“They worked hard; they built their nest. After a few years, I came into their life. It was all going well until one day…one day…” Raag fails to finish the statement.
“One day…?” I press.
“Mayuri, this world is unfair.” Raag’s voice is a brooding whisper. “One day, it all fell apart.” He pauses. “My father passed away.” His voice breaks at the end, and a wave of grief passes through my heart. His agony is palpable. An image of a forlorn young boy appears in my mind, and I shake my head to clear the image.
“Um…I am sorry for your loss. I can only imagine what you went through.”
“It happened a long time ago. But thank you.”
“Sometimes, it takes years for the wounds to heal. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes, for years after he passed, I would find Maa, lost in thoughts with watery eyes while praying.” Raag takes a deep breath. “Somehow, she still believes in her God.”
“And you don’t?” The question slips out of my mouth, and I regret it instantly. I frown, embarrassed.
“Um…Mayuri, I…I…” Raag fumbles for words. “I don’t have anything to do with God,” he says mechanically. No emotion at all.
“So, you don’t deny his existence, but you are maybe angry with him?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply right away. Instead there is only the soft background music that fills the silence.
“I don’t know, Mayuri, and I apologize that I didn’t mention this earlier. It never occurred to me that the religious view is also critical. I hope that is not an issue.” Raag’s voice turns into a whisper when he says the last sentence. “I guess there is so much you don’t know about me,” he adds.
“You have shared a lot more than I would have expected from any man my parents found for me,” I say. “I am honored that you shared.”
Losing a parent is so unfortunate that I wish no child should ever have to go through that pain. But life is as uncertain and brutal as it is. Raag’s father’s death must have wounded him so deeply from inside that he finds nothing to do with God. And, here I am, foolishly talking with God over our private line every now and then. I believe in God; I know that he is there, somewhere, listening to me, listening to each and every one of us.
Raag should know how I feel about God. Driven by the inner urge, I say, “You should know that I believe in God, and I pray almost every day. I hope you are going to be okay with it.”
His reply is heartfelt. “I respect your beliefs. I respect people’s belief in the supreme being regardless of the kind. As I said earlier, my mother prays every day, and I respect that.”
“Okay…so, you would take me to the temple to pray if we got married?” As I say this, I hear him laugh. Maybe just a little.
“As long as you don’t ask me to go inside and fold my hands.”
“Would you, though? If I asked?” I ask audaciously.
Raag sighs. Then replies ever so humbly, “If you asked, I would.”
A soft smile crosses my face. Oh, I like this man. There is so much promise in those words that I want to hug him right now. What? I have never felt this urge ever in my life before. What is he doing to me? His humility and modesty are tugging at my heart, and I am drawn toward him by some mystical force.
Though Raag doesn’t believe in God, I have faith in his words. My heartbeats are racing as if they have picked an electrical current, and blood pulses through my veins faster than ever.
Maybe if this arrangement worked out the way our parents planned, perhaps together we would find the way. My brain produces blurry images of us, together, stepping up the stairs of a temple, hand in hand, and I sense my grin.
Instantly, I pull myself out of a dream world and quickly check the surroundings. I guess at least four people are staring at me, wondering if I have lost my mind, for I was grinning like a fool. Quickly my course of walk changes, and I turn toward the bedroom door saying, “Can I ask you something?”
“Ask me anything.” Raag is quick to answer. I wish he were here so I could see him.
“Why would you go to a country far away? To the US?” I pause. “Why would you not stay here? You are smart; I am sure you could have found something here.”
“Umm…” Raag pauses.
I thought I asked a simple question. I wonder why he has to think so much about his answer.
Raag inhales before he finally speaks. “I was ten years old. One day, Paa came home very happy. My mother and I asked why, and he said it was because his boss’s son launched a new firm in the United States.”
“Okay…” I am intrigued.
“Then he put his hands on my shoulder and said that one day, he wants to see me running a business in the United States of America, that it was his dream.” Raag takes a brief pause. “Paa also said that he would be the happiest man on the planet when that happens.”
“Oh…I see.” My voice is softer, quieter.
“This is years back when America was a dream for many people all over the world. It still is for some…” Then he adds, “I guess.”
“Yes, I agree.” Of course, for years the land of opportunity has been a dream, a possibility for many people all over the world.
“Unfortunately, the same year he ran into that accident. The one that took him away from us.” Raag swallows, and a pang of sadness glooms over my heart. “All I had left was this dream.” Raag pauses and takes a calming breath. I can tell that he is trying hard to keep up with the conversation. I could hear his breathing over the line that makes me lose balance, and I sit on the floor resting my back against the cold wall, staring at the vines, and rest my teacup on the floor.
“Mayuri, I am not a businessman. And I could never be one, even if I tried. But I thought maybe if I went to the US, and got a higher education, I might make my paa happy, wherever he is. And who knows, one day I might fulfill his dream,” he muses.
“I think you are making him happy.”
“I don’t know! But time and again that ten-year-old boy convinces this grown-up man to believe that as long as that dream is alive, Paa is alive. With me. In that dream.” Raag says this in such a quiet voice that it is hard to hear, but the pain radiating from those words is palpable.
Loss and sorrow of a young boy are barred inside this grown-up man. I close my eyes and breathe, careful not to unleash my pool of tears. Still, a single tear trickles down my cheek, and I wipe it with the back of my palm.
“Maa encouraged me to go after that dream. She says that it makes her happy. That doesn’t mean I don’t see her loneliness. Maybe in a perfect world, we would be under the same roof again,” Raag says, regaining his husky tone.
“Raag, I think any mother would be proud to have a son like you,” I state. “I am sure your mother is proud of you.”
“That’s a huge compliment. I am honored.” Raag pauses. “But you hardly know me.”
“Well, Mr. Purohit, sometimes it takes an eternity to know someone, and sometimes two precious phone calls are more than enough to know that person for eternity and beyond.”
“That is very thoughtful, Ms. Bhatt.”
“Do you miss your father?” I ask a question that I shouldn’t have.