The Journey from Silence to Solitude
The night is inherently enveloped in intense silence, as it universally stands for. Nothing is audible except the sound of silence, provided you have ears to hear that. Sometimes, the croaks and the intermittent noise of nocturnal insects breaches the continuity of serenity that defines the sanctity of night. The might of the night lies in its deep silence as this is its constitutional characteristics. For some, this silence is a celebration, a ceremony, for others, it may prove to be an acrimony.
He always used to identify himself to be falling in the latter category. This sound of silence, sometimes, used to hound his mind and hunts his heart. In the dead of night, when tranquillity rules the time, turbulence kinged his soul. At a point, it became unbearable for him to survive in that silence, to stay in the noise of nothing. But, his grievances had never been with the silence per se but the source of it, the point of its provenance.
He accused her to be the genesis of this silence, though in the trial of time he didn’t intend to see her getting convicted. Because, for him too, this had been a bewildering battle to confront the intrinsic violence of this silence in the first place and holding on to hope for the solace that it sometimes offers.
Her hovering over his heart at a time the world slumbers kept his dream alive in the dead hours of the nights. The same dream that she didn’t permit him to see together, the same dream that she often derided, the same dream that had perennially considered her to be the ‘Jyoti’ while the dreamer aspiring to be a ‘Diya’.
But, he often felt himself to be helpless, as there are certain dreams that can only be mutually achievable. He marched solo for a mutually achievable dream, still he does. He hangs on to his hope being fully aware that there is no hope. He has not buried his expectation of holding her hands tightly and cuddle her as the lightening thunders in the sky and nature rains cats and dogs. He still daydreams that this thunderous rainy night can someday break his fear of silence that presently haunts him badly, because after all she is its source, and thus only she can dismantle it.
But, for a reason that even he doesn’t understand, he is not fearful of the silence tonight. He is celebrating it. Tonight, he has intentionally imprisoned himself in his dream so deeply as if it has turned into reality.
Tonight, in his dreams of open eyes, he is holding her hand firmly, the ten fingers of the duo’s hands interlocking each other so invincibly as if the entire might of the earth can’t isolate it. Tonight, both of them are singing together, singing the songs of silence; mouthing nothing. Tonight, the duo dance without movements. Their audience is the millions of stars that have been staring at and the moon that is continuously pouring the light of love on the pair. Ironically, the moon, a perennial sight of lovers, the one stared at by all from the earth finds itself helpless but to stare at the pair of this planet as if this sort of sanctimonious moments of meeting two people in true love occurs once in a blue moon.
Both of them had many questions to ask each other but they did not. They did not because they did not want to spoil the opportunity to celebrate their love in utter silence. They just wanted to spend the entire night in a silent conversation holding each other’s hand firmly.
By now, the darkness had almost started departing. The tweeting of the birds had signalled the advent of dawn. The dreamer suddenly came out from the self-imposed imprisonment of his dream just to find that neither their fingers were interlocked nor they were holding the hands of each other. He realized that it was just in the dream that he got an opportunity to live in love with his dream-girl. Agonizingly, he lied again in silence. But, he later realized that in this night’s journey of his self-imposed imprisonment of dream, he had become a traveller of a destination originating from silence that culminated at solitude.
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