Our Favourite Indian Stories (54 page)

To Parvati, true love was when the partners shifted from feeling
spousal
to feeling
parental
about each other. She now loved him as a mother loves her child - with a fierce sense of proprietorship and a tender sense of indulgence. Love was a gradual shifting from an obsession with the body parts to their sudden packing up. It was all about worrying whether the morning's medicine for various ailments had been taken or not. It was about wondering whether the tiring walk or the coolness of the air could induce another attack of asthma.

Where once you dwelled on thoughts of your lover's rose-bud lips (hers) and the strength of your lover's manliness (his), you now dwelled on the gaps in one's teeth, memory and hearing. Love was about noisy expulsions of the breath and the erratic ticking of the heart. It was about age-induced paunches and hunches. It was about the gentle popping out of your teeth and the loud disappearance of your acquaintances. And it was all about the increasing intensity of love despite all these....

The cool evening breeze played wantonly with her salt and pepper hair. Her daughter Puja had sent her a letter, inviting her to America. The newest arrival was on its way and she wanted her mother to look after the baby. 'House-help here is frightfully expensive, Ma' she had written. She was even sending a ticket, she wrote-but only for her mother. 'It's really expensive, Ma, I'm sure you'll understand' she had explained.

With a sigh, Parvati wondered whether she should discuss the matter with her husband. Kartik's infrequent letters home had proved that she had outlived her usefulness for him at least. How long would it be till her daughter felt that way too? No, this time she would not go at their bidding. For once she would live life on her own terms.

The children, being young, would find a way. They would chart their own paths. It was her man who needed her now. How could she explain her attachment to this 60 - year old retired man? To the world he was just another grey, bespectacled, balding old man. For her he was the very meaning of her existence.

With a sigh she came to a decision. No, she could not leave him now. Not even for a day.. He was as helpless as a child without her to cook for him and lay out his clothes. Surely his need for her was greater than theirs. No, I will not go this time, decided Parvati, coming to a final decision.

Beyond, at the
Ashtalakshmi
temple, myriads of oil-lamps glowed. Around them, the sea breeze whispered longings. Above, the stars rained down endearments. Tenderly, Shivaswamy reached over and picked up the ends of her blue silk
sari
which the breeze had playfully pulled down from her frail shoulders. In a forgotten gesture of youth, he bought a sweet-scented rose and fixed it lovingly on Parvati's hair. Sun, sea and sand merged into one. Time stood still.

The Eternal Man and the Ageless Woman. Shiva and Parvati. Everyman and Everywoman. They had been together since the beginning of Creation. They lived on in the hearts of each couple who grew old together.

The sun had dipped into the spacious expanse of water, transforming it to liquid gold. Tomorrow, it would rise again to unfold a new, glorious day.

Shyly, Parvati took her husband's proffered hand. The gentle hands which now looked like twisted oak branches, weathered and gnarled. In the gathering dusk, they walked together in silent companionship. Yes, their life together had just begun.