Fiction & Nonfiction

A spot of solace

A spot of solace

The pier was a favorite haunt for Lila and her father, a renowned music teacher of south Indian classical music. They came here almost on every evening.
In the golden sunset, both would sit on the wharf, with their legs over its edge. They faced the orange orb of the sun sinking fast into the western horizon, their eyes devouring the splendid masterly strokes of the Supreme Artist. Twilight gradually descended on the entire region as if casting a net of magic, at this time of the meeting point between day and night.

“This is the right place for practice,” said the sixty year old, gray-haired man dressed in a white dhoti (a long piece of cloth draped around the lower half of the body in traditional Indian style) and a white, long-sleeved loose shirt. He sighed contentedly, looking at the darkening sky.

“ Which raga (classical tune that is sung, by varying its notes, expanding it by largely by improvising) should I sing today father?”

“ You can start with Mohana, (one of the hundreds of ragas with differentiating characteristics and names) child.”

The sweet mellifluous voice that floated on the evening air appeared to have crossed over to the upper regions, sweeping into the ethereal stratosphere. It took the listener to a world of perfect devotion and endless grace.
The voice that touched the zenith of musical excellence, retraced its steps ever so graciously back into the mortal world.

The silence that followed was pervaded by the lingering notes of immortal music.

“That was a good rendition of the raga, Lila dear. You must have experienced its beauty and depth.”

“Yes father. I am always reluctant to end any raga; it draws me on and on. I never feel like coming back”

“That problem can be solved if you give shape and substance to your composition whether it is a raga, or a song set to that raga.”

The voice belonged to a young man who sat at a short distance from the musical duo.
He seemed to know the intricacies of classical music.

“Namaste!” he said joining his hands, greeting the older man in the native way, and looked at the girl with a friendly smile.
“ My name is Arun, I have just completed M.A in music. I have applied for a music teacher’s job in a school, at my native place. I am sorry if I disturbed you. I couldn’t resist the music, and I had to stop by and know more about such an excellent singer,” he said, his smile never leaving him.

After a while, Lila asked him, what exactly he meant by his earlier suggestion.
“You can build the theme of your raga in various forms, say, like a pyramid or a tree. Start at the narrow base and finish it by the broadside or vice versa. A raga could also be imagined as a woman or a man. Qualities like love and valor can be reflected in the tune by tuning your imagination. I feel that true art combines the technical aspects of pitch and rhythm, with melody.”

A good, solid tip, thought Lila, happily.

The elderly man was duly impressed, and invited Arun over to their home.
They were naturally drawn close by the common passions of singing and sharing the invaluable treasures of music. Arun joined the father and daughter, whenever he could.

As days passed, the friendship bond thickened, and there wasn’t a day when Lila and Arun hadn’t met.

Once, Lila’s father fell sick and stayed back home. Lila however, didn’t miss her pier practice and nature gazing.
“Oh hello! Alone at last,” said Arun as he came to join Lila, a note of relief and gladness in his voice.
“What do you mean?” asked Lila, a bit haltingly, raising her expressive eyes.
“Oh come on, you know I love you too much” Arun was far from being patient. He took her into his hungry arms, and gently raised her chin. Lila closed her eyes in thrilled anticipation of his first kiss. He nearly smothered her with kisses four, and even more.
“Lila darling, how soon can we marry?” he caressed her fondly, and found it hard trying to stay controlled. Love was a magical potion that shot straight to head. This couple was no exception to it. Her silence was enough assuring him of her willingness to marry him.

After a simple wedding, attended by their friends and relatives, Arun and Lila settled in a pretty cottage quite close to her father’s house. Pleasure-winged days flew by.

Lila started giving music lessons at home. Her income steadily increased.

Arun too began giving vocal concerts, and quite soon made a name for himself. He thought it to be a better occupation than finding a job in a school or a college of music where the chances of public performances would be limited. Lila was not that lucky mainly because of her household duties, and an early pregnancy. She, however, had the chance to go to her dear pier, and spend some time seeping in the peaceful quiet of the surroundings.

“Lila! Where are you? I’ll be leaving for Mumbai tomorrow.”
Lila came out of kitchen, surprised at Arun's early return from a concert.
“I was offered a chance to sing for a movie! Isn’t that exciting?”

