It was the same dream last night. In the dream, I was back at the cemetery again. The same monotonous dream. And towards dawn it ended, in a very shaky and subtle way. Since then I am awake, awake at the corner of my bed clinching the railings of the window.
Darkness, a few discrete scenes, silence unified with some distinct sounds and a smell...is all I can remember after I wake up from it every time.
I understand it could be the aftermath of the setback I had over my wife’s death. At her deathbed, she had told me that she will meet me on the thirteenth night, and we will be together forever. Being alone, without the only person you have ever loved is tough…but whose fate is it that I am seeing in my dreams?
There is a man in the dream, a man with a dark jacket. Then there are sounds of barking of dogs from a faraway place. A red handkerchief, rail-lines…and then the pinnacle of a church. And all of a sudden I am awaked with a shrill sound of a train. It’s a suicide.
I decided to visit the cemetery on the thirteenth night. In front on the cemetery I find a man selling Jackets. I like a brown one, very dark. The man hands it over to me and disappears, without saying anything, as I enter the graveyard.
The rain comes in. soft and gentle. I become wet and start shivering in the cold. The monotonous sound of the water dropping in takes me away from the real world…in the world of her. It’s a lonely, dark and a silent place, the cemetery.
The dogs started barking from a far place all of a sudden…
I knelt down, and found thousands of Chhatim flowers lying on the narrow path. I picked up a couple of them…all wet from the rain. They reminded me of her.
“I love Chhatim flowers.”
“And I love you.”
I had always believed that when people die, they turn into Chhatim flowers. And right then I was with her.
I found myself crying. I searched the pocket of my newly bought Jacket and found a handkerchief, a red one.
Fifty metres away laid a steep part marking the border between the cemetery and the railways station…the steep portion would lead to the rail lines crossing the stations.
I took the shortcut and came on the lines. And in the moonlight I saw the pinnacle of a church about half a mile away.
I realised I can’t feel the cold anymore. It’s the same me who was shivering a couple of minutes ago…is warm now in the thoughts of meeting with his wife.
The distant signal turned red now. And then the whistle came in…
In the half light of the cold December evening, I fell unconscious on the rail lines… in a way waiting for my own death coming towards me at a speed of hundred kilometres per hour.
For the rest of the world it will be a suicide. But for me, it’s the last meet forever.
(Sent for the TOI Spellbound competition 2011)
Darkness, a few discrete scenes, silence unified with some distinct sounds and a smell...is all I can remember after I wake up from it every time.
I understand it could be the aftermath of the setback I had over my wife’s death. At her deathbed, she had told me that she will meet me on the thirteenth night, and we will be together forever. Being alone, without the only person you have ever loved is tough…but whose fate is it that I am seeing in my dreams?
There is a man in the dream, a man with a dark jacket. Then there are sounds of barking of dogs from a faraway place. A red handkerchief, rail-lines…and then the pinnacle of a church. And all of a sudden I am awaked with a shrill sound of a train. It’s a suicide.
I decided to visit the cemetery on the thirteenth night. In front on the cemetery I find a man selling Jackets. I like a brown one, very dark. The man hands it over to me and disappears, without saying anything, as I enter the graveyard.
The rain comes in. soft and gentle. I become wet and start shivering in the cold. The monotonous sound of the water dropping in takes me away from the real world…in the world of her. It’s a lonely, dark and a silent place, the cemetery.
The dogs started barking from a far place all of a sudden…
I knelt down, and found thousands of Chhatim flowers lying on the narrow path. I picked up a couple of them…all wet from the rain. They reminded me of her.
“I love Chhatim flowers.”
“And I love you.”
I had always believed that when people die, they turn into Chhatim flowers. And right then I was with her.
I found myself crying. I searched the pocket of my newly bought Jacket and found a handkerchief, a red one.
Fifty metres away laid a steep part marking the border between the cemetery and the railways station…the steep portion would lead to the rail lines crossing the stations.
I took the shortcut and came on the lines. And in the moonlight I saw the pinnacle of a church about half a mile away.
I realised I can’t feel the cold anymore. It’s the same me who was shivering a couple of minutes ago…is warm now in the thoughts of meeting with his wife.
The distant signal turned red now. And then the whistle came in…
In the half light of the cold December evening, I fell unconscious on the rail lines… in a way waiting for my own death coming towards me at a speed of hundred kilometres per hour.
For the rest of the world it will be a suicide. But for me, it’s the last meet forever.
(Sent for the TOI Spellbound competition 2011)
Nooooo...the guy just can't die like that. Stop the train, someone.
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