This Strange Madness.

THIS STRANGE MADNESS.

Mad!! I’ll go stark raving mad!
If they keep me confined like this, I’ll die of not breathing fresh air. God! Its so awful to be in mourning when I am finally well and truly rid of him. I feel like I must run out and play, sing, dance for joy – do all those things that I’ve wanted to do; but I just cannot. Not now anyway. All this energy will have to wait as it has for all these years.
But first I must convince them that this grieving widow has come to terms with her husband’s death. And that too in the arms of his mistress!! That I am not so much inconsolable with grief that I have to be left alone in my all consuming sadness.
The gloom of this place is compelling me to forget my guilt and see the sunshine outside the picture window of my room.
To see the garden. To see all my rose bushes bloom again. During my mourning all of them had, for no accountable reason, wilted away.
As for me – I didn’t know. All the guilt that had bottled up inside me found its way into my brandy bottle. That maybe it was me who had driven him into her arms. That it was maybe my fault for being so cold and rigid that he sought passion elsewhere. And that it was finally me who had even begrudged him that happiness, that I wished his death upon him.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I don’t know for sure, but ever since I was young enough to remember, I remember being told repeatedly not to show my volatile temper. Not to look at people in their eyes, because it made them uncomfortable. They all thought that I was a malicious child. Forever destroying all that I had ever been given. My toys, my books, clothes, even pets. I couldn’t help that! I myself wanted to know what was happening, but no one told me. No one would help me. They all told me to shut up and mind my manners. Nobody wanted anything to do with me.
Me – I was the menace maker…the destroyer.
No one really cared except Malibaba.
He worked in our house. Ever since I could walk out, I had walked in our garden and its lawns situated in the backyard. There I would walk about among the trees, and the flowers and the bees, and I felt safe. I never felt this way even in my bed. I wished and wished that I could sleep in the lawn. But they would inadvertently pick me up and put me to sleep in that big scary bed.
Now Malibaba…he understood me. Never asked me to control my temper. He looked me straight in the eye when he spoke to me. He taught me all I know about roses.
"All roses have thorns," he used to tell me, "and if you want the roses, then you must take the thorns along with them. Because, without the thorns, the roses would not only lose their splendour, but also their attraction."
He was a strange one. He always understood me. No one else seemed to do so.
I still remember. I was thirteen when she came to our house. She was Malibaba’s granddaughter. Always bright and gay, always laughing. She had smiling eyes. Malibaba told me that she had arrived for the holidays. She was younger to me so I could play with her. I told Malibaba that I would play with her if she would play with me. I knew that soon, she would go away just like all my other friends had. So I was not taking any chances. All of them had said that I was a bit strange. No doubt, I thought that she would feel the same way.
Too soon, and somehow too late, I found that she would never leave my side. She loved me for all it was worth and she never thought that I was strange. She too had a strange habit of staring me in the eye as she spoke. I was hooked too. What could I do? I envied her smiling eyes and wished that mine could be like hers as well.
She stayed on for that holiday and she went off when her school began. I didn’t want her to leave. But she had to go. Her parents back home were waiting for her. Reluctantly, I agreed. What was I to do anyway?
She came again the next year. And the year after that. And each year our parting brought more sorrow and more unhappiness for me. Each year after she left, I grieved so hard that I couldn’t even remember my roses. They all wilted every summer when she left. Malibaba only used to smile and shake his head. Her leaving me only caused such sorrow, for she was the only friend of mine who was not scared of me.
I began to hate her parents then. Everytime she had to leave me because of them. Because of them, she cried when she had to leave me! Because of them we suffered when we could have been together! Just because of them, we had to bear the agony of not even seeing each other.
God! I used to think why did she have to go to them? But of course, the answer was simple. They were her parents after all. She had to go to them. She had nowhere else to go to; except of course to come and visit Malibaba who was perhaps her only relative. And then suddenly, a thought came into my head.
What if her parents died? Wouldn’t she have to come and live with us then? That way we could be together forever and have a grand old time.
The idea began to take root in my head. Every waking moment of my time was spent in wishing that her parents died. Of course, I never let her know what was going on in my head. And she never even guessed. She was kind of used to my ways by now.
This time when she went, my roses wilted so badly, that they almost died. I rescued them just in time.
But then nobody could rescue her parents when they were walking on the road and a bus suddenly rammed into them. Both of them died on the spot. Their bodies ripped and mangled and their brains splattered all over the street. It was later determined that the brakes of the bus had failed due to an unexplainable mechanical failure.
