The Unventured Passions

Unapologetic Nights!

It is the heart that keeps the search lights on, the heart that is the lit harbour day and night. It is love that is able to stretch through space and time, into any reality, any existence. And, it was that same love that kept Anirudh and Raimoti going... searching for the ones they loved, relentlessly, their mind tired and their body numb.

"What's the time?" Raimoti asked, her voice sounded mechanical, as she could feel none of it anymore. The bodily sufferings had long gave away, and it was the mechanical mind that kept her going, clutching onto Anirudh's arm, and Anirudh looked forward, his eyes alert and searching, his legs tearing up, and his heart beating the final drums in hope and anticipation

"It's 1:30."
Anirudh rolled his sleeve and checked the time on his radium Rolex wristwatch.

It was 1:30 midnight, and amidst the hooting of distant owls and seizeless chirping of crickets, Anirudh and Raimoti walked on, crossing the border of Mymensing district, entering Rajshahi through the forest road.
They had walked on, the entire day, without rest, and the inhuman strength wasn't bodily, but was conjured from their mind, both determined, both fiesty, and both had learnt never to give up.

"There is an inn." Anirudh had suddenly stopped, and Raimoti felt an old ache rising up her feet, making it almost impossible for her to stand. Walking was fine, the motion made all her mind channelize and concentrate the energy to the graduating footsteps, but stopping was what felt like death.

"Let's walk." She clenched her jaws, continuing to move forward, and Anirudh held her wrist and pulled her back.

"No. Let's rest."
His voice was strained yet assertive, and in no time, he guided them both at the half opened door of the rest inn, standing at the side of the dark deserted road like a forsaken promise. There was a large tree standing proud beside the establishment, and although its identity was enveloped by the black night, a loud hooting of an owl came from it, adding a sense of eerieness to the forlorn ambience of the night.

Anirudh pushed the door open, and a quaint cracking noise reverberated through the walls, escaped from the door, and echoing at a distance.
Raimoti gasped and held the wooden door frame for support, following him inside.

"Is anyone here? We're travellers." Anirudh called out, twice, and a little later, a middle-aged man came out from behind the greasy wall of the counter, his sleepy eyes immediately alert at their presence, eyeing Raimoti's unveiled face, especially her forehead.

"Muslims?" He asked, coldly, and Anirudh nodded his head in negation.

"No."

"What's your name?"
The innkeeper asked again, with a frown and Anirudh sighed at his inquisition.

"I'm Anirudh Roy Chowdhury, and she is Raimoti Mukherjee."
His unpretentious heart made his mouth speak out their names in a heartbeat.

"Mukherjee? Not your wife?" The man promptly asked, as another form of frown had created ripples on his already creased forehead.

"No, she's not." Anirudh answered, with a polite firmness, and the sharp honestly made the unaccustomed man frown again.

"Sorry, no rooms then." He huffed.
"Only for family."

"She is family." Anirudh tried to reason, and then sighed sharply,
"Well, give us two rooms."

The man nodded his head vehemently
"Sorry. Not happening..." He looked away, unhappy about this abrupt nightly disturbance.
"First, she isn't wearing Sindoor, I don't even know for sure if you're a Hindu, and then, you yourself admitted that you aren't a married couple." The man slammed on the narrow grimy table infront as if to seal his words, a sharp displeasure had tainted his wrinkled face.