He Came to Stay - 18. Chapter 18

The thought of what was going to happen next worried me. I couldn’t tolerate separation with Ishan, yet as the proximity grew between us, it bothered me about the possible outcome. After that day’s incident he again started staying with me. This time he didn’t ask for my permission. Nor did I express any eagerness that he should stay back. During the last few days sometimes he raised the topic, probably to see my reaction. On such occasions I only casually said that he might think about returning to his hostel later. And he stayed back.

His return to my life made things difficult for me to handle. Perhaps, Avijit somehow got the news that he was staying with me, and that was the probable reason he never turned up since Ishan came. At times I laughed at the irony of the entire string of events happening around me. The person who was so close to me, stayed away, and on the other hand, I didn’t have the right to touch the person, who was staying with me, sharing the same roof, and whom I loved so much. I never expected it to be reciprocated. Nor did I believe that I had, or should have, any such right. But I realized that his staying with me created a chasm between Avijit and me, which could, in all likeliness, grow unbridgeable with time. Yet I didn’t have the firmness in me to send him back to his hostel. I realized that somehow he got indulgence from me in my love for him. At times he exploited me to the extent he could. He would invite friends at odd hours, and ask for food. He would tell them that I was a good cook and insist on homemade food. So despite my poor health I have to prepare food for them. At other times, when I would be warming up the food for dinner, he would snatch the spud from my hand, saying that ‘You should take rest. I’ll manage the kitchen.’ He often behaved as if it was he who were the guardian, and not the other way round. I silently enjoyed treasured all his moves as precious gems treasured in my heart. However it was growing difficult for me to share the same bed with him. Every time I remained cautious that I should not touch him, and fondle with his body in my sleep.

One night when I was sleeping, suddenly my eyes opened up at a gentle touch in my private parts. Was I mistaken? How could Ishan, who always maintained a safe distance from me, touch me in that way? First I thought that he did it by mistake. I gently removed his hand. He pretended as if he was sleeping. If he were sleeping he would wake up at the removal of his hand. But he didn’t at all respond, when I removed his hand. After a while he hugged me and placed his lips against my cheek, he didn’t kiss me though. This time I didn’t daunt him. The touch of those lips filled me with unspeakable joy. I softly settled his hair with my fingers. He rubbed his lips against my cheek and touched my stick inside the tent. In a moment all my muscles got erected. I stretched my body with the stuff still held in his hand. He pushed his waist a little and his huge tool touched my thigh. For me it was an uncontrollable situation. All my senses asked me to go forward and hold the throbbing stick that was declaring its eagerness to be rubbed and fondled with. The situation was hard to tackle. He had arisen the sleeping demon, who even in his sleep created nuisance for not to let me have peace even for a single moment. The monstrous lust brewing in me started taking me under its spell. The demon having been unlashed after remaining in chains for centuries, took out its teeth and claws to tear off its tormentor. Its devilish appearance scared me off and my conscience was just an infant before its lustful paws.

When I contemplated as to how many people were lucky enough to have in their lives the person they loved, and I found it difficult to recollect positive instances from my memory, my prudence prompted me to accept his advancement. My hand went down from his shoulder to his chiselled chest, feeling the cuts and the erect nipples, then a bit lower to his upper abdomen, traversing all through it, in all the dunes that make those adorable six-packs. My finger in the deep naval valley made him moan. He pressed his thighs and his tool against my thighs. As my hand moved lower it reached at a dense hairy zone. It felt the heat if the stump stood stiff in that turf of beautiful grasses and longed for holding the stem. Yet my conscience somehow prevented me from letting it happen. It reminded me of the Pauranika story when the demon, Putana, came to kill little Krishna, by feeding him on her breast, which had poison on it. The child, instead of sucking had bitten it, causing her to die. My conscience, however week, managed to kill the demon in me and I got out of my bed. As far as Ishan was concerned, I knew him well. It was, perhaps, his adolescence that instigated him to take this step, or could it be the case that he just wanted to make me happy by allowing me to have it with him? But who would make him understand that love cannot be gifted, nor can it be given away as alms? It is not a human creation. Just like an infectious disease, we never know when it infects us. But it let its presence felt as it grows within.

The possibility that he might do it to see me happy, gave me immense pleasure. Yet I decided not to allow him belittle my love by paying a price for it. To me at lease, my love was invaluable and couldn’t be paid off even for the entire world. I was ready to do anything for it, but couldn’t accept anything from him in return. It jeopardized my life, my career, even my relation with Avijit, and I didn’t complain. Now that it came to pay me off, that also from my cousin brother, my inner self refused to accept the gift.

