Abhimanyu had run the reel of Meera’s reaction a thousand times in his mind. He had so hoped for Meera to not cry. He wanted her to call him names, to reject him outright as opposed to pleading with him to reconsider his decision.
She did neither. Meera walked out of the room in silence. She left New York the next morning.
Chapter 15
Relief was what Abhimanyu felt when he realized that Meera wasn’t coming back. Granted, he had his two biggest dreams shattered in a matter of months – cricket and a life with Meera – but that pain was no match for the anxiety gnawing at his insides. His inability to be honest with Meera for so long had turned him into a shadow of the man he once was. It was as though her departure had freed him up to experience his grief in all its glory. He lay in his bed on those short days and long nights of the harsh New York winter, going into a voluntary hibernation of sorts, fully aided by the cold grey skies of the city. With no sun in sight for weeks, he would dream about the sweltering Bombay summer. Of his shirt sticking to his skin even before a single ball had been bowled in a match. Of the cool sea breeze he felt on his face as he glided towards the batsman, ball in hand, and then hovering above the ground with body wound up in a textbook pace bowler pose before crashing down and releasing the ball well over 135 kmph without straining a single muscle; when his body had rhythm, and movement was as easy as breathing. That same imposing body was now frail, and though he found himself panting from exertion, he felt a certain lightness. So what if he could not hear Meera’s voice anymore? He knew that she was in a better place, far away from him. He was glad to have cut her loose so that she could fulfill her potential.
As the ailing prince relived his dreadful year while checked into a hotel, frozen in time, the world outside had propelled towards a new order of chaos. A coalition of Arab armies descended upon the newly independent Jewish state of Israel, starting the never-ending Arab–Israeli conflict. A bloody war divided Korea in two, and a near bloodless coup turned Czechoslovakia communist. In the Indian subcontinent, the freedom fever continued as Burma and Sri Lanka gained independence, while India experienced the challenges of self-governance.
Knowing that Abhimanyu had been discharged, but still hadn’t made any plans of coming back to India, Abhimanyu’s elder brother, Ajay Singh, too, defied his request to not be bothered, and paid him a visit at the hotel. The army man arrived in the middle of winter to convince him to return home and participate in the family’s affairs.
‘Vihaan has lost his mind,’ said Ajay Singh. ‘You know better than to trust his judgement in such matters, Abhimanyu. The British left us with three choices – join India or Pakistan, or remain independent. But in reality, remaining independent is not a choice at all. Daata knew that well enough when he signed to join India. And going by what’s happening in Hyderabad and Junagadh, I am convinced that he did the right thing.’