I gazed at the dots moving ever so slowly on the other side. It seemed so strange. I had run into Bangladeshis so often in Kolkata. Immigrants from Bangladesh came so frequently to the city. Some in search of jobs, some for better medical services. Some are legal migrants while others are not. It was quite frequent that I had run into a Bangladeshi on the bus or metro and every time they had seemed like a nuisance. Just a mere addition to the pathetic poverty that already polluted our cities. But sitting there looking at those dots perambulating freely on the green bank, it felt so different. It didn't matter if they were rich or poor anymore. They seemed so unique, people of a different country right before my eyes. It was as if with distance, the irrelevant features melted away into only the necessities. The bizarre became so mystical, the old became new, the ugly became the beautiful, the rugged barren poriferous moon became an indispensable ornament of the night sky and somewhere or the other it ceased to matter whether those curious dots were rich or poor. They were humans just like me. So distant, so far away and yet so identical in so many ways.

Far away, just like me and Shraddha. I recalled the first time we uttered the word love in that marketplace. Was that the moment our love was born? Or was it when it had started falling apart? Right from the moment of our conviction that this invisible  bond called love that no one has really been able to understand throughout history is what had held us together. The dots kept moving in the distance. Just like those dots, irrespective of all the questions, of all the minor details that appeared relevant before, the moments with Shraddha looked beautiful today, lingering in alluring pleasure on the other side of the river of time that separated us.

"That’s a really nice bracelet”, someone said in Bengali.

I looked around. A tiny girl, must be about eight, dressed in a tattered pink dress stood beside me. Her face was smeared with dust and her teeth tinted yellow. She reminded me of the kid in the train and how I had insulted him in English. My heat shriveled in agony. How could I have done that? Perhaps it was the circumstance. The crowd, the hot humid train and my own disturbed state perhaps all contributed to my dishonorable reaction.  But even then how did I let these circumstances sap the very last bit of dignity from my soul? Had I really reached so low that I had forgotten how to talk to a child?

I shook my head in disdain. I had not always been this cruel. Perhaps the seeds of prejudice always remained dormant within me but had never sprouted to existence with such heinous passion before. The pains of separation and battering circumstances of life had preoccupied my senses, worn down my moral defences and let lose the storms of such inhumaneness upon those around me. This coupled with the unbearable crowding in that train had taken the better of me. At least this was only the justification I could procure in my state of regret.

On any other day perhaps I would not have bothered to even try and talk to her. But the shame that swallowed me at the moment subdued my prejudice.

“Yeah it is nice isn’t it?” I said in Bengali continuing to tug on the bracelet.
The girl gently sat down beside me. Her eyes fixed on the bracelet.

"My mom had one just like this."

I smiled. She had evidently confused the bracelet with a bangle but I didn't try to correct her.

"She promised she would give it to me one day", The girl muttered still staring at the bracelet.

"Wow. It would look really nice on your hand," I smiled.

A flicker of despair rippled through her face. She looked away towards the river.

"She sold it to get last night's food "
The words hit me like a punch on my chest. I didn't know how to respond to that. The crunching truth of poverty to which I had always feigned denial or exhibited contempt came hurtling down on me.

For a moment there was silence. Only a lonely raven cawed in its joyless strain.

"What's your name?" I finally asked.

The girl didn't reply. She kept staring into the river, incessantly muttering something to herself.

"What does your father do?" I asked.

The girl didn't pay any heed. She kept muttering. I listened a little carefully. She was reciting an old Bengali nursery rhyme.

"Where did you learn that? Do you go to school?"

"No" She finally said. "Jaggu taught me."

"Who's Jaggu?"

"He comes to our house sometimes."

"Is he a relative?"

The girl shook her head.

"He comes to our house. Many do, but others are not that nice. Jaggu is nice though. He talks to me, brings toffees for me. He told me about the boats. Do you see that one there with the green flag? That one's from Bangladesh and that one is from India.",She said excitedly pointing at the streamers drifting by.

I smiled but something still kept bothering me. The girl kept chatting away on her own, talking about Ichamati river and all the wondrous tales about it that Jaggu had told her about. I kept listening to her with patience.

"And Ichamati there mixes with Kalandi. Jaggu told me everything about it. If you meet him, you would really like him. My mom says he is the nicest man who comes to the house. He doesn't hurt her like the others."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Others-Why do others hurt your mum?"
The girl didn't answer. She had started muttering again.

"Why do others hurt your mum?" I repeated the question.

"I don't know," She murmured.

"Do they hurt you?"

"No. Mom makes me leave the house when they come."

"Even when Jaggu comes?"

She shrugged.

"Sometimes.Jaggu comes to meet only me sometimes. He is very nice. Not like the others."

"Just because he tells you stories?"

"And give me chocolates too. Mom doesn't have scars after he leaves."

I took a breath. All this was too difficult to handle. The harsh truths of reality which only spoke through the veil of news, had without warning emerged with its disconcerting desecrated limbs into full exposure of my senses. I found myself thoroughly incapable of being able to gather myself and find an appropriate course of action.

"Will you give me that bangle?" She asked.
I was too lost in my own thoughts. The question brought me back with a jolt.

"What? Ya-yes sure."

And without a second's thought, I opened the bracelet and gave it to her. Her dark dirty face lit up with a radiant aura of exuberance.

"But you have to promise me you would meet me again. I may also have some stories to tell you," I smiled.

She nodded vigorously and jumped to her feet. Without a moment's delay she ran off, her eyes fixed on that silver bracelet she held like an invaluable diamond in her hand. Her happiness knew no bounds.
I kept smiling as I saw her disappear in the distance. A feeling of great satisfaction swept over me. I looked at my watch and saw it was quite late. It had started to turn dark. The streetlamps along the bank had been lighted flooding the isolated bank with an incongruous bright orange glow. The last of the ships which sailed in the distance were also returning to their respective banks, their respective countries.

My mind started drifting to the past again. A similar evening that I spent with Shraddha on this very bank. My left hand compulsively swept over my right wrist and an abrupt sensation of emptiness surged through me.

Where did the bracelet go?

I shook my head. I had given away the bracelet only a minute ago. How could I forget?

For so many years the bracelet had meant nothing. I had worn it whenever I wanted to, left it carelessly laying around and lost it too so many times. It had not meant anything to me. Not a symbol of love, not a token of good memories, not even a good luck charm. Nothing. It had only been a cheap piece of metal whose only purpose, if any, was to convince Shraddha that I still loved her. That purpose has surely failed, the cheap piece of metal had certainly outlived its utility. But still that evening, I felt like I had a lost a part of myself. Crass tremors of desperation pulsated through my body. I wanted the bracelet like I had wanted nothing else. It was as if I had given away something as precious as my eyesight.
‎
I took a deep breath. The bracelet was gone. There was no way I could get it back.
The emptiness which raged within me subsided but certainly did not extinguish.
I took a deep breath again. It just felt so strange. Something whose value and relevance had seemed to erode over the course of so many years, became so precious only when I lost it. Maybe that is what love is. Maybe that is why I never truly understood it before. You cannot comprehend love till you have endured loss.

Night descended slowly on the quiet river. In the distance, the dots still moved freely on the darkening bank.