What he was about to do would be a trauma for the rest of his life. Perhaps, he couldn’t realize that at this moment. But being neither immature nor innocent enough not to understand the consequences, how could I indulge in it? Climbing down my bed, I went to my writing desk. I pulled out the drawer, took out a cigarette from the cigarette-case and placing it between my lips, I looked for the lighter in the drawer. It was not there. I had to light the torch to look for it on the desk. But it was not there also. I went back to my bed. It must be beside my pillow. As I light the torch again, Ishan’s eye-lids squeezed, which made me sanguine that he was not sleeping and what happened between us just a few minutes back was not in his sleep. He indulged into that consciously. I found my lighter under my pillow and at last lit up the cigarette. The smoke twirled in the air perfectly resembling the thoughts in my mind. Intricate and convoluted, as they were, they left me perplexed as to what to do with this new dimension that was being added to our relationship. I enjoyed it enormously, yet with all sincerity I didn’t want it to happen.

I was lost in the thought and the anxiety that prevailed in my heart even after having a feeling of fulfilment. Yet somewhere I knew that I enjoyed it. In this acceptance and denial Avijit, depressed and dismayed, somewhere appeared in my mind. My constant negligence somewhere benumbed him. He used to talk a lot, especially when he would be in my company. He bared open every corner of his heart. That might be one reason he received only negligence in return from me. The curiosity generally associated with an enigmatic silence keeps love alive. Ishan’s silence, compared to Avijit’s expressiveness of his love, made me curious and more attracted towards the former. When I peered through my past, I found that Avijit received only negligence and indifference, which he obviously didn’t deserve. The only thing that gave a gentle touch of solace to my remorse-stricken soul was the fact that I remained honest to my feelings and never tried to deceive him. Perhaps, he knew about my feelings for Ishan. Still, life didn’t give me a chance to express it to him. Whenever I tried to tell him, he interpreted my love for Ishan as merely a brotherly love. He never told me this, nor did he ever express his curiosity in this regard, yet I understood that he most likely took it as not more than brotherly love. I could hardly be held responsible for loving Ishan. I firmly believed that love was not something that could be created by man. So, the man, who was just a victim of this parasite taking shelter and multiplying in his hear,t would hardly be held responsible for his predicament. But where the onus would be really upon him, if at all, was his way of handling this menace. It was beautiful and alluring, and, at the same time, it was disastrous. He would be so mesmerized by it, that he, in all likelihood, would neglect its imminent disastrous effects. He who could overcome the temptation of having this alluring beauty in his life and possessing it, were great souls, persons who performed tasks apparently impossible for others to perform.

I was once again feeling drowsy but afraid of going to the bed. I picked up my cell and checked time on it. It was 3.30 A.M. I needed another round of sleep to carry out my work the next day. I had taken pills, which already started showing effect on me. I was sure that Ishan was not sleeping, as he didn’t roll on the bed since I left it. Did he really do it in sleep, or was it intentional? I was in a fix whether or not to return to my bed. If he would do again what he did earlier, it would be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to resist the temptation of getting him both physically and mentally. Now I come to know how much harm I did to him and had no idea how to rectify it. Afraid of this unknown possibility I sat at my desk, switched on my PC and started writing. But I couldn’t write much. Words marched past before my eyes like a trail of ants, moving in a line to some unknown destination. They had no impact on me. Even after trying too hard, and for too long I couldn’t writ more than one paragraph, and when I went back to read it, I couldn’t decipher any meaning out of it. My eyes got heavy. Still, afraid of the incident to be repeated, I decided to sleep on the couch in my drawing room. Picking up my wrapper I went to the drawing room and without switching off the lights I took shelter in the couch.

