PROLOGUE

He was the ‘breaking news’ once again.

Would he never let her live in peace?

It was not easy coming to terms with the present when every day the past got thrown at her face. He would stare at her, the first thing in the morning, from the newspaper headlines. She would barely get over it when Ayan would switch on the television, and he  would be right there, once again! That charismatic face of his lit with excitement as he took upon his opponents, rebuking them, silencing them with his witty rejoinders. His no-nonsense, not-to-befiddled- with attitude refraining the most ferocious and even the most obnoxious reporters from venturing too close to him. They would just simmer down, looking at him with awe. The soft serenity on his face often belied the rigidity throbbing underneath.

And something in her heart would soften every time she stole a glance at him. It was a luxury she could rarely afford, for she knew Ayan would be watching her closely, searching for some reaction. T ough he avoided passing
any snide remarks, his mother and sister suffered no such
compulsions.
‘Breaking somebody’s house, again!’ Ayan’s mother
said, sarcastically.

Radha was used to this. Even at the office, she would overhear people whisper suggestively. After all she had once been in an intense relationship with someone as popular as him. And their love had never been a secret. She had been so flamboyant, so carefree, basking in his love—the darling of yesterday; the gamechanger of today.

She always knew their union was too good to be true; he was meant for something big, beyond their simple lives. His leadership quality was evident even then, the way he took on Kaliya, that dark ferocious gangster, crushed the malicious advances of his wet nurse even as an infant, amongst many more. His childhood antics were almost like fables back home. And most women that she knew had a crush on him. They literally drooled over him.

If only he would stop looking at her from everywhere! She so desperately wanted to forget him and move on in life. Just like he had. He had chosen his path, he was following his dharma. And what was her dharma? Being Ayan’s wife? Putting up with the constant abuse from his mother?

Radha sighed.

The brilliant strategist of today was once a simple, carefree boy, her Keshav. . . Her hands trembled and her eyes grew misty.

‘Mom, he needs to swap just five more of our ministers to his side and our party crashes!’ Ayan was speaking to his mother.

Ayan worked with the ruling party and Radha knew that his future was just as much at stake. Yet, it didn’t fill her with the same degree of dread and hopelessness even though her future was entwined with Ayan’s. The ruling party was losing popularity and the opposition was gaining ground everyday. Keshav was the man behind them. He drew people to him like a magnet, everywhere he went. Yet, he took backstage and was clearly playing second fiddle to the opposition leader Partha, his best friend.

He enjoyed a God-like stature. Sometimes she felt he was more revered than loved. And people were wary of antagonising him.

And he had danced to her tunes, until…

She shook her head to clear away the memories clouding her mind.

Ayan was talking to somebody on phone. He was speaking furiously and frantically.

At times, Radha failed to understand her husband. He resented Keshav. But was he still gloating over the fact that he was the one who had won her? If only he knew. Radha smiled wistfully. She turned to look at Keshav on the television. His eyes were staring directly into hers. She started melting. She wanted to sneak out of her house, engulfed in the shadows of the fading twilight and meet him by the riverside. The rain soaked mud clinging to their skin as they danced all night long around the trees. The madness of those crazy moonlit nights came back to haunt her.

His mesmerising flute! Did he still play it or had life’s compulsions caught up with him? How she would threaten to break it, every time he tormented her. And then she had snatched it away the last time they had met.

‘Your breath, leave it behind. Intermingled with mine, we shall stay alive, Keshav.’ She had whispered to him. He had let her keep it.

The constant ringing of her mobile broke through her heated thoughts. She looked at the number and her face immediately softened. It was Sita calling. How she admired Sita!

‘Hey, how’s my little woman?’ Radha said, lovingly. ‘I wish I were as tall as you, my friend,’ Sita said, sombrely.

Radha immediately regretted her choice of words. She could never in this life match her greatness.

‘Come on, Sita, I am just your shadow,’ she said meaning every word.