Within the fortnight, Malibaba went and brought her here where she would stay forever with me. For a while she was sad. But that was to be expected, of course. Every person was sad when their parents died. However, she soon came back to normal when she started to play with me again.
I asked my parents to send her to school with me. They complied. For the first time in my life they had seen me so caring towards any other person. I even discovered that making friends was easier with her around. I no longer threw temper tantrums at the drop of a hat. She was with me. My best friend. And nothing else mattered.
And so many years passed uneventfully.
Till that cold winter afternoon when Malibaba fell down in the garden. I was twenty then. The doctors told me that he had had a stroke. She cried that night when I stood by, not knowing what to do. I wanted to leave. I couldn’t see her cry. But I couldn’t. I had to be by her side, no matter what. She was my friend – wasn’t she?
Ever since Malibaba’s illness she began to spend less and less time with me. She had to take care of Malibaba. Of course, I understood. But I resented it. He had turned from a very healthy man to a living vegetable. He couldn’t move for anything. And she had to spend her time taking care of him. Everytime I looked at him, my stomach turned in revulsion. God! What does old age and disease do to a man? Sickness is so evil. Death would be so easier on him and us as well. But what could I do? I had absolutely no hand in this matter.
That evening, when she and I took our usual walk around the garden, she said the very same thing to me. I was stunned. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. Death would be so much easy! It would not only release Malibaba from his misery but us also. We began to cry and we hugged each other tight. It was a scary thought. After all, wishing Death upon a person you love deeply and dearly is not a wonderful idea for peace.
Two days later Malibaba passed away in his sleep. Everyone who came to pay his respects could not but help notice the look on his face. Contorted with so much pain, it was obvious to all who could see, that his Death had not been painless. All my roses had fair wilted in those days till I sought them out to rescue them.
She and I became even more closer after that. She had nobody but me now. Just as I had nobody but her since a long time. She moved into our house. My parents called her my personal maid. But we didn’t mind. We didn’t care. We were together. That’s all that really mattered.
Days passed as our grief grew lesser and lesser. And we grew closer. None of our other friends came even closer to what we shared. Those days were idyllic. We spent our time roaming the countryside, hiking and reading poetry. We walked about, shopped, sang and danced. The days passed quickly into nights. So tired from our adventures, we would collapse in bed and not wake up till it was morning. Nothing could compare to our peace and happiness. Nobody could intrude. Nothing else mattered.
Then it happened. On that fateful evening, my parents hassled me to get all dressed up and come out and meet their guests. I hated it. I had strict orders not to look up at anybody and to answer only to the questions asked of me and keep quiet at all times. I hated it. But the most of it all, I hated him. He stared at me as if he had seen someone like me for the first time in his whole life. I wanted to claw his eyes out. He looked me over as if I was on some kind of display. My body creeped with revulsion.
Three weeks later I was married to him. She accompanied me to this house as my maid. My parents had insisted that I simply could not do without her. It was the only way that I could face the ordeal of that marriage. It was their only way out of the sticky situation that had evolved when I refused to marry him. But they coaxed me to do it saying that it would make them very happy. For the first time in my life they asked something to me kindly and didn’t order it of me. I agreed. Too late, I realized my mistake. They finally had got me to do what I had not wanted to do in the first place by a little sweet talking.
I still remember my fateful wedding night. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do. I hated him and he wanted me. I had kept my mouth shut. But I couldn’t control my shudders of revulsion when he touched me. He thought that I liked it. But I hated it. I hated him. I hated his eyes roving all over my body. My flesh scarred wherever he touched my body. And his eyes. Oh! His eyes seemed to light up with a strange kind of glow, as if it was a pleasure for him to do this to me. I couldn’t but help look into his eyes. I hated him. God! I wished I could claw his eyes out for once. I wished, in the end, that he would get it over with so I could get some sleep.
It was the same night after night. I couldn’t stand it. I cried everyday on her shoulders. But what could I do? Quietly, I bore it all as I had done for the most of my life. I began to spend more time in my garden. There was a bigger one here. I planted my rose bushes here again. I just loved them. At least something that I knew of was around me. It gave me something to do when she was gone.
She had decided that she would work. Take up a job and use her education. I was happy for her. at least she got to do what I could never do. I let her go.
My roses bloomed in that spring. Life was happy. Except for the nights, my days were spent happily. I lost myself in my daily chores in order to forget the other things. He just said that he loved me over and over again. I just smiled. It made him happy when I smiled. That way he would leave me alone, I thought.
