THIS time the lightning seemed much nearer. She waited for the thunder. One, two, three… and predictably, Thor struck his hammer. The distant rumble inspired reverence rather than fear. But Diya shifted uneasily on her couch by the French window. Beyond, on the terrace and elsewhere, a storm raged. She could see the trees revolt against every mighty gust. She looked at her photograph on the table by the window. It was with Rishav, just after he had earned his wings. Diya let her thoughts wander...
Rishav was the best pilot of his class at Air Force Academy. Hundreds of sorties and some combat missions later he was a squadron leader. But a freak accident one fateful night forced an early retirement. Rishav took it badly. He slipped into depression. Diya stood by him like a rock. The offer had come suddenly. Pan-African airlines were looking for pilots to for its Indian operations. Today was the maiden voyage.
In a bid to distract herself, she turned the pages of Jonathan Livingstone Seagull, while sipping her second glass of whiskey.
She tried to lose her anxiety in the familiar words of her favourite book.
Alcohol and the monotonous pitter-patter of rain worked their magic. She was lost in a reverie.
It must have been almost three in the morning, when the doorbell jolted her back to reality. She darted silently towards the door, apprehensive and hopeful. A peep through the eyehole relaxed her. It was Rishav all right.
She opened the door and met his sad gaze with her hazel eyes. He looked a little ashen — obviously because of the cold. He was drenched — nothing a glass of Scotch couldn’t fix. She led him inside.
The candle flickered. In true filmy style there was a power cut as soon as Rishav entered. Who cares? The ambience was dream-like.
Diya giggled at her schoolgirl thought. She was sitting by the window nursing another drink when he entered the room. He had changed into his pyjamas. He came close and kissed her tenderly. A whole world of compassion was communicated with unspoken words. They lay in each other’s arms for a long time, savouring a comforting tenderness, and fell asleep like two children.
She woke up a little late next morning with a familiar headache. The two glasses on the table by the window helped her remember. She smiled. Rishav was not in the room. “Must be in the kitchen making his morning cuppa,” she smiled to herself.She went to her terrace to rescue the morning paper from the puddle. It was already wet but she could still read the news — The maiden flight of Pan African crashes. No survivors.
The paper slipped and fell on the terrace. The wind chime continued its soulful refrain.