‘Shadows are dark. You were never meant to stay in the dark. You illuminate very corner,’ Sita said in her sweet voice.

Radha ran her own NGO and was recognised and appreciated for the work she did for the upliftment of poor and deprived women. They made up a mutual admiration club.

Sita was busy with her twins these days. It was not easy being a single mother. Her life had been so stormy. The more she thought of Sita’s travails, the more her own seemed insignificant.

‘Finally, you got some time to talk to me. How are the twins?’ Radha gushed.

Sita’s twins were adorable, but they were more than a handful. They never left her with a single moment of peace.

‘They have gone out with Ratnakar uncle for martial arts training,’ Sita said, softly.

She would have been completely shattered had it not been for Ratnakar Sharma. A father figure and her pillar of strength, he was a mentor to her kids as well. When life closed doors, it did open one somewhere.

‘And that’s why you got time to speak to me. I sometimes feel you are not free to do anything. Being a mother has put walls around you.’ Radha complained and Sita laughed.

‘If I am a prisoner of thoughts, Sita is a prisoner of deeds.’ Radha thought to herself. ‘Karma, as Keshav would have said, isn’t it?’ Sita said slowly as if reading her mind, startling Radha. ‘Dharma, as Raghav would have said.’ Radha whispered.

Were duties also the fruits of our karmas? She wondered.

She could feel her pain. What was it that connected them both? Soul sisters or soulmates?

‘Hey girl, lets meet for lunch tomorrow.’ Sita suggested.

‘How amazing is that!’ Radha shrieked. ‘And guess what. Let’s ask Parvati and Ahalya to join us too,’ Sita said and Radha almost jumped with joy. ‘If only I had asked God for something more when I got up today.’ She cried out.

It had been ages that they met. So much water had flown under the bridge, so much was going on in their lives. And so much more catching up was needed.

Ahalya had moved into the city only a couple of years back with her husband Siddharth. There had been a huge scandal surrounding them. She owed it to Sita that her life had been back on track and she had been dying to meet her since she came to know that Sita had also moved into their city.

‘How you manage to come with such great ideas.’ Radha mused. Must be her survivor instinct.

Seems they all were blessed with that. Life had not been easy for either of them.

‘I think we owe each other this,’ Sita said.

She was right.

Radha was excited to meet Parvati too. Parvati had surprised everyone when she had decided to marry Rudra. A simple and honest man, he led a very modest life. She, on the other hand, belonged to a rich and influential family. Her parents were much apprehensive and rightly so. Besides the disparity in their social statuses, he was a widower. But Parvati had been adamant, and they had to give in to her. Yes, Radha was looking forward to meeting her friends. ‘We shall meet at the Trinity Café, tomorrow at 1 pm.’ Sita told her and hung up the phone.

Radha was smiling broadly as she looked at her phone. She could feel the excitement bubbling inside her. She would need to iron her clothes. She turned towards her room and almost collided with her sister-in-law, who looked disdainfully at the smile still hovering on her face.

‘Thinking of somebody special?’ She taunted rudely.

Her name was Jatila and coincidentally, Radha’s mother-in- law’s name was Kutila.

Is it our names that made us or do we make our names? Radha thought sarcastically.

Radha ignored Jatila. She didn’t want to dampen her own excitement by indulging in a verbal duel with her. She went to her room and closed the door. She opened her wardrobe and as she flicked through her dresses, her eyes just like always were drawn to ‘it’ lying in a corner, wrapped in a red muslin cloth.

She touched it with reverence. A flute of enduring permanence! His breath that he had left behind with her. ‘How was he living a life, without his soul and his songs?’ Radha wondered the umpteenth time. She wiped the tears that brimmed in her eyes. Radha flopped on her pillows and closed her eyes. A flute was playing in a distant dream.

Tomorrow, she would meet her soul sisters and learn from them, how they were coping with their lives.