I became pregnant. I didn’t want it. All of a sudden I didn’t want to live. It all had begun when he took me at night. Nothing good would ever come of this ghastly union. Such torture. A baby. A screaming, wailing infant – and that too his! It was too much. A baby would tie me down forever. I shuddered at the thought. I wished to God that the baby would die and leave me alone. He was on top of the world. I wished that I could claw out his eyes. They positively glowed ever since he had come to know of the baby.
My roses wilted that day – when we were driving down to the Doctor’s clinic for my check up. He never saw the truck that had come right upon the car when he had turned into the lane.
He never saw anything again.
My baby died. I had a slight bruise on my forehead and was unconscious for a long time.
When I came around, I was home. It was then that I found out what had happened.
Three months had passed when I was unconscious. She never left my side the whole time.
What I hadn’t known at that time was that she had not left his side as well.
I rescued my roses and rested and recuperated. He never came to my room now. I was relieved. But I was also intrigued. Was it because he was blind? But then I thought that that wouldn’t bother him. Not a man with his ego. So what could it be?
I found out soon enough. One night, I woke up with a start. I was thirsty. I got up and began to walk down to the kitchen for a glass of water. That was when I saw a light on in her room. It was late. I wondered what she was doing at so late an hour. I went and looked in the room through the window, so as not to disturb her if she was working.
The two of them were there together – in bed. Not only was she enjoying his touch, but he was also enjoying hers. The both of them were laughing with happiness once it was over. I just stood there, transfixed. She enjoyed it!
I dint know what to do. They both seemed so happy together. It just stunned me. For many days I went about in a dazed fashion. I looked after my roses by day, and stood by their room by night, watching them. Trying to understand what was it that she could enjoy, but I couldn’t.
For a while, I was even happy. I saw a glow come into her eyes, that had never been there before. And my husband – he just left me alone with my roses. It was a wonderful arrangement and it worked for all of us. We all got what we wanted.
But there was something else - she could not look straight in my eyes anymore. It was as if she was feeling guilty for something. I did not understand it, but it was there... the odd look of guilt ! Strange, I thought to myself... why was she feeling guilty ? And of what was she feeling guilty about ?
I still couldn’t figure out why she enjoyed him touching her so. But I couldn’t dare to ask her somehow. Sometimes I felt so inadequate, so incomplete. She could enjoy her self so freely. Why couldn’t I? Why?
For once in my life, I couldn’t look at anyone in the eye. I couldn’t seem to understand what was happening to me. I walked around so bemused, that I forgot even the passing of many days.
Then it happened. On that one fateful night when my whole world came crashing down on me. I still remember what I heard when I had stood at their door that night.
"I wish I wouldn’t have to sneak upto your room like this every night," he was saying.
"But what else can you do, dear. There is absolutely no other way!", she had replied.
"We could tell her. I will tell her. I’ll tell her that I want to divorce her and then we will get married. I don’t want to stay married to that cold, frigid woman anymore."
"Don’t say that! She isn’t cold. She doesn’t enjoy sex. She doesn’t want it like you do."
He had laughed and drawn her closer. "Don’t tell me! You don’t want it too, eh?"
She had laughed too. "Oh no! I never said that! I only said…"
"I know. She is your friend. Your loyalty is at best astounding. How can a happy, alive girl like you even be a friend of that cold, closed girl like her? It is a mystery to me. All she really seems to love are her rose bushes ! Can’t you see, darling! Her presence in this house stifles me. I want her out of here. I want you here, in my arms, in my home. As my wife and not as my mistress. I want…"
"I know. I know," she interjected softly. "It is what I want the most too. but what can I do? She is my friend. I can’t bertay her now like this. She stood by me all my life. I can’t steal her happiness. Can’t you see how happy she is here? I just cannot drive her out of her own home. I can’t…", and she began to cry.
"Oh, darling! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. God! I wish that I had never laid eyes on that block of ice in my life. Oh love! Please don’t cry. Please."
He held her close and soothed her cries.
"If that is what you want, then we will leave. Let her stay here with her rose bushes. The both of us – we will go to some other place and start a new life. OK. OK. Don’t cry. I will take care of you from now on. You don’t need her. From now you are with me."
"Oh how I love you! I love you! I love you more than anything else in this world," she wailed and pressed closer to him. He embraced her as if his life depended on it.
