Loss isn’t tragedy—it’s the key, the doorway, the only path to wisdom; those who embrace it understand love, desire, God’s loneliness, and life itself.
‘Tell me why you are here?’ I caressed the back of her delicate ivory hand. It was smooth and cold but with a subtle warmth pulsating just under the fragile skin.
‘Tell me why you are here? Tell me why you are with me at this very moment?’
‘I really do not know.’ A tiny smile danced around the corners of her lips. She peered into my eyes, looking for an answer or perhaps solace. And then she suddenly broke the magic and looked away.
Vienna was the usual evening chaos. Desires were following desires in an endless pursuit. The lights of some old Gothic palace, reflected in and danced along the soft waves of the Danube. The river was the cauldron of silence and the moist evening breeze heightened our senses.
Across the cobbled yard, stood a couple of street musicians. The tall and graceful woman was playing a sad symphony on her old violin, while her companion, an old man, was plucking bits of joy from the keys of his weather-beaten accordion. I listened to them closely and recognized loss and love – singing their eternal duet.
She looked back at me.
‘Why don’t you tell me; why you are here?’ A challenge flashed briefly in her smiling eyes. ‘Why are you here in Vienna?’
For a single and brief moment, she became what she was a half-decade ago – a beautiful golden dragon that breathed the fire of unspoken desires. An unpredictable dragon and an independent dragon – free to roam the wide blue skies.
‘Why am I here?’ I asked myself looking down at the lines mapping the palms of my hands. Then I raised my head and looked back at her with an answering smile.
‘Perhaps I am lost or perhaps I am here for the love that remains.’
When I first met her, I was not as young as I once used to be, but I was as restless as the branches of a tall pine tree. She was the strong wind, blowing through my branches after a very long time. Slim and charming with soft brown hair, cascading all around her lovely face; and a taut sensuous body. Her strange and unnameable seduction weaved its magic wand and I fell under her spell.
I remembered looking at her for the first time. She reminded me of the dark mysterious forests, smelling heavily of the tropical rains. She reminded me of the moist green moss, climbing and curving along the tree trunks. And she reminded me of the rain-drenched soil, emitting wisps of a fragrant mist. Whenever I try to remember what I felt on first seeing her, someone always whispers a one-word answer in my ears – desire.
But it was not an utterly sensuous desire. More than sensuality, my desire spoke of unconditional love.
She looked like a goddess. From behind her dark unsmiling eyes, peeked a bright light of brilliance. Sometimes, when I looked at her face closely, under my worshipping gaze, her chiseled features gradually melted into a soft and malleable kindness. She was a goddess who demanded to be loved while hiding behind tradition and humility. I fell in love with her because the possibility of losing her in the whirling sands of time frightened me.
‘I think I am in love.’ I excitedly spilled out my secret to the old banyan tree. Both of us were the only two souls in the courtyard of the Tomb of the Lonely Saint. The saint was long dead but his spirit, as I felt, was residing within the tree.
‘And when did you realize this?’ The tree asked in a deep, old, and rusty voice – its texture as rough as his bark.
‘The realization came slowly – almost like the hesitant monsoon rain. But now that it is here, I feel as if struck by a thunderbolt I said, sitting down with my back to the trunk.
‘I can feel the lightening tingling along my spine and nerves.’
‘Beware son!’ The old tree whispered back.
‘Love is a banshee disguised as a butterfly. It may be kind to some – mostly fools. But to those who recognize and understand her and submit to her power willingly, she is always cruel beyond words.’
‘She is not a banshee. She is a golden butterfly and her wings reflect all the colors of this world.’ I protested.
The tree felt silent and thought for a moment.
‘Perhaps it is yet not love. Perhaps it is desire – a desire that does not dissolve with the waning moon. But a desire that is capable of evolving into love one day.’
‘What if it always remains a desire?’ My heart trembled with the fear of loss.
