he said.

She hesitated for a moment. That moment was enough for him to find and hold her hands.

"I will do everything to be worthy of you. I am constantly frightened, ever since....please, do not do this to me," he begged and Kamala gasped at his harshness.

His grip was tight on her hand, but Mythili was not one to be afraid. She was once about to be molested by a family member, she buried her defensible crime of murder with skill, she has plucked out and examined organs of animals and human bodies. She had seen enough in life, and so, she was stronger in resolve.

Before Kamala intervened and pulled them apart, Mythili went for this throat. It hurt her to tame him like taming a crocodile by holding its jaws shut. She dug and dug her nails into his skin till he choked and turned red. He eventually had to let go. Kamala ushered Mythili to run, and she followed.

"Someone! Lock the entrance!" ordered Sundar.

A servant, not knowing what was happening, followed Sundar's orders. The two women managed to hide in a room on the same floor. Kamala didn't want anyone to spot Mythili.

"I am so sorry for having raised a demon like this," Kamala cried while she trembled, holding Mythili close like she were a precious ornament.

"All humans have demons and gods living in them. The fight we have with our good and evil selves every day is what makes us more human than anything else. If your son is good, he will make peace with his demons. But if he is not, the god living in him dies with his conscience. Now, please stop crying. I have a plan to escape," declared Mythili.

Sundar heard the sounds of anklets, her anklets in a hurried manner. He followed the sound and noticed that they were leading downstairs.

"She shouldn't escape! Corner the woman wearing anklets, but God save you if you touch her."

It would be easy for his servants to leave to space for Mythili to escape. With Mythili, there is only one woman in the house wearing anklets.

"She's here!" a servant's voice came out from the opposite direction of the entrance, and he came down the stairs after letting them disperse.

Through her anklets, he heard her slowly stepping away, and he kept walking forward in her direction till the sound stopped, which meant she was backed to the wall. He made it to her, and placed either of his hands on the wall, trapping her but not touching her.

He knew what terrors the wrong touch could unleash on a person from his trauma. He did not want her to go through something similar. But he did not want to let her go either.

"I did not want to do this, but this is unjust. We have lost our hearts to each other but I only am more desperate here."

There was no response. The scent of her flowers then passed by him for a second. Then there was no more of it despite him having her so close.

"Kanna, this is wrong."

He stepped away from the wall immediately. Then he understood.

Of course, there is only one woman in the house wearing anklets. But it was not whom he thought it was this time.

"You let her escape by becoming bait....you wore her anklets. All this time, you thought I recognized her by just sound. But it was her scent and you do not bear her scent. You have betrayed me, amma?" Sundar was so stupefied, his last sentence came out like a question.

His mother let go of traditions to keep another woman safe. She did not feel like a sinner. She felt like a protector of the child who believed her son was a good man, and of her child as she stopped him from committing another disgraceful mistake.

But he had less time. He needed to act fast.

Mythili ran through the back door and got into her car. Just when her driver was about to start the vehicle, a bare-footed Sundar with his servant tapped the car's windows.

"You ran away from me like I am a monster. Do I not deserve you? Am I that vile? Is it because I cannot see?" he was frustrated. He did not know where she was seated in the car. He did not know if he was tapping the front or back windows. His incapable eyes wandered everywhere, hoping he'd somehow know where she was.

"I have deeply cherished you. I still do, and I will continue to do so, perhaps. It is not about your eyes. The only fault you have is in the way you want to monopolize me. Everyone has their way of showing affection. It is the only skill I am not well-versed in, but I can tell you this with certainty that your ways are not right. Know this, Sundaran. You may be 23 years old, but your actions show you are still no man. Inside, you are just a boy. Come find me when you become a true man."

With a heavy heart, she asked her driver to start the car, and he did. Sundar ran behind it, tripping and falling in the process. His heavy tears mixed with the blood dripping from his cheek, turning the stream of red to pink.

He cried for days and nights. This time though, his mother let him be. She knew he had to pay for his sins.

He repeated all the words she said in his mind, and they were true. He regretted behaving in such a dishonoring manner with her because of his insecurities.

After one month and 14 days, he decided.

He evolved once because of her. Now he would strive to evolve again, but this time, for her.

He left for Delhi with his mother to get psychiatric therapy for his trauma, simultaneously looking for eye donors. It was hard, as he found out he had other issues with himself packed in layers. He wanted to take time till he peeled the last one off so that after his penance, he

could stand proud in front of Mythili and this time court her as she mentioned, 'a true man'.

In 1953, Sundaran arrived at the Medical College of Calcutta on the last day of the Durga Pooja. The city was in a celebratory frenzy as if the Goddess herself had appeared in front of them. He was not prepared for the sudden burst of colors when he opened his eyes after his successful eye transplant surgery. But he was not happy. He wouldn't be until he saw Mythili.

"Who are you?" a girl asked him in Bengali.

"My name is Sundaran. I speak a little Bengali. Do you speak English?" he responded in Bengali too.

