Traces Of You - RiKara TS

Three

THREE

Torments of you

It is said that monsoon brings with it new beginnings. The delicate raindrops would mellow the harsh ground left dry and yearning by the summer, until it yields to the new greens to grow.  But the monsoon also brought with it storms, whirls of harsh winds and clouds that hid away the glitter of stars. The thought crossed his mind as he watched the first droplets of the season caress the neatly cropped front lawns of the Oberoi mansion.

Omkara had taken a little break from his sculpting after completing the center show piece of his upcoming exhibition. He chose to idle on the comfy plush cushions by his window sill and scrawl on one of his spare sketch pads. Once in a while he took his eyes off the lazy dark gray lines on his paper, which had suspiciously arranged themselves into a silhouette of a woman with long hair falling into her heart shaped face, to admire the drizzle now slowly developing into a shower. An odd sense of peace prevailed  over his heart. He hadn't felt so in a long time. Most recently he had been stressing over the lost few months of his life, the memories which had vanished without a trace. For some reason he found it no longer mattered to him. The most particular thing was, all it took was that one word from his wife, to assure him, to grant him that most sought out peace. She was truly, in every sense that mattered, a wonderful woman.

The rain pattered against the window, breaking his trance with a sprinkle of drizzle and Omkara stood up startled. How could it just slip his mind?

It hadn't been raining when Gauri left for the temple. He was sure she had not taken an umbrella with her. He cursed under his breath, at her for not taking the car...giving thousand excuses of a certain vow she had taken while he was in coma to do this special veneration after reaching the temple bear footed. She would soon drive him crazy, he thought, shaking his head at the glimpse of his untidy reflection he caught from the mirror in the hallway.

She stood in the relative shelter of the temple and stared up  ahead at the pouring clouds, a hand covering her eyes as droplets of rain made her blink continuously. There was still a handful of oil lamps left for her to light, and the breeze made it an impossible task. Sending a silent prayer to her Shankar ji, Gauri wrapped her pallu more tightly around her shoulders, and set about to complete her task. No storm could hinder her worship, no rain could wash away her devotion. The lamp flickered in the wind and she cupped it to ensure the breeze did not extinguish its light. Gauri had had her fair share of bad omens in life, now that everything was finally falling into place, she could hardly offer anymore warnings of approaching misfortune. Rain drops tapped heavily against her scalp, soaking into the thick sheet of her dark hair, and soaking into her pale green saree; she did not care. Her sole focus had been the lamps, the hundred and eight lamps she was supposed to light around the temple.

He did not criticize her mission, in fact her devotion sometimes rendered him speechless. Omkara liked to call himself a atheist, but as Shivay had once told him, there were no men without ideals. Perhaps his ideal was not a divine one. He had laughed at that, throwing back his thick mane of hair, rolling his eyes at his usually systematic brother's philosophical thesis. But now, he found himself agreeing. There were no men without faith, a point of  gravity to their universe. Perhaps he had just found his, for the many years to come. Without speaking a word that would disturb her prayer, he held out the umbrella he brought over her head, shielding her petite frame, crouched against the tiny lamp  from the downpour. He had no faith in her god, but in her faith...he was finding his.

She looked up at his startled, suddenly realizing she was no longer subjected to the harsh storm.

"Omkara ji aap? Her voice held a mild surprise, the same reflected in her eyes. He simply nodded.