Midnight Moon

“Taj Mahal was intransigent in time. Except of course, environmental pollution is now eating away the marble. But the sculptures and the design is just as awesome today as it was before.”remarked Sara.
She stood at the bank of Yamuna River, holding her camera on the tripod, looking through the lens. Meera, her older sister sitting on the grass reading a book.
“Meera" she called her, " look at the Taj Mahal. It is a shame for you to read a book while you are here. "
Meera kept her book down. She stared at the Taj Mahal and involuntarily her fingers traced the outline of the structure in her mind - the bulbous dome , then the four pillars on four sides, the raised plinth. At this distance, they could see the tiny human figures near Taj, tourists from all over the world gathered in flocks.
Sara was still fixing the lens. “Excellent view from here”, she says “The sky is clear. Meera, can we wait till dark, I want to take a photograph of the Taj mahal bathed in moonlight."
"Stop taking pictures for a minute and sit beside me Sara." said Meera. " We havent really talked after I came from America.”
Sara complied, reluctantly. She spread the bed sheet on the grass sat near the banks.

The cold December sky was clear. The two sisters sat, looking at the horizon for a while, silently.
"Meera, I am thinking of getting married soon." said Sara, suddenly.
"What!!" said Meera, "What are you talking about."
"I met him at a party at my friend’s house. His name is Subir and he is a doctor at AIMS. We have known each other for almost three years now. He is graduated this year and starting his practice in Delhi. We plan to get married very soon."
“Does Ma Baba know about this? This is so abrupt.”, said Meera.
“No” said Sara, “I plan to tell them soon. No one knows Meera, I am telling you first.”
Meera and Sara were 7 apart in age. Sara was almost a child for Meera, not a younger sister. Even when she was child, Meera used to take care of her, almost like a mother.
She was going to say something, but she looked at Sara , beginning to say that their parents would never approve of a love marriage , but then she stopped.
Sara’s face was glowing with enthusiasm and happiness.
“I dont know what to say.” she shook her head. “You are grown up enough to take your own decisions.”
There was a long silence again. They stared at the River Yamuna for a while.
Sara picked up a stone and threw into the running water. The stone made a poppong sound and plunged into the stream. It was winter, the River was reduced to a narrow dry stream.
“Meera, can I tell you something?” asked Sara.
“Yes” said Meera
“I saw Parikshit in Delhi last week.”
“Who?” said Meera
That was unexpected. She looked at Sara and then turned to look at the river.
“Parikshit, you remember him dont you? I saw him last week in Delhi Hut. He was with his wife and child. Didnt see me. I dont think he would recognize me even if he saw me. " said Sara.
“Oh really” said Meera
“It was a long time ago Meera. But I still remember him vaguely, coming to our house.” said Sara. Meera said nothing. For a while silence sat heavily upon them like a paperweight.
Meera had not thought about Parikshit for a long time now. But her senses would betray her when thoughts of Parikshit would surface every night, as she tossed and turned in the bed, trying to sleep.
Meera was an art student in Agra University when she met Parikshit also in the same university. He was typical art student, wore baggy kurtas, carried a ten ruppes note in his worn out wallet, carried a canvas everywhere, borrowed money from friends for cigarettes, talked about communism and political dysfunctionism in the country in a matter of fact way. Meera knew his type, the arty-all talks- no money types. She refrained from those people. But there was something different about him. He was never very apologetic about his lack of money or his rising debts or his shabby appearance. She had infact passed her judgment on him the first time she saw him - a insolent megalomaniac.
But then fate intended them to meet.
He had seen Meera in a students union meeting. He was distributing flyers. Meera refused to take one, “I don’t need to” she said vehemently.
Their eyes met, and for a moment both did not say anything. Thinking back that day, Meera would say that she was beside herself. How did she end up liking man so different from her. All her life she has been practical except for this time when she met Parikshit.
It made no sense, but they kept on meeting each other at common friend’s houses, and finally when Parikshit asked her to have tea with him, she could hardly say no. Drawn by some invisible forces, she would listen him talking, his political views, his convictions that seem to fill up most of their evenings together. Then one day he asked her to marry him.
What was she thinking, she told herself? She knew her parents would never accept their match. Infact, she could never tell her parents, even when they fixed her marriage with an NRI living in America.Vinod was so utterly different from Parikshit. He as a grim practical man, loved his nine to five job. She told herself that she would be happy and secure with him and this was a right decision.

Parikshit had asked her again. This time, he had held her hands and told her that he cant live without her and that they would be happy together and she knew it. Meena looked into his eyes and then told him that her marriage has been fixed. He gazed fixedly into her eyes and then let go for her hands and left without a word. He was in Agra for the next two months before he left. During that time they never saw each other. Next month she was married to Vinod.
Yes, she has done the right thing she knew that.
But sometimes, as she lay tossing and turning in the bed, in her heart was an emptiness which kept growing into a storm, with each passing day. She thought how different her life could have been. Could have been. She often thought of what could have been if she had not denied Parikshit. Every night the moonlight streaming down her face provides little comfort or assurance. She looks at her husband, sleeping peaceful and sighs. Her insomnia lasted for almost a year before she went to a doctor, ridden with guilt that she might be laughed at for consulting for a small problem.
The doctor prescribes her sleeping pills. For the rest of her life she would be looking at the moon, until her head starts to feel heavy and the sharp round out-lines of the moon blurs like a distant traffic light and then disappears. For the rest of her life she would be looking at a bottle of pills like aladin’s magic lamp, to spare her the emptiness which grew like a giant spider spinning webs around her, trapping her.
“Meeraaa” cried Sara, “what are you thinking?”
“Hmm, nothing…” said Meera.

The Taj Mahal, gleamed in the dark like a phosphorescent object. The brightness of the full moon, the shimmering water surface of River Yamuna, even the glow in Sheba's face paled in comparison.
She takes her last picture, then takes off the camera from the tripod and puts it in the bag.
“Excellent, wonderful, done”, she said, excited like a child. "Nothing is as beautiful as this. Look at the moonlight falling on the Taj mahal against the backdrop of the blue sky and River Yamuna flowing. Almost mystic."
"Yes, wonderful. It is hard to believe that human hands could make something so marvelously pure and surreal as this.", Meena said, “but isn’t it ironic that the greatest expression of love is actually a mausoleum."
This wasnt a question. Sara opened her mouth to say something and then stopped.
Silence envelops them like an eerie darkness.
Both of them laid on the grass looking the stars and the grandeur of the monument bathed in silver light until the moon dimmed out-of-sight.