Arpita’s Walk in the Sands

Arpita thought she saw some fishing boats in the distance where the seawater met the gulls and breeze. The boats didn’t wander off, staying at the same speed. She thought of her friends she had known from way back. They would want to see her again, had told her, even in dream-messages. The winds crackled between the palm-fronds and the gulls squawked a fiery message, not on deaf ears. Arpita was on the whitest sands of the long beaches, stuck in a trance made by her brain's galloping thoughts. She had crossed the lengths of the sands in her fast dreams the night before, where there were hints of greater sun and hauls of silver fish. The boats had disappeared over the skyline in a hurry, coming back into view before slowly receding again. She was now a new soul, the sand collecting between her toes as she walked leisurely. The surf was prominent in her ears, but a flute from yesterday reigned better and longer.

Looking back on the last few weeks, she had to smile at the thought of how people and events tended to stream past parallel to her. If she wanted to get new clothes, others seemed to have already gotten theirs, and if she desired coconuts for the white meat and drink, others would have finished theirs, dumping the empty shells near the trunks of their fat trees. Things could go fast and linger, for the moment and moments after, while the birds only seemed busy in their usual quiet way.

She had been with her family who had been talkative, though sometimes clamorous. They’d told her she was nicely educated, but had gaps, and that she was doing okay socially. That arc of conversation had ended with them saying how they’d arranged to have her married. She would be a local man’s wife by the end of the lunar month.

Arpita walked in the late afternoon glow and felt she could do nothing finer; walking was imagining another better reality. She had no qualms about the marriage arrangement, had no other man in sight and was starting to form the opinion that she’d be transitioning to the best version of herself, cooking broth for her man and dreaming in a corner of her new house’s breezy veranda. She was a child of the fair and green Bengal, where the tide was a blessing, bringing in not only shells and fish, but also a warm sentiment of tranquillity. She'd often felt all the people around her were spirits from another world, who had wandered onto Earth to save her, making her feel better about her daily life. She walked in the warmth of the gentle wind, fronds of her ebony hair flying about her face. Her heart sought permanent joys, like the lively flight of gulls into the sparkling silver sunrays.

A couple of months ago, a hellish beast had arrived to try to chew their heads. The beast was an accident to one she loved dearly. The pleasures of her days were marred by a noise one morning denoting that her cousin Ishaan had passed away after falling from a great height. A lone tear had dropped down her face and over her green sari, well-loved by her, though the colour was fading from it. She wiped more tears and looked up to the gods for an answer as to why her cousin’s soul had departed. Then she had joined the mourners wanting to be strong, but her gait was slow, and the world seemed to bring in too many wails and laments, under the giant, monster-shaped clouds. The morning then spread out all around her, lessening her grief, so she could overcome her loss. She’d been longing to escape to where death would somehow not smite her. Bengal days were mostly golden, but, every once in a while, corpses reminded the people of death’s unwanted visits.

Then, there were storms, as if the land knew that Ishaan had fallen from that neem tree after losing a foothold where the large vultures often sat staring at passersby. The lash of a wayward storm was not at all desirable to be in, and Arpita recalled hiding under the bed, in the cowshed, in the cave nearby where the bats were few in numbers. The heavy rain had sprayed her face so many times in just a few minutes that she’d felt it would never stop. She could then see fishing boats turned over, swept away, and floods, ensuring there would be no market in the village for days on end. The skies looked out of sorts, with great flashes of bright lightning, going from one end of all above, to the other. Would one of the flashes wander down and vanquish them and theirs, she’d wondered with frightened eyes, in her soaked clothing. Were the gods unhappy, so much so that they were going to sweep up the land into the torturing skies where everything would end in a mighty thunderclap?

Would the country ever be washed out and buried, she wondered in a little seizure of fear. If she feared that tigers would turn rogue and rush in great numbers down from the jungles, then would that transpire, mowing the children down with claws and sharp feline teeth tearing terribly? Would the tigers jump in unison like ferocious demons and knock over pots and pans, beds and bodies, to create a panic that would never go? If a giant serpent rose from the depths of the bay and stood over the dark sea at night, then tore into the habitats coiling round huts and trees, wreaking havoc, scattering bodies and animals, would that be doomsday? Or would wrathful fires and hellish demons follow in a rampage of utter destruction before the ultimate end? Arpita wanted signs, looking at the ever-widening sky for anything like that, a spark or illumination. There was nothing, but she told herself there may very well be something, and that was a consolation of sorts. She walked now with breaths of relief. The light of the land around her was becoming softer in her eyes and in all the souls’ that roamed Bengal, by the shores of the mighty bay.

Her fears had made her heart beat a tad faster as she ambled past the serene sea, the waves rolling in gently. The serrated clouds and mild luminescence of the skies reassured her of the world's sweetness, not melancholy. Some gulls walked nearby making minimal noise and showing they were not cowed by the elements, being survivors, with their pleasant white feathers and their finely carved beaks. She knew she was going to be happy that night, under the crystal stars which painted such endearing embroideries of hopes in the sky. Sleep would drench her eyes leading to undulating visions, immersive scenes of leaves swishing in the illumination of the moon and birds calling as if to introduce the best maunderings of dreamers. Her mother would sing a song in her flute-like voice, as the whitest jasmines fragranced all their huts or homes. The sky began to seem broody and mellow as if to advise her that everything ends, but this is for the good, as a night of calmness, rice-meals and small talk is a loving blessing.

Arpita felt carefree to her bones, her sinews that made up her being, thinking about becoming a part of Svarga, the kingdom of gods and spirits. There, in her own Svarga, projected in her mind, she would levitate and float with outstretched arms over many a quaint land of silver and bronze, copper and rubies. Lands where people held these in their hands, blowing into conches to summon friendly strangers, walking on flowers to keep their feet clean. She would be better in every way, free from the threat of tempests and tsunamis, floods of locusts and horrors of dark, damning viruses. She would have her mind-Svarga the next day. It would have to arrive with the sounds of bells and flutes, the tapping of a friendly knock, the departure of some unwanted fear. Arpita longed for her Svarga so much, it occupied all corners of her mind, and she listened to a tune in the back of her brain that told her she was being childish, but also urged her to hope and pray. As she walked further into the sands leading to her destination, she smiled and the sun behind the clouds bid her a farewell for the day, a goodbye that she acknowledged affectionately, as her face lit up with more of her beaming.