Under the palm trees

Like a free bird- Part 3

For someone whose business was failing miserably, Omar seemed to be dwelling in a self established aura of eerie calmness. It unsettled Basheer to inexplicable extents. It's been few weeks since Ruksaana and he had proclaimed their love and affection for each other. He knew that they cannot continue for long their secret rendezvous under the keen eyes of the master. It was time to take the next step. Though he was overwhelmed by steely determination to elope with his beloved, he had to admit that he was frightened beyond words. He had no clue of how to devise a perfect elopement plan.

Basheer couldn't bring himself to meet with the eyes of his master. He had always considered himself a loyal employee as compared to others. But right now, he was the epitome of disloyalty and a wave of shuddering disgust always washed over him whenever he thought about it. He was a righteous man. He should be severing all his ties with Ruksaana, abandon his job and accept that suspicious job offer in the Gulf. What was he even thinking? Ruksaana was a girl from a well-endowed family and she would expect to lead an opulent life. He could by far no means provide her with a life that fulfilled all her standards. She is the master's wife and she should be nurturing his heirs and master the art of adding the perfect amount of salt that suited his distinctive tastebuds. If she was to follow him to his mediocre lifestyle, she would easily get bored of him and leave him heartbroken for life. She was an educated girl with sophisticated thinking and Basheer wondered how she could love a simple man like himself. He doubted her love to be genuine despite the number of times she spoke otherwise.

Basheer's mind was in a turmoil and it had been that way for a few days now. He was driving the master to his office. Basheer glanced at Omar and accidentally caught the master watching him. Their eyes met briefly and Basheer felt awkward. Omar stared out of the window quickly and wiped away the few flustered strands of hair that teased his forehead. Basheer however continued to watch him from the rear view mirror. The master appeared to have dyed his greying hairs back to ebony and the wrinkles on his forehead were fading. He no longer carried important files or exquisite leather cases with glazing golden handles. From the gossips he received from the servants quarters and from the more authentic information delivered to him by Ruksaana, Basheer knew that the company was well under the sea. But Omar seemed to be at peace maybe even content. How strange? The master was most definitely a strange man.

Ruksaana kept on not so subtly hinting on the fact that they should elope together. She had suggested catching a train to Calcutta where she can finish her law studies and he can find a better paying job. They can get married and orchestrate a peaceful life together. Since they were so far away, they can never be bothered by rumours and distasteful remarks on their illegitimate relationship. The idea was so tempting to Basheer but when he closed his eyes, he saw the lopsided grin, the mirthful eyes and the glow on the apple of the cheeks of a young Omar under that cashew tree on that warm evening years ago. The young Omar who was his closest companion. The young Omar who he still missed. It is that young Omar who fed the fire that represented his guilt. If that young Omar was still alive and breathing in the estranged dark heart of his master, Basheer was certain he would be hurt and that's the last thing he wished to do.

The only thing that kept him sane these days was the ritual of writing poems for his beloved which he ceremoniously carried out every day. Basheer was grateful that Ruksaana never directly addressed their ritual or conversed about any of their poems. She was an intellectual and empathetic woman, he thought. It's as if she knew these poems were extremely personal for him and that those poems often tended to be the mirrors of his soul. Basheer never possessed anything materialistically rich things in life except for maybe few of the poetry books that the master had gifted him with. But if there was a break out of fire or flood in his house, it was the growing stack of Ruksaana's precious poems which would be receiving his prime attention. It was through the poems that they exchanged, he had bonded with her soul and gradually fall in love with every stardust that constituted her spiritual and physical being.