Silence of the Night
“Silence of the Night” explores the quiet revelations of darkness through three poignant stories—a labourer seeking love, a starlet lost in memories, and a man seeking peace on a riverbank. A haunting narrative of love, loss, and silence’s eternal echoes.
Din and bustle diffuse as the Night descends quietly on the weary world. Life slows down to slumber, and whisper replaces frenzy. People of action, sleep, only to wake up in the boisterous habitat they thrive in. There are also those people, who do not think or heed this daily grind and perhaps savour the tranquillity. They also believe that silence has the jingle, like a shy girl’s footsteps, revealed only to those who wait for them…
How does the silence speak? Let us soak in it.
1. A drunken drudge seemed wobbling down the street, sometimes half singing to himself. Weak knees and cloudy head led him gradually near the slum he dwelled in. Street dogs barking at him wouldn’t bother him. He knew he had spent his day’s wage on country spirit; he did that as if he must do it, without much deliberation. Out of sheer reflex, he reached his destination and confronted a closed door. He struggled to settle his mind about what to do with the namesake door… swaying on his foot, he pushed it and it flung open, not without noise, revealing the interior of a shadowy little room packed with human body forms in it. He wiped the dripping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and was looking for someone. He suddenly felt a queer mixture of fear, love and need. His wife, a serving maid in several apartments nearby, appeared asleep among their children of various ages. He felt he was quite late, but he vaguely recalled, that was not so atypical after all. He tried to tip toe to his place he is used to sleeping, a narrow sheet of jute laid down on the floor, but failed to conceal his presence; he stumbled a few times upon the sleeping bodies, and met with grumbles of censures. He was finally able to stretch himself on his allotted place and found himself groping for a particular figure… instinctively he located her supine body. His artless effort invited a rough dispiriting push that made him confused further. Dejectedly, he turned to the other side with a dull indifference. He was snoring, a few moments later.
Had he been awake a little longer, he would have felt the touch of a gentle palm resting on his shoulder, a nose pressing against his sweaty back and would have listened to a soft sigh that was soaked up by the silence of the night…
2. Not very far away from the slum area, at the pinnacle of a Penthouse kissing the nocturnal sky, sat a painted lady. Under the canopy of the starry sky, right beside the rooftop swimming pool, clad in a lavish turquoise bath robe she was reclining, inebriated. The soft blue light highlighted her sharp chiselled nose & chin, rendering a deity like aura as the light got reflected from the very smooth unblemished facial skin. She was holding a sparkling crystal goblet, empty now by her rapid intake of the content, a pale golden crystal-clear potion. A closer look would reveal her slowly bobbing head, wide rheumy and reddened eyes. It was impossible to probe into her thoughts~ her blank and doleful looks indicated unplumbed introspection. What doesn’t she have tonight apart from the plethora of bottles of champagne ~ Money? More than one could wish for. Fame? She’s been tired of that… Venturing alone unobserved is a thing of past. Each of her talents in distinct multifarious endeavours are at their primes. She has countless suitors, who would just be glad to touch her feet… a wry smile flickered on her face – she’s least interested in them.
Did she see a shooting star? Or was it the intoxication? She did not know for sure…
A train of thoughts abruptly started in her fuzzy mind. A sudden onrush of memories got her flung into swiftly moving vistas emerging from a few years back. The variegated emotions gradually gripped her mind like a vice – she was captivated in a lost time that smelt of green grasses, wild whims and dreams – her initial fighting days. Like in a trance, she rose, slightly swaying, on her feet. The bath robe slipped off her lovely body. With no one to watch in her private lair, but the silent night caught in suspense, her cute body, like a marble statuette, perfectly framed by the sparkling dark blue sky formed a celestial reflection…
No one could pierce into her besieged mind, imagery revelations were flashing past as a movie playing at a crazy speed, her very own private memory-reels spinning at a maddening alacrity – she stood there motionless… alienated from the present world that surrounded her. Slowly her hands rose and took a posture of a diver. She inhaled deeply, out of sheer habit, before plunging into the placid pool…
…A splashing sound ended the pregnant silence of the night and the water embraced her body like an old friend. She was swimming deftly underwater like a mermaid madly in search of something. She was vainly looking for a trinket, a gift from a long-lost friend – a little silver ring with a drop of fake emerald, which she, herself, had tossed into the pool. In her mind it just seemed like yesterday…
3. In the wee hours of night, silver moon shone alone…
A figure appeared. In the dreamy silvery light, the sheen of his suit, his shiny shoes were incongruous with the rustic river bed he stood upon. He took his coat off and hung it neatly on a branch. His silky tie came off with swoosh. His expensive Egyptian cotton shirt sensed loam, now moist with dew, as he laid down by the side of the river.
He always wanted to lie down by a river.
‘This is just right’ he thought, ‘the right place, the right time’…
He took a deep breath: it filled his lungs with fresh air redolent of Spring.
Supine, he began murmuring Lord Byron:
“So, we’ll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon…”
For the first time, after a long time, he was at peace.
A drop of tear that rolled down was as silent as the night.
His hand was dangling loose just above the water…
The river winced when the first drop of blood trickled from his slashed wrist…
Did he hear the plop?
In a nearby hut, Mum rocked the cradle and sang a comforting lullaby.
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