Stunned, I somehow managed to move my feet and came into my room and sat down on the bed. A knife twisted in my heart. They were leaving me. He called me cold. She loved him more than me. He wished that he had never laid eyes on me. She needed him more than me.
I am not cold, I wanted to tell them. I just had somehow learnt to restrain myself constantly because people did not like who or what I am. They are frightened of the real me. And I get lonely all the time. I need people around me sometimes. I just hold myself back, so that they would not be offended. That’s what I have been doing since childhood. Even my parents could not accept me as I was. But they wanted me when I was like them. They had always hated me deep down inside. Just like these two were doing right now.
I hated them for it. I hated the both of them for their betrayal. I had somehow counted on the both of them to at least accept me for what I was after all this time. Had they never understood that I never wished them any harm? Just the fact that they have taken me at face value was something that I treasured. That I would do anything for them as long as they stayed by me? I was so angry that I could scream. I writhed in agony in my heart. My best friend. My husband. They were all going to leave me. They hated me so much.
Well! Tit for tat. I didn’t want them either. So there! Good riddance! I told myself.
But it wouldn’t go away. The pain twisted in my heart like a knife. The questions suddenly rose in my head. Why was she so eager to leave me? Didn’t so many years of friendship and sharing become so worthless in comparison with a few hours of temporary pleasure in the arms of a man? Why did she turn against me? I would never hurt her. I do anything for her. Then why? And then the answer came to me in a blinding lash. Of course! He had convinced her! He had turned my best friend against me. The pain of the betrayal was unbearable. And he was the cause of all the suffering that I had had to face recently. I hated him. And I also hated her for loving him more than she loved me.
I wished to God that he died. Just like they had twisted a knife in my back, someone would twist a knife in his back. I really wished that he had died in that car accident. Otherwise the two of them would not have gotten together.
And so on and on. All these thoughts kept me awake for a long time that night. God! How I wised that he had died.
I slept with a great difficulty that night. I still didn’t have a solution for the problem in front of me. But finally tiredness caught up with me.
The next morning I was jolted out of my sleep by the servants. I stumbled out into the hall.
She was seated on the floor crying frantically. She was screaming, "I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!"
The police were not convinced, obviously. They handcuffed her. I looked at the covered body lying on the floor. I went to it and uncovered it. His face was contorted as if in pain. And a knife had been twisted straight through his heart.
As I watched, stunned, they took her away in their jeep and also took his body in the ambulance.
That’s when it finally dawned upon me. I had wished it on him. His death! Just like I had wished it for her parents. Just like I had wished it for Malibaba. Shocks started to take over me. I shuddered with the sudden realization of who exactly I was.
The police thought that she had killed him and they had taken her away when it was all my fault. All my fault. My guilt ridden sobs rang out through the house.
My roses wilted in want of care when I lay cooped up in my room for days.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

She sat in her jail cell wondering what exactly had happened. She knew that she had not killed him. But she also knew that it was useless. No one believed her. she knew that she was going to be hanged for sure. And she did not want to drag the whole thing out in the courts. She was sick of it all.
She had loved him more than anything else in the world. but she could not forget the stunned look that she had seen in her best friend’s eyes when she had realized what exactly had taken place. She felt guilty. Guilty of lying. Guilty of cheating on her best friend. She also knew that she could not face her friend now. She knew for certain that for what she had done she certainly deserved such a shame.
She had betrayed her best friend. Her friend who had stood by her no matter what. And she slept with her best friend's husband. She had been planning to run off with him. She didn’t deserve to live. She just had to die. She had to die.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The following day’s newspaper headlines carried the news of the mistress of the rich industrialist who had committed suicide within two days of killing him.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I feel free now that the both of them have left me. Quite the opposite of what I had anticipated that I would feel when they would leave me.
I sighed. After all I was not responsible for the happiness or lack thereof of every person on this Earth. I knew this now. Come to think of it, I knew myself now.
I laughed. Like I had never before. All these years, this truth had eluded me. But now I knew! I knew!
I felt that I must celebrate. I was too lazy to get out of my bed. And the Brandy decanter was on my bureau. Oh well! I shrugged. I would get it anyway.
I wished for the decanter to come to me along with the glass next to it. The Brandy decanter and the glass floated towards the bed and landed softly next to me. I laughed. It was so easy. I poured myself a drink and held it up and said to myself, "Cheers!"
To life! I thought. And to my strange, eternal madness!

* * * * * * * * * * * *

.THE END.

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