An Eternal Love Story
The byzantine link of the chronicle revolves around allegiance. Contemplated by the grim reality that her brilliance was, not much reflected in her intellectual pursuit Araina took refuge to introspection while her hands took to scribbling. A drowsy numbness penetrated her nerves and she felt prey to siesta. While she took to an ephemeral state of laze he took to the eternal state of slump. His demise transcended the moral and ethical conventions that blemished and tainted the subconscious Araina. The unnerving jolt had conferred to her the bitter; that he had left the world of the mortals forever.
On that fateful day when he last witnessed sunshine, she heard her father speaking over the telephone “he is no more”, half past eleven it was when the angel of death marched out the kindred spirits. Divine decree stood between Araina and Joe before she bid him the final goodbye. His downfall put her towering height of ambitions ablaze for he made her world go round; nothing was left out or held back after Joe crossed the great divide. She kept fetching the fragments of the failed relationship that they shared; that of broken promises; happy hours and the final departure. Heirs and assigns started pouring in the house to catch a glimpse of him, for he was her fair-haired boy, her only lifeline.
Time duped them; one was left to starve without the other. Just when she was about to concede defeat hope rekindled when bright eyes full of love brimmed at her, and reminded her of the good old times how Joe wagged his tail in reciprocation when the her nimble fingers intertwined his fur coat. How he bumped on to her as soon as he sensed she was back from school, how she turned on to him for help when mother was infuriated at Araina on discovering that the lunch box was not empty, their walks to the park was the hour of delight for the two.
The cremation was due by an hour; her lips curled up in a smile right after a droplet of tear trickled down her cheeks for she found a little bundle of joy strolling across the green grass that chucked her unclad toes in the crematory. Araina could barely keep a track of her sombre as she found the little dandy on the hour of lament. Without much delay she perked him up and went back to her margin with the little bundle of joy wrapped in her arms and showered him with all her love. A faint voice that of her granny called out for her to bid adieu Joe but all she could do was beam heedlessly at the enormous sky.
The night was pure with cold air, bereft of the brightly lit moon that lulled them to sleep every night as he made his way through the windowpane. Araina refused to leave her bed for the cremation, as she could not come to terms with the stark truth; she burst out with melancholy with a heavy heart as its occupant had liberated himself of its chambers forever. The night closed in on Araina, after hours of mourning, the dawn of realisation rested upon Araina as she rose from her bed the next morning and found the tiny canine asleep on the carpet. By the narrowest of margins could she withstand the effect of shutting her eyes to his ambience that brimmed with innocence and love, much like Joe. The glitz and glamour of the sun conveyed a silent message to the little girl out there, without haste she went outside the elbowroom only to be reprimanded by her mother and granny to leave aside her current endeavour and relish the platter put aside for her. She did not pay heed to what they said for she was up to something, Sunday mornings were always accompanied by leisure and her paint brushes made sure they turned a momentary encounter to a moment of eternity. While Araina kept herself occupied with her work, Joe chased the squirrels in the barn, barked at the strays, followed some people at random, Araina never stopped him from pursuing his ways for she knew he would get back to her and they played a game of Fetch before sunset and returned home. Every Sunday the Sunset bore testimony to their fellowship.
Araina whizzed past the hurdles along her way back to the bedroom only to let the canvas capture the new addition to the family. She entered the room tiptoed so as not to wake up her new companion and started off with her passion to capture everything that her heart pounded for; she vented the turmoil through the colours and spoke a ton without letting her lips move an inch. Much to her displeasure, she heard few conspiracies against her new fellow occupant. Nobody dared to make a remark except for the eldest member in the family. “Araina nobody took a note when you got the pariah inside. We will get you another pure bred Dalmatian to keep you company but not this one”. With much hesitation Araina held her head high to answer back to her matriarch “but he is a member of the same clan, the one from which Joe belonged.” The thin line of distinction put forth by her grandma did not appeal to her intellect and without much hesitation; she completed the masterpiece that articulated the perfect blend of impeccability and tenderness.
“All these years we suppressed our spontaneity in fear of censure and society” said her mother as she peeped through the door to find that her daughter followed her own heart and did not confirm to the stereotype by blindly obeying her elders. “She hoodwinked your mother’s suspicion,” added Araina’s father as he joined his wife and peeped through the door to ascertain how the pariah had infused the essence of euphoria in the life of his little angel. Araina’s laughter kept ringing in their ears. It brought down their woe for the great loss, and provided solace to their bereaved souls. Late in the evening Araina left the premises of her room with her little bundle of joy clutched in her arms and named her Lucy. Every nook and corner of the house flooded with the beautiful artworks of Araina, and now that every stroke of her paintbrush had almost dried she decided to place the painting in the living room for everyone to catch a glimpse of it because every piece of art is a manuscript that traces the mind of the artist and reveals the person behind the canvas.
About the Author: Arjoyita Roy, 22, is a Masters student in English Literature hailing from Kolkata, India. She is a free-spirited woman who wants people to stop shyly fighting the burning social issues in the name of culture and help woman to come out of their nutshells and stop being ever-enduring and subservient to the masculine caprice. Besides writing, she has an interest in proofreading, loves listening to music, and practices photo editing. She recently published a short play, A Run in The Family, as well as a couple of short stories in different websites and publishing houses.