Even after two years of living together, she barely knew anything more about him than what she did when he first staggered into her life… She remembered the incident so clearly that it could have been just yesterday… Home after her shift at the hospital, she was heating the dinner cooked earlier that morning, when the shrill doorbell shattered the somnolent silence of the night. It had been a long and tiring day, and a friendly neighbourly visit was the last thing she wanted.
Safety chain firmly in place, she peered out to see an unfamiliar man leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “You are a nurse…” he said, rather than asked. His left hand was gripping his right arm, trying to stem the blood that oozed through his fingers, trickling slowly down the back of his hand and wrist, soaking the sleeve of his shirt already red with blood. He had noticeably lost an enormous amount of blood. Barely managing to enter the room, he collapsed.
He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next 24 hours. A total stranger, she knew nothing about him. Yet she instinctively realised that he didn’t want anyone to be called. No doctor, no neighbour, no friend. Relying on her years of experience and using all her skills, she extricated the bullet, cleaned and dressed his gaping wound...
The first night had been bad. Hot and feverish, she worried whether some infection had set in. But he looked visibly better next day. Well enough for her to go for duty, even though leaving the house with an unknown person inside did cause her a few qualms.
He stayed on for almost a week before he left one day while she was still at work. Reserved, almost to the point of being brusque, he said very little. Except for his name, she had learnt nothing more about him… his family, his home, his job.
He surfaced some weeks later as suddenly as he had disappeared. “Can I stay?” he asked. Black eyes gazed into hers, piercing her fragile resistance, plundering her thoughts, reading her mind. Her prudent head screamed at her to say no, but her defiant heart replied, “Yes…”
She had always considered herself sensible and level headed. Not someone who was foolishly attracted to a man she barely knew. And definitely not someone who even more foolishly surrendered herself completely, body and soul. But succumbing to the unthinkable, she had discovered gentleness that surprised her. Passion that set her aflame. Caresses that conveyed what he never uttered in words. Tenderness that spoke its own silent language.
She learnt to respect his secrecy. Accept the fact that he had another life that he was unwilling to share with her. Was he married? Did he have a wife? A child? What did he do? How did he earn his living? Her gentle probing came to naught. Deftly evading her questions, he divulged nothing about himself. “I care for you… nothing else is important…” was all he would reply.
He would disappear for weeks at a time, sometimes returning tired and withdrawn, sometimes elated and happy. But return he always did, picking up the threads of their relationship as if he had never been away. Till that last time, that fateful day… Tuesday, July 11 to be exact.
Seven bomb blasts in the space of eleven minutes had devastated Mumbai, creating death and mayhem. Hundreds were injured, some grievously, while more than 180 persons lost their lives… innocent men and women. Memories of the commotion and chaos at her hospital still woke her up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering. The agonising cries of pain and terror still haunted her waking hours.
She read about the unclaimed body in the newspaper. Despite herself, she had gone to that hospital, to its morgue. One part of the face was blown off completely, one side of the body mangled and destroyed. Her eyes confirmed what her heart had known. Overcome by intense pain, she turned away…
She mourned his death in the solitude of her loneliness. Nursed her anguish in the shadows of her darkened room. Prayed that his soul had finally found peace.
She didn’t even consider collecting his body. What did she have to substantiate her claim? Probably even the name she knew him by was not his real one. She didn’t want to unnecessarily open a Pandora’s box... provide a headline for the next day’s newspaper… start a new tamasha… He had lived his life in secrecy. She would let him die in anonymity…
