Begin Again | On Hold

07 | dauwtrappen

07

D A U W T R A P P E N » walking through nature, barefoot on the grass and gathering the spring flowers, feeling the dew on the grass against your skin.

ANUSHKA

I wouldn't wish to be anywhere else in the world whenever I came here.

Especially when it comes to this place – in the rear end of cave with karsts and mesas on the other side. Nothing romantic of any sort – but this was a place where new beginnings always happened.

When we had shifted to Mumbai after the completion of my high school in Delhi, I always used to come to this place. It was my safe haven, when I would want to escape everything happening. But it was also my fearful symmetry.

"This place is broken into shacks and hummocks. Of course I've never been here before." Virat rolled his eyes, a chuckle with a thin veil of amusement and exasperation escaping his lips. I pushed his wheelchair forward to the carvings and stopped it there.

Water trickled down from the roof of the cave upon us, softly embracing our skin. It also flowed down the surface upon which the carvings was done. Virat graced his hand against them softly, trying to feel it. "What does this mean?" he asked, looking at the carving.

"I call it the fearful symmetry; it's a story of a woman who loved a man a lot," I traced the outline of the girl. "She was pregnant with his child, and she did many wrong things to get the man. Like hurting the people around him and creating misunderstandings between him and his family so that she could have him all for herself."

"Oh." Virat's face illuminated with realization.

"She had a curse upon herself that for every wrong deed, she would grow one year younger. She couldn't stop herself – love over conscience is the worst thing one can chose. And as she grew younger and younger, her womb was rendered immature and too small to hold the baby. In the end, she died with the baby, of course. So love was her fearful symmetry. It is everyone's to be honest. The locals say the man painted this in the grief of their child and his wife."

"Wow. That's tragic even though it's fictious," Virat's eyes widened as his eyes now riveted towards the carving once again. Then they moved slowly from one image to another. "What's written here?"

"It's written in the local language of southern part of the state," I replied, before a small smile lit my face. "His veins are the burning highways and bridges, and the lines on his palms are the roads of skeleton sunken city. But when you look into his eyes, I swear you can see the whole world."

"The man was her nemesis, of course." He replied, shaking his head in order to clear it. A small smile laced on his lips. "So that's it?"

"You haven't reached the actual place yet." I smirked, rotating his wheelchair towards the opening of the cave. I took him outside the cave, we were in the middle of the viridescent grass lightened by bulbs of fireflies. The cool breeze coaxed the surrounding trees into a soft waltz, and our eyes were finally content with the vast, obsidian star-drunk night skies.

"Wow. This is – I'm speechless, Anushka." I took his hand, and tried my level best to make him stand by anchoring him. "What are you–"

"– shh." I hissed, helping him to sprawl in the overgrown grass. Once he was seated, I leaned my back against his so that he doesn't fall on his back, but there was still a chance that he could actually fall on his face. "Make sure you don't fall on your face. I won't let a mud-faced twat enter my car." I warned with a chuckle.

My feet tickled as I felt the sprigs swaying in frenzies against them. I jolted aside in a fear that it was a mighty grasshopper resulting in Virat falling backwards. My hand immediately dropped on the grass to act as a soft cushion for his head. "I'm so sorry, Virat."