Despite the drowsiness all sorts of thoughts crept in my mind, keeping me baffled about my future course of action. The thought of Avijit repeatedly peeped into my mind. If he were present, as he should be, nothing of this sort of would take place. I appeared to forget everything about how he left my place this time, how Ishan behaved with me in his presence and how he reacted to it. Only a deep sense of deprivation remained in my mind as if he was solely responsible for this night’s incident. However hard did I try, I couldn’t justify his misunderstanding and leaving me alone when I needed him the most. My deserted heart beleaguered from all corners asked to itself why it should try too hard to protect the right of the person who couldn’t care less for it. What would be wrong, if anything would happen between Ishan and me? If it would make both of us happy, then why should I prevent it from happening? Society! How was it going to affect the society? Why should people expect all relationships to fall within the stereotypes created by them? I lowered one foot from the sofa. But as it touched the ground, I thought that Ishan did this only to please me. He realized that I wanted him too badly. But he utterly failed to understand the nature of my love for him. I didn’t really want sex from him. It is true that I enjoyed looking at his uncovered body. Yet I considered my behavior of that day was an expression of my love for him. Love in its want of expansion seeks to touch not only the soul but also the body, the entire existence, in all minute details, of the beloved. Perhaps, the only thing that I was mistaken about was that I couldn’t draw a subtle distinction between my attachment with him and sexual love. The flood of emotions attached with my love sought to float it with all barriers of age-old convictions and societal barriers. And in that flood I found everything, including all my much cherished values and beliefs including my love for Avijit, drifting out of me. I clasped them to the best of my ability. Still they appeared to be slipping out of my hand.

I was too drowsy to contemplate on it for long. Slowly all serious thoughts faded away from my mind in a misty scene with a barely visible figure ascending before my eyes. The person, who was looking in the opposite direction, appeared at some distance. His long hair and tall muscular figure was known to me. It must be Ishan. But as he turned around, I got surprised looking at his pale face. He was unknown to me, but had strikingly similar features as those of Ishan—the same lively eyes, the same sharp nose, and the same complexion. Anybody would confuse him for Ishan. The distance between us gradually reduced, I didn’t know how. When he came as close to me as for me to be able to touch him, if I wanted, I asked, ‘What do you want?’ He looked at me silently for a while and then said, ‘I don’t expect anything from you. You can’t give me, or anybody, anything. You learnt only to serve yourself.’ I wanted to say something in protest. But my throat got choked. A teenage girl caught his hand and he gently removed it. I didn’t know where the girl came from. She was not in the scene earlier, or perhaps, she was. I might have failed to notice her in the mists. The distance between us started increasing again, though both of us remained unmoved as earlier. Now I looked below and noticed that he was standing on a boat, which was floating away of the shore. A snake tried to climb the boat from the water. I wanted to make him alert but for my choked voice I couldn’t. The next moment I jumped into the water, my eyes opened and I found myself on the floor beside my couch in my drawing room. I fell in my sleep though didn’t get hurt.

I climbed the couch again and tried to sleep. It didn’t take time to get immersed in the worries that always haunted me. I tried to decipher the meaning of this strange dream. But another thought prevailed instead. How would Ishan take this behavior of mine? How would he react? Wouldn’t he take my spending the night in the drawing room as a way of avoiding him? I had no idea what awaiting me the next morning. I was apprehensive. I wouldn’t be able to bear another incident of his going away from me.

The light of the room went on and I saw Ishan standing before me with his worried eyes fixed at mine, inspecting me closely. He asked, ‘Did you fall? I heard the sound of someone’s falling!’

--Yes! I fell, but am not hurt.

--What were you doing with lights off?

As I wanted to avoid answering this last question, I instead asked him, ‘Haven’t you slept?’

--I was half-asleep, when I heard the sound of someone’s falling. You went out of the bed for quite some time. I thought you went to the toilet and fell on your way to the bedroom. You had already had such vertigos earlier. Why didn’t ask me to accompany you?

--I didn’t have vertigo this time. I just fell from the sofa in my sleep.

--Then you were sleeping here?

--No. Well… Yes…I was actually working here. I thought that if I switched on the lights of the bedroom, it might disturb your sleep. So, I came here and can’t remember when I had fallen asleep.

--Who switched off the lights then?

--Oh! Now I remember I woke up in between to go to the toilet.

He looked keenly into my eyes, and then holding my hand he almost dragged me to the bedroom.

As we reached my room, like the most obedient child I went into the bed without any objection. He also did the same. But this time he didn’t hug me and lay facing at the opposite direction. I knew what was awaiting me for the next morning. I placed my left arm under his head and held him with the other. But he didn’t respond. My blood pressure steeped up. I could sense it by the unrest that was going on in my mind and body. The night seemed to be unnaturally long. I couldn’t sleep. After an hour or so he started cuddling me, seemingly in his sleep. As it was not indecent, I didn’t prevent him. But I didn’t reciprocate either. My heart was longing for kissing him on his forehead, an act which I often did when he would be with me. This time neither did I cuddle him, nor did I kiss him, just lay unmoved, and tried to understand what he was up to. He placed his head on my bosom, rubbed his lips on it and placed one leg on me—all in his sleep.

(to be continued….)