Him

I saw him for the first time when I was with my husband.

By vaisrinivasanPublished 3 years ago • 8 min read

Have you ever fallen in love with another soul while holding hands with your partner? No, I'm not talking about the cheap kind of love which makes you cheat your partner, but a reverential admiration that evokes emotions deep inside from within you. And, knowing that you may never be able to reciprocate your love but confine it in the cellars of your heart along with other prisoners? I had one such moment.

My husband and I like to wander around and explore new places. We take road trips, plan ad-hoc vacations and spend time experiencing nature. We have similar interests that way. Like most people, we had nothing much to do one Saturday, so we were riding the bike lazily. We came across a nature park; We went inside. It was a luscious evening. The moment we entered the park, a cool breeze swept across our faces. As it had rained all morning, the park looked like it just came back from the laundry. The trees look green and vibrant on usual days. But today, it looked like a piece of heaven came down to earth. The people in the park were taking in the fresh air, relaxing under the trees. It was an overall mesmerizing experience for the senses. We were taking a stroll in the park, talking about life in general. That was when I saw him for the first time.

It was a clearing in the park. The sunset was playing its magic as though the clearing were its playground. The rays of the setting sun hit the ground, turning everything on its path golden like the Midas' touch. There were very few people walking around the clearing, not noticing the enchantment happening near them. Though he was taller than everyone else, he stood unnoticed. Unnoticed from the joggers with AirPods. Unnoticed from the couples in love. Unnoticed from the new mothers with babies in strollers. He reveled in the glorious evening with a wicked aura around him. Was he a sorcerer with the power to turn an ordinary clearing into an other-worldly one? He looked as though it was just another of his spellwork. I was riveted by the magnetic charm that he exuded. It was a power that not only immobilizes you but also pulls the strings of your heart. My husband saw that I was quiet for a while and nudged me. I jerked from my trance, pointing my index finger at where he was standing. It only took a split second for my husband to understand why I was quiet. He couldn't help but smile and agreed that he had never seen someone so majestic and regal. We stood transfixed admiring the way the clearing looked, with him standing.

We sat nearby in direct view of him. The sun was beginning to pull the magic carpet of colors he had strewn across the sky. I started talking about how the clearing looked that particular evening. That it was all because of him, it was uniquely exquisite. My husband argued that though he was a major contributor to the setting, he was not the only one as the sunset also played its role. Finally, we both agreed one couldn't exist without the other, and all the elements worked their magic. I ended up teasing my husband a little saying he was jealous because I admired another man.

We went into discussing other day-to-day happenings. It was our day off, and my husband and I hardly spend time together on weekdays. We talked, trying to catch up on the things we missed in the last week. We talked about the calls we had to make, about the bills to pay, and groceries to buy on the way home. You know, the usual things about which married couples chatter. But from time to time, I took a look in his direction, and he didn't seem to mind. Coming to think of it, I don't think he noticed us.

What was going on in that mind of his? Would he appreciate it if we went and spoke to him? I had this strong urge to go near him, for him to notice us. But I was afraid that we would be just another couple in the park. We were so ordinary-looking compared to him, and there was nothing we could offer to impress him. But he seemed like someone who gets joy from giving more than receiving. A generous benefactor who expected nothing in return. While we were discussing this, we heard someone say,

"He is, indeed".

I glanced back, and there was a man who looked well into his 50s, smiling at me. He introduced himself.

"I don't mean to interrupt your conversation, but I overheard you talking about him. I'm Maaran."

I was intrigued that someone knew about him and introduced myself. He started telling his story.

"I'm Maaran now. But I used to be a person who was nameless and homeless in this park. I was always 'the homeless in the clearing'; I cannot imagine where I would be without him. I had no one to call my family or friend. There were times when I had thought about ending my life. It was one of those times that he lent me his shoulder. He became my friend, and I started sharing my grief with him. I had to struggle for food and clothes. But, he was always waiting for me at the end of the day. He gave a ray of hope in an otherwise doomed world. I know what you're thinking. I don't look homeless now. Right? Yes. I live happily now because of his act of compassion. One day when I was talking to him, I saw that he was holding a cover. I wouldn't have minded it, but my name was on it. The envelope said, 'To, the homeless in the clearing'; I got it from him, opened it and felt the shock of my life. There were $20,000 bills in it. My hands started trembling. He smiled at me as though he had meant to give it to me for a long time. I cried uncontrollably, leaning on him. I knew that it was a turning point in my life. All my struggles were coming to an end. I kept half of it for me and used the rest of the money to plant trees across this park. It was my way of repaying him. I lead a happy life now with my beautiful wife and two children, and I come to see him any chance I get. You were right when you said he looked like a provider who expected nothing in return."

With that, Maaran and I both turned to look at him. I went into thoughts of my own. Who was he, and where did he come from? He looked older than most of us in the park, if not the oldest. He stood a little bent, tired from all those years of nurturing others. Oh! How I wished I could talk to him and hug him! It is not everyday one gets to meet a pure soul. But I was hesitant because we might not understand each other's language. We looked different, almost foreign to one another. It would be self-centered of me to talk to him in a language that only I understand. But what are words for anyway? What can it accomplish a smile and hug cannot? Don't you speak through your heart more with your loved ones?

Maybe he heard the calling of my heart because, for the first time, he moved. There was a cold wind blowing, making him sway a little bit. A group of children, screaming ecstatically, ran towards a flock of pigeons on the ground. The pigeons fluttered, taking off, flying to him for shelter. I followed the pigeons, slowly walking towards him. He looked much bigger up close. I lifted my head, trying to size him as best I could; A mere mortal's attempt to measure the vastness of the divinity. He went up, up, and further up, not confined to my field of vision. Spreading out his branches in all the directions, he was everywhere. He was home to many birds and animals, including the pigeons looking at me from above. I felt a tug at my heart. Then I did something I wanted to do since the moment I saw him. I hugged him. His trunk was so big that I couldn't wrap my arms around him. I closed my eyes, trying to listen to his heartbeat. I felt the rhythm of life in him, and a sense of peace engulfed me. I opened my eyes.

That was when I noticed something inside his burrow. It was a little black notebook beautifully bounded, with a strap to cover it. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and opened it. There, written in big, bold letters, with the craftsmanship only a calligraphist could possess, was my name. It said, 'This book belongs to Vaishnavi'; How could he have known? He had gifted me this notebook, knowing that I was aspiring to be a writer. I felt a sense of warmth washing over me. I remembered Maaran's story. He knows what others want because he listens to people's hearts. He speaks the language of love.

It was getting dark, and it was time for us to head back home. I wanted to stay there for some more time, but we promised ourselves that we would come to see him often. We parted with him, exiting the clearing. From a distance, we saw him standing still, embracing the night as he had done since the day he was a plant. So many nights and days in his lifetime and so much to learn from a wise, old gentleman! And that is why I thought it fit to write his story in this little black notebook as a first of many.