When a man and a woman stand across from each other with a desire of surrendering their hearts and soul, the condition of their being reflects in their eyes. A dreamy feeling of intoxication surrounds their eyes. They were captives of that feeling. This feeling isn’t a slave to any relation that needs to exist between the man and woman. The only necessity is the presence of a man and a woman. To be each other’s need is the only relation required.

Asrar wasn’t aware of what happens when love accompanies this feeling. Asrar’s soul was yet to experience ishq. And on the other hand, it was as if a cobra had bitten Jamila Miss and its venom had spread in her entire being. She searched for the antivenin in Asrar’s stretched veins. Asrar’s fingers could feel the venom inside her. It had a distinct warmth, a unique smell and flavour. Jamila touched his eyelashes with her tongue. He poured his antivenin on her soft petals, on the rosy tongue of her being. The warmth of this was like raindrops on her soul. With the soil of her soul drenched in those raindrops, the venom subsided. She kissed Asrar’s forehead and ran up the slope and stood under the open sky, leaning against a coconut tree. The sound of the waves kept competing with her soul. Asrar joined her in a few minutes. He held a banyan branch and hit her playfully. She kept running and he pursued. This playfulness continued for long.

It was already past an hour when they returned to the boat.

The train stopped at Khed.

A few people boarded the train. A student asked him, ‘Shift a little and make some space, please.’

Then Asrar surfaced from his ocean of memories.

He made space and the boy seated himself. Asrar looked out of the window. Clouds were gathering again in the sky.

The train passed a long tunnel on its way to Chiplun from Khed. He had been to Chiplun a couple of times. This small town was a valley. He remembered coming to Parshuram Ghat with his schoolmates to witness the beautiful landscape of Chiplun. He drank a cup of tea at Chiplun. When the train reached Ratnagiri, it was 8.20 a.m. by his watch. The sky was covered with clouds. A yellow dot made space for itself in the black clouds. It was the sun.

He took out his umbrella from the bag and stuffed it under his arm. He exited the station carrying his bag on his shoulder.

He spent the entire Sunday at home. He told his mother all the details of his life in Mumbai, his friends and the kholi. He praised Moosa Patel, Saleem and Mohammad Ali a lot.