‘Hmm….!’ The tree rustled its many branches and legions of tired pigeons flew out, scared of the sudden movement.
‘Remember son! Desire is one of the most powerful of all forces of nature. It is the force that makes the world go around in circles. Desire takes birth, deep within the warm recesses of our ever-hungry hearts. It climbs our souls like a vine climbs up a tree, entrapping and teasing the branches. It starts with an almost erotic touch and then embeds its tentacles deep below our skin And then it starts sucking. It hungrily sucks in our soul and our ego and our character and our self-control; and it leaves us empty and dry.’
The tree said it all deliberately and in his usual sing-song style. His wisdom was like an old wine – each sip to be savored and treasured.
‘How do I ensure that this doesn’t just remain a desire?’ The fear was growing stronger.
‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time; it is always for a higher purpose. And the purpose is always love.’ The tree said.
‘Don’t worry son!’ A few dry leaves floated down and caressed my shoulders kindly. ‘If it is meant to be, it will be.’
‘You have always had the habit of talking in riddles.’ She took a sip and closed her dark beautiful eyes for a moment.
‘Well, that is just me.’ I smiled at her. ‘Anyway, why are you here in Vienna?’
‘New York troubles my soul sometimes.’ She stared back into my eyes. ‘The chaos disturbs the quest for inner peace. And Vienna always attracted me with its old architecture and good music.’
We grew quiet for a moment. The musicians had stopped but the notes of their strange sad-happy symphony were still whispering beyond the edges of silence.
I looked at her face. I was wrong. She did not look as young as I had initially thought. There were lines on her face – very fine lines. I peered at them closely. Under my careful gaze, each line became a crack and the crack widened into a gorge and within that gorge, there flowed the river of time.
‘Why are you here?’ She suddenly broke the fragile silence hovering around and between us.
‘I curate a small museum of antiquities along the Bräunerstraße. And in the evening I come here. I listen to the music and I write.’
‘Do you find it strange?’ She hesitated – her delicate mouth quivering like a bow stretched in full. ‘Do you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna?’
‘I haven’t been able to understand something.’ I tried to change the subject.
‘And what is that, my son?’ The tree asked kindly.
‘Why doesn’t she ever smile?’
‘And why do you want her to smile?’ He chucked softly.
‘I want to see her face breaking into a smile;, and I want to see the light of happiness shining through. I want to see the smiling lines appear around the corners of her mouth and eyes, and I want those lines to become an intricate treasure map. And then I want to trace those lines with my lips and find the treasure.’
‘It is definitely desire.’ The tree commented. ‘But don’t worry, she will smile one day.’
‘And when will that be?’ I was growing skeptical
‘Remember son! An oyster lies deep within the ocean and awaits the arrival of a single grain of sand. And once that grain enters the oyster, it takes years and years to coat that grain with nacre. With patience and with time, that grain of sand becomes a lustrous pearl. The oyster remains patient. It keeps that pearl secure within its shell – hiding it from greedy eyes. But one day, when and if the true seeker of the pearl arrives, the oyster opens up willingly and offers the pearl.’
‘So she is the oyster and one day she may offer love with a smile if I remain true.’ I had understood what the tree wanted to tell me.
‘I would like an answer to my question.’ Her voice broke my reverie.
‘Huh! What question is that?’ I looked at her while thinking fondly of my old friend – the old banyan tree.
‘I asked you if you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna out of the blue?’
‘Nothing is out of the blue.’ I smiled at her. ‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time; it is always for a higher purpose.’
We didn’t speak any more words. We just sat there beside the Danube – two silent shadows lost in their own thoughts. Then her hand moved and covered mine. It was warm and soft. I looked up at her and witnessed a slow and subtle transformation. Her eyes crinkled a little and the lines around the corners of her lips formed a smile. It was the loveliest of all the smiles in the whole world.
We reached across the table and my lips found hers. I delicately and carefully traced the lines and finally found the treasure.
Shehryar khawar 