The Poison

December Story-2
"Poison kills poison."--Anu

The old man’s eyes were on the young girl. She seemed in her early twenties. The girl was sitting in a corner of her room, on the floor, with her forehead covered with knees, alone. Her beautiful tresses, dark and shiny, were spread over her shoulder. She was crying silently.

‘My child, I know you are crying. And I know this too that the reason that made you cry has its roots in your soul, and you do not want any one else to see your bleeding soul.’—the old man thought. Suddenly, he felt his body weakening. He was over 70. The girl was his grand daughter. He wanted to move forward, console his grand child, but he felt his legs giving way. Turning away from the scene, he walked out to the verandah and deposited himself in a huge chair, which was the throne; the symbol of authority that he held over that large house, and big family, which no longer mattered. He was the head of the family; however, his two sons were the decision makers in that house.

Theirs was a joined family with five families living together; three sons of the old man and two daughters, with all their families. It was his greatest wish to see them all together, and to live with them until his death. He loved them all too dearly that he could not see even one of them be sad. And now, he wanted some support, seeing the little girl silently cry, at least that of the chair. Was his decision wrong to bring all his family together? Was this not in his concern that if someone in the family were in trouble the whole of the family would come to support?  

The little girl was in trouble and now and there was not a single member of the family near her on whose shoulders she can rest her heavy heart. She was a stranger in her own room; an alien within her own universe. That was a Christmas day and though, they never celebrated Christmas, as it was done in Christian homes (because they were Hindus) during this day, every year, a very pleasant feeling swept through their lives. And the old man was confused, why on such a day his grand child was sad, hurt in her soul. He always preferred his family to be in high spirits on that day. On this very day too, he wanted it to be the same way; happy, buoyant, loving. He decided to mend the broken harmony of happiness in the family, though he knew something was terribly wrong.   

Her father Aravind was at home. The old man regained his composure and approached Aravind.

“Aravind, my son, haven’t you noticed your daughter alone with herself, crying her sorrow on a happy occasion like this?”—the old man asked his son, father of the lonesome girl.

“Father, I had already seen her crying.”—Aravind was grave. “And I know the reason too. She was in love with someone. But that man betrayed her. He married someone else.”—Aravind stopped abruptly.

“But son, how can we leave her alone with herself? She needs our help in such a tumultuous time.”—the old man couldn’t grasp Aravind’s expressions.

“No, father, she is hurt by love. And those who are wounded in love are difficult to be healed. The wound gets infected and becomes a poison, which is most dangerous. There is only one way to undo this poison—to fill the heart with another powerful feeling, which is equally poisonous as hurt love.”

“What!”

“Loneliness. 

Loneliness, like love, spreads throughout one’s body and soul, and so it ousts every other emotional remains in one’s mind. It sucks you free out of every other emotional consciousness, and exalts itself. I know loneliness itself too is poisonous, but my daughter, now in this turn of her life, needs it to be cured from one of the most dangerous poisons—wounded love. Poison kills poison.”

The old man understood. He went around the room of his grand daughter. She was quiet now, sitting in her bed, not crying any more. But before her eyes met his, he turned away leaving her alone.