Light faded from Lila’s face. Somehow she never liked the commercial aspect of music.
“No Arun. Don’t go. I don’t care for the field.” Her voice trembled.
“Don’t be silly. When a chance to better our lives comes our way, it is foolish to turn it down,” said Arun, his voice brooking no opposition.

As luck favored him with more opportunities to sing for the silver screen, Arun started living in Mumbai, the hub of film industry, for long stretches of time. The cosmopolitan climate of the big city threw him into the company of bigwigs of the industry. good manners prompted him into mingling, and drinking with them and their wives. One thing led to another. Under the pretext of learning music, ladies started frequenting his place, and often, one of them stayed back for the night. The dazzle and easy life soon had Arun under its sway, and he seldom went home to Lila and his baby daughter Vidya.

The doorbell rang. The woman disentangled herself from the sheets, and walked to the hallway, opened the door and still sleepy she asked “ May I help you?” Her eyes widened at the sight of a lovely lady with a sweet baby in her arms.

“ Is Arun at home?” so saying, Lila walked into the apartment that looked pretty much shabby.
“Who are you?”
“I am his wife.”
“Oh my God! Arun! Your wife is here,” shouted the tall woman in scanty clothing.

“ Why did you come Lila? Couldn't you wait for a while longer?” Arun asked angrily.
“ The baby is missing you Arun. It is more than a month since you came home.”
“You can’t stay here, come on I’ll drop you at the station for the return trip.”

Lila realized the finality in his tone, with her eyes full of unshed tears. His total rejection shocked her. She felt weak with shock, at the unexpected turn of events. Whatever happened to their sworn vows of marriage and love?

At the station, she asked him, “what’s the matter Arun? Are we finished? Is it over?”
Baby Vidya looked at her dad with wide-open eyes and a gummy smile. It had no effect on the fame-intoxicated man, her father.

“Look, Lila, our paths have forked. I need total freedom where I am. Unless I am single and free, I cannot further realize my dreams of a golden future. You and the kid will be my stumbling blocks.”
“What do you suggest?” Lila trembled at his dispassionate analysis. Can a man of music be this hard at heart? she wondered.
“ I already thought about it. Divorce papers are enroute. You’ll find them on your return.”
Completely robbed of speech, Lila climbed into the train, and remained so till she came home and then broke down.

A few years later.

Lila founded a music school that did extremely well. She appointed a number of well-trained, devoted teachers. The students participated in national and international events of music and fetched meritorious honors for their school. She went abroad to the West and the Far East where her talented group of artists, was much appreciated, and showered with grants and funds.

Vidya, her daughter, after being trained in Karnatic (South Indian) classical music, went to Vienna to learn western classical music. Wasn’t music divine whether it was Indian or western?

Quite by accident, Lila found out while watching the TV, that her ex husband, and the famous singer Arun, suffered a stroke while conducting a musical night somewhere on the continent.
A few months earlier, Lila was invited to receive an illustrious artist’s award of the year to the capital. She met Arun who also had some honor to receive, briefly. Lila noticed age caught up with him more than it did with her. Plump and suffering from breathing difficulty, he didn’t look healthy either.

“How are you, Lila?” Arun’s voice was not what it used to be. It sounded coarse and muffled.
“You have come a long way,” he continued.
“It wasn’t easy Arun, for a woman suddenly left alone, to fend for herself and her baby.”

It was Arun’s turn to feel the prick of tears.
“This will be my only chance to say sorry to you. I am sorry Lila, for all the suffering I had put you through.” His voice filled up. He fell silent, trying to control the threatening tears.
“ I have everything that money can buy. Yet, I don’t have anyone to share my pain and pleasure. I realized the unforgivable mistake I committed. All I ask is, please forgive me if you can.” So saying he walked away and melted into the milling crowd. A lost, rich man!

Lila had nothing to offer by way of consolation. The man who was once her husband, now looked like a stranger to her. Her aloneness and desolation when he deserted her, dried her feelings for him forever.

Back in her peaceful surrounds, Lila immersed herself in the soothing practice of the curative music. Changes in her life were inevitable. Her father died peacefully in his sleep a year before. He knew his daughter was safe and happy with her chosen vocation.

The pier, however, remained the same, inviting and consoling. The panorama of nature was changeless in beauty, purity and perfection. Lila owed her peaceful existence and calm view of life to the ever fresh spectacle of the expansive blue mass seen from the solitary pier.



Written for WDC's Official Contest.
Photo prompt- Pier
Word count:1790