"I do. You look new here," she said in English.

"I am seeking for someone who studies here."

"Are you a family member?"

"No. I am a-"

What was he? A friend? He ruined that a long time ago. A fiancé? Effortlessly ruined that possibility too.

"I am an acquaintance of hers," he said with a sullen face.

"You are not allowed to meet with a student unless you are a family member or you have a permit. Leave the premises."

He didn't know how universities functioned because he had never been to one. So he left.

Receiving the gift of eyesight was great, but he still didn't know what Mythili looked like.

He was waiting for a letter with her picture from his hometown. He received it the next day.

When he looked at the photograph, his heartfelt like his ribcage was squeezing it till all the pumping blood drained from it. He grinned at first, then started to laugh while looking at it. He was fooled again. He was crying now. This was the same girl he met the previous day who sent him away.

He dressed up in a hurry that evening. He had been wearing a shirt and pants for a year now. He went to the university again, but this time, he had gotten a permit. All the students and other people were busy dancing around Goddess Durga's sculptures in procession. He did not bother. He knew where to find her. He stared up at the huge balcony of the university's entrance. Then he saw her.

She was helping a few students hang the long garlands to the balcony when she saw him again. She knew that look on his face. It was a look of confidence and recognition. He held up the photograph and smiled.

Mythili ran.

She did not know if her heart was racing because she was running or because she saw him. She looked down the balcony and saw him running parallelly with her on the ground floor with equal speed.

'It is him, but it is not him. He has grown taller, his shoulders broader. He has a different gaze in his eyes, they are more self-assured. Who looks so handsome even while sprinting? Since when does he wear shirts and pants?' were few of the many questions popping in Mythili's mind as she ran and ran.

She wasn't scared, oh no. She just wasn't prepared. That thrilled her.

They raced to the terrace. Her white saree and waist-length hair flew with the wind, making her look like a crazed virgin ghost.

It was a beautiful coincidence of the two. She was running in the direction of the scarlet setting sun, while he was running after her, just like the rising moon from behind him.

"Where are you even going?! You cannot possibly think of jumping from the terrace just to escape me!" Sundar yelled at her.

"I can!" she replied.

"No you will not!" he ran faster and caught her hand. His hold on her was a lot gentler than the last time.

"You met me yesterday, after a long time and yet...Were you not even the least bit curious as to why I came to look for you?"

He let go of her.

"The last time I came for you, things did not go well," she said.

"You told me to leave just like that yesterday. I could have recognized your voice but it is different from before. You sound more mature."

"It is obvious. Age does that to you."

'This is it,' he thought. 'I will say it now.'

"I am leaving to voyage with your father," he said.

"Why have you been talking to my father?" she asked.

"A few months ago, after I finished my therapy and surgery, he came to visit me. He told me thought I should accompany him to his adventures. I was not very convinced at first but the stories he told me were so fascinating, I learnt that I could see so much while maintaining business. He was also the one who came here to give me your photo and helped me get a permit into your campus. He would not do this if he thought I was the wrong person for you. You told him you adore me."

Her breath hitched.

"Regardless, I am here to tell you that I shall wait for you. Now, kindly tell me. Am I still on your mind, or is there anyone else who has stolen your heart? Or is it just that you have no room for feelings and are supremely devoted to medicine? Please tell me with honesty because I will gladly accept anything," he said.

'One second, two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, five seconds, six....' he counted seconds while all she did was stare into his eyes as if she was waiting to extract something form them.

"It is you. Maybe it is because we both lost a parent, or because we fell prey to the same crime when we were young. I have always felt a piece of me exist in you. You are like my reflection but with opposite directions."

Now he wanted to jump off the building but not for the same reason as her. It was ecstasy.

"I hope you will not change your mind later. If you are hesitating, please tell me now so I may gracefully take your rejection."

Mythili shook her head.

"There is no rejection. I am sure, as long as you are. I still need time though. I do not want any other pregnant woman die like my mother did. You will have to wait for me until I am satisfied with my work," she said.

"That goes without saying. Take your time. You are the educated one, so you are the busier one. Just remember that all it takes to command my presence is a letter to your father, when you are ready. I will come for you no matter where I am."

Mythili was happier now. 'This is the real him. Thank God he saved himself in time,' she thought.

Sundaran joined her in the procession. A little temple outside the university mesmerized him with its shiny colors and decorations while everyone else was busy dancing around the huge sculptures of the Goddess in the procession on the streets.

"Everyone is here for the sculptures, but you seem to be the only one here for God," she told him again, just like the first time they met.

He smiled saying, "Actually, my mother was once told by a wise lady that Gods reside in people too. So I am indeed here for God, but not this one," he said looking at the temple. He then looked at her while holding her hand and said, "This one."

Glossary:

Vaetti: a lower garment forming part of the national or ethnic costume for men in the Indian subcontinent.

Kanna: a term of endearment.

Mama: uncle

Appa: father

Patti: grandmother