The pot of chamomile tea lay empty atop the table. Its contents had been emptied into a whirlpool of profound vehemence and melancholia. The whirlpool had whirled once more in vigilance today. It was alive. It lived like its owner.

Arnav read the book. He read it with a growing inquisitiveness and hunger.

They had been felt by Arnav after a long, long epoch. Weeks they said, he spent upon the road and the rehab, but the gloom and oblivion of his experiences summed up to decades and centuries.

***

"Arnav! May I come in?" a slender physique with emerald green eyes uttered the words. The physique held a book within his firm yet tender clutches.

"Who? Oh! Sameer? Come in please." said Arnav, this time with a smile rejuvenating his cheeks.

"Oh! Okay. I saw that you were engrossed in your book. Robin, I really am so glad! Anyway, how do you find the book?" gushed the psychologist with enthusiasm as he entered the cabin accompanied by a smiling Robin.

"Oh! It has been a long time after which I am reading again. I really do find it amazing. I love it." said Arnav, the ebony of his pupils glistening with delight.

"Well, Arnav, we don't want you to love the book. We want you to live it!" said Sameer, his emerald eyes sharpened with intellect and sagacity.

"Arnav, do you know about Paulo Coelho?" asked Robin, the resonance of his words resonating with the expression of pensiveness impressed upon Arnav's countenance.

"Yes, he is the guy who wrote this book, right? So, yes." said Arnav, his words containing the same pensiveness.

"Ummmm, well, you don't, Mr. Lohar, actually." interrupted Robin.

"Well, I was about to say that! Arnav, you know about his success, not about his roots." said Sameer.

"Oh! Well, ahem, just tell me then. I will be glad to know!" replied Arnav.

"Oh, we have something for you! We have been impressed by the pace at which you are reading. Hence, ta-da!" gushed Sameer as he handed over the book he held:

It read, 'Paulo Coelho: A Warrior's Life: An Authorised Biography by Fernando Morais'.

Arnav, at first, contemplated the title and the cover and then he raised his head to contemplate Sameer and the expression upon his pupils and countenance.

"A biography!?" questioned a bamboozled Arnav.

"Yes, sir. A biography! You know, Paulo Coelho indeed had a traumatic childhood. His parents had committed him to a mental asylum to hinder the pursuit of his dreams; Coelho longed to pursue his career in writing.

"Electroconvulsive therapy had been carried out with him in his teens. But, did they at all, stop him, cease his pursuit!?" exclaimed Sameer.

"No! They might have hindered but they never stopped, never abolished his dreams. He was a dreamer like his created protagonist in the book!" Sameer said, his eyes gleaming with that same sagacity as he pointed to the book atop Arnav's table; he pointed to 'The Alchemist'.

Arnav listened carefully, minisculely, meticulously. He felt the rush of thoughts within his brain. If Coelho could, why could not he? These questions did not falter to haunt his being.

"Okay, enough of lectures. Tell me bout the rest." said Sameer in a voice of transpirancy.

"Ummm, the rest?" said Arnav, a little confused.

"The rest of your tale!" said Robin, a glisten fondling the spokes of his greyish blue iris.

"Oh, I see!" said Arnav, his consciousness returning from the musings to his present.

"And then?" said Sameer, in a voice of unfathomable inquisitiveness.

A sheer sense of boyish innocence prevailed within the syllables. He said it like a kid pondering to hear lores and tales of fantasies, ghosts, witches, wizards, covens, princesses, princes.

But the tale to be told, perhaps, stood out a little from those childish fantasies.

"I pondered day and night, decisively, endeavouring to reach answers. But they fetched me nought." told Arnav.

He sighed upon the reminiscence of the immense grief burdened upon his youth.

***

"But Ishita and I were now, more than acquaintances; we always were, but this time it wasn't unrequited anymore, our desires had surpassed the emotion of limerence.

"Yet, was a Kshatriya. I remained to be a Dalit.

"However, our desires rained upon paper. Our pens were fragile. They leaked it all!

"Letters found their way to our porches in the night; hers to mine and mine to hers.

"The desire blazing in our hearts twirled themselves in the folds of the illegitimate letters of love. Illegitimate to the world, legitimate to us.

"And legitimate to another person of the slum.

"He would post our letters, cherish our love and comfort us with solace. He was an old person, an experienced, wise and intellectual individual. He was a man of fifty-four named Suresh. Suresh Pamnani was his name.

"Suresh was an old uncle who had nurtured us since infancy. He was an allegiant human being unlike..."

"Unlike?" questioned Robin.

"Unlike!- well why shall I reveal it all now? I shall let you know, unleash the secrets of my life like a Shiuli blooming upon the woodland branch. I shall unleash slowly, and with stealth." A mysterious smile was birthed upon the pale lips of Arnav as he birthed the mischievously misty syllables.

