Dear Kavya
"You have always stayed very close to my heart, Kavya, and you will remain there forever. Though we could not walk together, every feeling connected to you will remain precious. You were not just my love, but also my dearest friend. In moments of need, you became my courage. My entire world had once been limited to you alone. Our friendship and love found their purest symbol in this sacred bond that was special in its own way. I made many promises to you—promises I could not keep. Yet every moment I spent with you, I have preserved with great care in my memory. In every chapter of my life's story, your name was written. But this turn in the chapter—I was not prepared for it. If possible, please forgive me for all my mistakes.
Yours regretfully,
-Arjun
"Leaving is never easy, Kavya. Sometimes it becomes a compulsion. I am not running away from you—I am running away from myself. I only wish to carry a few of your memories with me, memories that will stay by my side forever. If only there were a place where I could openly confess that you were only mine. But against my wishes, someone else is now taking that place. Perhaps one day even you will begin to believe that I am not only her culprit, but yours as well."
Several days had passed since Arjun returned home, yet not once had Kavya called or messaged him. In such circumstances, that silence was only natural. After what had happened, no one could have expected anything else.
Arjun, too, wanted to send a message of closure so that both of them could move forward with their lives. Since he lacked the courage to face her, sending a message seemed the only decent option. He suspected that by now she might have changed her number, which only added to his hesitation and delay in pressing send.
One day, in a distracted state, he finally sent the drafted message to Kavya. A sigh of relief escaped him the moment it was delivered.
When there was no reply even by evening, he felt a strange comfort. At least there would be no questions and answers, no uncomfortable exchange. From time to time the thought crossed his mind that the message must have reached her. He only prayed it hadn't fallen into someone else's hands, and that she hadn't changed her number yet. Yes, let her change it after reading the message, he thought. Otherwise, in this small town, the constant fear of running into her somewhere would linger. As long as that thought remained in his mind, forgetting her would not be easy.
All day long, Arjun lay in his room, staring at the walls until he grew weary of them. The hobbies that once brought him joy had withered away over the past three months. It felt as if not he, but some middle-aged man burdened with sorrow and gravity, had returned home from prison. His face now carried the quiet weight of melancholy.
He gazed out the window. On the mango tree, a squirrel darted swiftly along a branch. Nearby stood a Guava tree and a lemon tree. Close to them, the harshringar and tulsi bushes seemed to peer back at him. That mango tree held memories of his childhood. Whenever he felt sad, he would hug its trunk and pour out his heart, as if the tree were his childhood companion. It was deeply connected to him—and to the last memory of his childhood friend, Rani.
When the upper floor of the house was being built, his father had wanted to cut some of its branches because they were obstructing the construction. But Arjun had stubbornly refused, and in the end, his father had yielded. No room was built in that space. Whenever he was scolded at school or had a quarrel with someone, he would run to the tree, embrace it, and tell it everything.
His sister Ranjana noticed him staring out the window and asked gently, "Bhaiya, what are you thinking?"
Arjun turned around, surprised. "When did you come?"
"Three hours ago," Ranjana replied. "You didn't come to ask about your sister's well-being, so I came to your room myself.
"Whether you come to me or I come to you—what difference does it make?
Did Mother send you?" Arjun asked.
Ranjana took his hand and said, "No, I came on my own to meet you. Mother didn't send me." Looking straight into his eyes, she added softly, "You look very sad, Bhaiya."
Arjun turned back toward the window and began speaking, his voice distant. "Papa wanted to cut the branches of the mango tree and build a room in this empty space. I stopped him. But now Mother and you have to sweep the fallen leaves every day. It wastes both time and effort. Get someone to cut those branches."
Ranjana's eyes welled up. "Bhaiya, are you even in your senses? This tree is not just a relic of our childhood—it is the last memory of our friend Rani. The foundation of the friendship between the three of us was this very tree. Rani planted it with her own hands, and we promised her we would always protect it."
Arjun said quietly, "We make so many promises, don't we?
Do we ever manage to keep them all?
I had promised you and Mother that I would never let tears come into your eyes. Tell me—did I manage to keep my word?"
Arjun could not keep the promise he had made to Rani. She had slipped away quietly, without a fixed time for arrival or departure—her coming and going had always been like that, elusive and beyond anyone's control.
For the first time, Ranjana failed to read the expressions on her brother's face. She, who had always absorbed every sorrow and pain of her brother like a sponge, could not comprehend the depth of his boundless agony.
"Prison didn't just take away his freedom…
it took away the chance to be the man his family needed."
© Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi
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