The current of air is blowing and in the sky the moon is beaming. The blooms, trees and small plants are dancing with the music of the wind. I feel, I don't know why, sometimes to change myself into a blossom. Everybody will appreciate me and say, "What a lovely blossom, how pleasant! How charming!" May be, people will insert me into their school head and may others will compose poems seeing me.
I was shattered and done in on the street. Perhaps I wanted to pour down myself within the scattered voices. Why does the mind ceaselessly turn sentimental while I am walking? The word failure is such a gulf of life from where I constantly try to escape to an endless journey. I began a journey, maybe, in order to keep my days safe from death and violence or perhaps for a possible honor after death, where I broke myself up and am walking all alone. A human being has naturally a short existence and I am not an exception. Why couldn't I encompass myself in the language? Perhaps to go on being shattered constantly is to hightail it from violence, life and to be unable to determine the circumstances, according to the needs of the time is not to succeed in keeping life in equilibrium. I feel that the ideal I have envisaged to live a kind of life will pull me down heavily each day with my steps. And again, exposing my own time would be sentimental as I am now.
My friend issick. She is incapable of coping with a situation with enormous difficulties that emerge due to limited financial income. I know that her father, like in the past years, will not send any letter this time also and there is no communication with him close to him being alive or dead. Her mother became chronically ill crying all the time with the idea of her father's harsh treatment. I get completely exhausted trying to console her mother and cry a lot. This calling has no conclusion. There is no solution except to get emotionally upset and drop tears incessantly. Her father left her for joining the foreign ground forces when she was but a lass of six years. I faintly try to return him, but a dim memory of a sheltered girl like me of her father has no value whatsoever.
Her mother goes on relating to me how she encountered her husband for the first time at the market, "I was miserable. I used to gather firewood and carried to the town to sell. In the meanwhile, my hubby had come from the army to leave. He was rather comical to look at. We instantly fell in love with each other. He got me so many nice things. I was happy, but, I found a line sometime later that he married another woman."
Her mother couldn't control herself further and cried bitterly. I know it full well that after this, her husband didn't give any money to them, nor did he visit them. Her mother started a small tea stall and they made their living somehow. The tea stall was their necessity in the process of living and they have spent years on it.
" A handsome new man has come from the army." When her mother ordered my friend this during their meal time she was speechless for a while and asked later, "Which one from the army are you talking about?"
"The same one who arrives to drink tea everyday," her mother laughed.
She responded in a not too certain tone, "Mother, when I lead away after getting married, you will be left all alone. I do not desire to leave you all by yourself, perhaps I am unable to forget you that way."
Her mother got serious and stated, "My daughter, maybe after your marriage, I will also get happiness. It is said that he has a good income in the army. He is quite an appropriate and handsome husband for you!"
She just smiled for her sake. I feel like laughing at words like an army, recognizing, and appropriate. I naturally compare the man who wants to marry her and her father who has gone to war. Somehow both the faces coalesce into one and I feel as if it is jeering at me. If I have to recount the truth their faces are rather similar.
From the ceiling of my home the room of the military man can be pictured. From his room where a dim lamp is burning, a continuous tone of the violin is heard as well. I came to know that the man sang also and I don't know why my mind tempts me to listen to his songs. And, in verity, the man sang songs which sounded very sweet, indeed. When I took heed to his songs, I felt like taking myself to the songs all through the night just sitting down right there. Many pages of my life are blank and I felt like coloring the blank pages of my life while I listened to the melody of his strains. Ah! What a thrilling sensation!
Maybe it was late when I went to bed last night.
Her mother puts my friend early in the morning, "Look! That young man comes today, you have to give your decision. "
He caught her as she tried to evade him.
Three men made it, including him. I also get out with my acquaintance. The man smiles slowly and I feel uncomfortably embarrassed. Why was I feeling so weak and sentimental? I try to remember my ideal which includes a life which I wanted to live and the unexpected struggle to achieve it.
My friend told me "After marriage, I will be in a bondage Kamala. That implies I will suffer to live like a slave as I will have to spend all my life in his charity. where will my ideal go? My desires will spill everywhere and I will be lost, unable to contain myself within me".
Without any movement, somehow all my imaginations that crowded inside me just a moment ago are shattered to pieces. She experience like running far away from that human being and reject him outright. I see her mother deeply and find her smiling. The man is talking about something for the preparations of the wedding. My friend rushes inside straight on and get down. She experiences a kind of freedom. I put down in spite of appearance with a sad face, "What happened to you all of a sudden, my sweetie?"
She started to cry and say, "Kamu, I don't want to get married. Please do not push me. I want to live freely.."
I try to assuage her, " you are an adult female! You are not permitted to stay all your life with your mother. Look, you don't have to be afraid of anything. He has decided not to accept any monetary gift. And besides, these days it is extremely difficult to find a good man."
Once more, I begin to spill over within all over me. A cold blast of wind enters through the window and my hair is blown here and there. Flowers dance submitting to the bungling of the twist and the path is completely covered with the leaves fallen from trees. Hooray, it's getting to rain today!
There is a storm blowing in my mind as well and there is a flash of lightning within me and the heart is shrieking with a terrible situation. What should or shouldn't I have done? I feel like running away outside in the rain. But, again, I try to console her, "please come outside."
She don't obey me, but stay inside and slowly go to show me at the picture of her father hanging on the wall. I go on staring at her without blinking my eyes.--