"It was a cool summer night when my pen danced graciously upon the parchment. It was confessing its owner's love for Ishita and professing the latter's beauty.

"Profess I say, for women, especially beloved maidens-they love to be complimented upon their physical beauty!

"But had I but fallen for the boldness and youth underneath her tissues and fibres. I had loved her soul and lived her heart. For they had given life to the youthful being of flesh and bone which twirled around in the wind with grace, unsullied, not blemished by the prejudices, by the evils which surrounded.

"Or so it seemed.

"It was a beautiful night which had dusked with its enigma over the slum and the city and the people who resided within.

"Some melancholic tune of a song of vintage taste floated in the air. It perhaps, had been played on a record of vinyl by some lavish couple cherishing the pleasure within the pain of love.

"The way we did. Lavishly.

"The tune fuelled the passion within my soul and that which was being transmitted to the pen. The pen wrote words which spoke a language of desire, of untamed, perilous, of perilously perilous desire.

"The dampness of the crimson stricken lips of a maiden had lured my parched ones. It was some unfathomable longing, pain and pleasure which grew, like a fuelled fire within my bosom. It spoke of passion, of grace, and of conjugal piety.

"Bewitched by the melody, I came out upon the mud porch of my mansion. Mansion I say!-it was a hut supported by a few bricks, and a terrace of asbestos. The dwelling was accompanied by a store room and a wee little ventilation upon the roof called the 'attic'. The attic was nonetheless another space, employed for the function of storage upon the failure of the store room to accommodate.

"That was all what our wages had supported. My father was a worker in a colliery. My siblings were still studying and I devoted a large part of my time in my younger sister's caregiving. My mother was a weaver and a housewife, whose grace had been swept away with her life in my teens.

"The porch was empty as the residents of the premises had sunk into a tranquil slumber. Except me. It was I who had been awake, writing, imagining, deluding. I bathed in the sapphire light of the moon, sinking in a delusional embrace of me and Ishita. I mused of the muse who had conquered my musings. I spent a few dreamy moments upon the reclusive porch.

"After a few minutes, I shut down the doors and thereby, returned to my secluded room and dreams embosoming it.

"I returned to the illuminated bed, the lantern, and the letter. The bed held the sleeping frames of my siblings. It was my turn that night, to sleep upon the floor. Whereas I remained consciously subconscious, bewitched, stupefied, dreaming in lucidity, of her.

"The lantern had illuminated the bed, the room, and the letter, birthing dramatically mysterious shadows upon the bamboo tapestried walls.

"The parchment lay upon the desk, perhaps, speculating surmises of what were to be wrought upon it, what phrases were to complete the incompleteness, the voids of the sentences, and speech-what desire, untamed desire would pirouette once again within the sentences, stories of longing and truth, and of limerence.

"The letter, I wrote with a burnished passion. The colours of my facets had all but merged. They had merged into a boldness of red. The colour of passion, desire and sensuality. The colour of the vermilion upon my mother's head, the colour of the bangles dangling, jingling, singing the song of desire. Red!- the hue of Ishita's august lips.

"Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"'Who?' said I, my trance being shattered by the sound.

Answer there was none.

"'Who is it?' repeated I, the beating of my heart brisking with every knock upon the door.

"The door was being thrusted upon by the anonymous entity.

"I conceived of repeating farther my words just when a numbing thought surged through the neurons of my brain.

"What if it is someone who had become aware of our relationship? What if?-I could not think farther.

"With quivering limbs, I made my way to the damned door. Oh, before that, I had hidden my letter, cunningly, cautiously, using up the last globules of intellect of my numb mind in those moments of peril. I hid it carefully in a fanciful location. I hid it within a little crack behind my closet.

"I went to the door with a quivering heart, thinking of mere excuses. At first, I conceived of bidding adieu to the guest by never opening the door. But then, oh, what a folly had I committed! The light emanating from my lantern did not only illuminate the parchment and my thoughts. It had formed a little silhouette of me which could be observed from outside.

"I was afraid, I was terrorized. What intruder could come in this hour of the night? I thought, what if it was the call of the robbers? But then, no, no. It cannot be. Why would someone pave the way for their peril by this stupid act!?-by knocking on the front door of a mansion. Plus, what had we to be robbed of? A family perishing in sheer poverty were we!-were we but devoid of the least resources! This had to be someone else!

"Letting my inquisitiveness surpass my cowardice, I opened the latch of the door then thrusted it towards the outside realm and reality!-I removed the only hindrance between me and the midnight intruder.

"I opened the door only to stare at the other creature in sheer disbelief!"

****