It was that of the shepherd boy and the nomad girl. Even while I admired "the Alchemist" who could transform worthless lead to precious gold this love remained silently hidden in the desert sand waiting to be discovered. The shepherd boy and nomad girl whose lives depended on constant change, the shepherd boy moving for choice and the nomad girl moving for need, both of them remained connected to each other just by a common wind that shared their path. The girl of the desert bound to wait for her man and the boy bound to fulfil his dreams, makes me see how their love flows free like the wind in the desert.
Sometimes the feeling of having somebody waiting for you itself gives you the strength to fight. And sometimes love is just a long wait.
The soldier took in the last sip of the aroma of his mother’s wardrobe trapped inside the old envelope sent to his cold shelter at the mountain boundary of his country. He hoped to return to her soon and rest his head down on her lap. He fought to return and found rest on the lap of his motherland. His soul was freed to wander off to the tunnels of old memories of his mother, the old white-washed temple, the old tyre swing at the banyan tree, the fields reborn every year to be green, yellow, green, yellow and die brown, the colour of mother earth. He wandered far and wide and kissed his weeping mother’s forehead a hundred times and the mother waited for her son to return again and plant his soothing kiss once more on her forehead.
She waited for him to return, to show up at the old winding mud path which led to their timid home. It was her marriage in two weeks. He was an Alchemist for her. She remembered vividly how the little scrap of gold gathered for years, from the time she was born, was sold for sending her beloved brother to the Gulf. Now she wore lead; golden coloured lead and he was the one who would turn it into real gold; the respectable dowry which she deserved at her marriage. She waited patiently, even while others worried, with a trust which could never be shattered. He worked, hard, harder, hardest to gather all those scraps of happiness and double and triple them or maybe melt the hot sand into gold. He remembered the little white stoned stud that his sister wore right from the day her ears got pierced and how she had parted from them with a smile on her face. He remembered the thin silver anklet which made the playful noise while she walked still reminding him of the hide and seek games they played, which she never managed to win. He sent all the money he could collect, beg and borrow. He didn’t save enough money to buy a flight ticket homeward.
The mother was getting tensed. “She has never been so late.” She said to her husband. He didn’t move his eyes from the news paper “she’ll come, you know how the traffic is these days in the city.” She refused to take her eyes off the street, now the shops closing and street lights blinking lazily “but her mobile is switched off.” She said under her breathe running to the kitchen where the cooker whistled for the dinner was ready. He held his fingers tight criss-crossing hers “please don’t go now. I promise to marry you. You know you are the only one.” She was getting restless in his grip and looked at her watch every ten seconds. Then at last she spoke “i trust you, but somebody is waiting for me.” She came in through the open door and her mother came out and hugged her tight “i was so worried.” Father closed the door and before turning to go to the dining room wiped his moist eyes which hid under his thick spectacles.
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