Sayonara

 

        The village stretched before me like an animated portrayal of rural houses featured in cartoons, knitted together by the stitching of green bush and stone craved pathways. It felt as if the vast wave of grassland is dotted with colourful houses, farms and animals. This place appears so divine as always. The narrow boulevard drifts like rustic brown metal, ancient and broken with age. On each side, small houses were parted by yards wide enough to hold the movement of cows and goat folks.  

The traditional home-design looked typically identical in shape but no two had same coloured roofing. They were either zinced or tiled in red, grey, blue and even brown like the ground. Most houses were not only a resident but have been capitalized by village entrepreneurs. Many ground floors were vending homemade liquor and duck’s sukuti, followed by other vegetable shops, fruit stalls, Panipuri/Chatpate and some grocers retailing daily stuffs.

Out there, some meters away flows the river, alive with constant fizzling whisper and hundreds of water-dwellers. More than seeing, I could just feel it. Within my sensory radius I could smell and hear its movement. The mounting waves were neither gentle kind that would take the paper boat to far ocean without drowning, nor the roaring kind that would jump above its banks. They would rise up with force but fall ahead within some foot. Any nature loving eyes would catch the amazing sight of some unnoticeable happening in river. Like, after the jump-splash of small reptiles when the water sprinkles up into dry summer air, the droplets arc some inch higher than waves before sinking down underneath the river. Sometime even the lurking heron forgot to prey its food, carried away by the scene of jump, splash, rise and fall of water drops. 

This place could be anywhere, at a glance it seems like artistic replication, but it isn't. These words paint my hometown Sundarijal and that is the Bagmati River where I learn to dive as small child. The wind here carries my mother's song and her gentle touches. The ground here still emits the fragrance of my forefathers toil. I stood silent, face to the breeze and smell the tropical humid of fruit garden. No technology, no metro-fever, just nature, everywhere. Naturally  Nepal.

Suddenly a soft sound disturbed my contemplation,

Excuse me!

I looked towards that human figure and replied in soft voice ‘yes.

A smirk played hide-and-seek on her lips; her words were like grandma’s strawberry, sweet in their unique way, warmly spoken in broken English ‘you can click my phuto? Please!  ‘

A cute Japanese girl forwarding her Canon EOS 80D towards me. Her English confused me. So I again asked to re-assure, you want me to take your photo?

Yes, she nodded

I hold the camera and began conversation to buy some time for understanding the function of that device.

What’s your name? I asked, while swiftly checking the camera

“Megumi kajo”

"Nice name." I grinned shyly

Are you from japan or Korea?

Me come from Osaka, Japan.

Oh, Welcome to Nepal, I smiled back to respond the fading curve on her lips.

Till then my scorpion brain, experienced with photography, was already familiar with the device and my hands were ready to make professional click.  

Ok I’m on it. Make some pose if you want to look more beautiful, I instructed in mocking tone 

A soft curve pops onto her lips, it soon outspread like silent ripple in ocean. 'Smile' isn’t a right word to describe that expression – both rows of teeth were visible and there was grim curl trembling below lower lip, the way her left dimple wrinkles without any crease under her eyes, no crinkles on forehead. She posed two fingers in ‘V’ shape, bordering it between her white flashing teethes.  And in background the slow-flowing stream decorated by twinkling pour of water reflecting against thin sunlight gleam. 

When the shutter opened at front to disclose a lens, the back screen shows impeccable high definition portrait of what the camera was aiming to capture. One tap on the black bottom and that moment will be caged forever in her device.  

Ok. Ready 3…..2….1….. Say Cheese!  The camera feels enjoyably heavy to hold in my left hand and made perfect mechanical snapping sound ‘cli…c...k ‘.  

A volunteered photography, that was all it took for her to regard me as friend. She had come to our village for some environmental research projects and she was looking for one tourist guide to explore the village with. Voila! I happen to be her first choice. As a student of rural governmental school I was also expert in broken English and had very basic knowledge of Japanese language too.  Accepting the guide proposal, I thanked her in Japanese ‘domo arigatou’.  Even then I was unaware that this short encounter would lead us to some serious relationship that doesn’t fit in definition of any demarcated relation. Sometime human tends to relate themselves with someone, more than the relation they share. It just took some casual conversation for me and her to become we.  Thenafter we began to hang around quite lot around hills of sundarijal and got to know each other more closely. I'm not certain if that was the moment when it happened, but by the next morning we met, I knew I could call her, my best friend. Our friendship began to wing higher in every possible context; hiking, swimming, supporting each other and mostly spending time together. 

There was nothing romantic between us, but whenever I opened my arms she never hesitate to come into them. Her body was so familiar to me - the way it moves, the fragrance of Cherry Blossom Eau de perfume, even the speed of her heart beats was not new for me.

I always adored touching her – not in erotic way, never anywhere other than her milky white cheeks, her hands, platinum hair that feels as cotton blossom. Her warmth would pierce into my being and she reliefs me without ever opening her mouth.  I used to get dissolve on her like sugar in water; I belonged to her as much as she belonged to me. Her hug was passionate than anything I've ever known in life, as if embracing me wasn't quite enough, she has to feel every ounce of me. And each time before we separate, the longing to enfold in each other arms used to grow more intense.  

One that winter evening I was having a wordless conversation with Megumi as I look into her speaking eyes. Her eyes used to understand me the way I want to get understood and believe in me the way I want to be believed in. It was innocent and hypnotic, reassuring almost, as If her eyes could pass through my heart and read every bits of feelings.

"Kalyan, I want you to promise me something," she whispered, her voice utterly turned serious. "Tumorrow I am leave this place. I’m finish with my research. I always want to told that you are the best friend I make in my life and maybe I should never find anyone like you. So please be in touch with me, okay? "

"Yes, I will, Mochiron! (Of Course in Japanese)” words hardly pops out of my mouth. .  

       As I have always believed that life is a series of hello’s and goodbyes.  Next day I was all prepared to farewell her .That’s when Megumi turned back for last good-bye look, eye to eye, her subtle expressions telling me that she need more moments with me or that I need more with her, though I guess in reality both of us were longing some more moment with each other. Her eyes were so different during that second, more pale than I knew eyes could be. The foreigner gaze was long gone and it was the eyes of someone whom I could regard as ‘mine’. If it were anyone else pupils I could have ignored the glance, but with her was drawn closer in every blink, always wanting more. Among everything we did together, it was looking in her eyes I loved the most. That's all we ever needed to connect, me and her, just eyes, no words, neither of us wanting the moment to end.  Then she asked the exact question I was about to inquire otherwise, "We're ok, you and me right?" I just nodded, recollecting every frames of that moment to preserve in my memory.

I have written a farewell poem for you. Shall I read it? I asked in ease tone

Her breathing become relaxed; the painful look melted down to warm smile as soft as the winter sun. ‘Please yes, read it for me ‘ 

There was some kind of aura in her smile that I had never come across in other lips; as if in that moment our souls get bridged through smile.  I took out the paper and began to read:

Sayonara my friend!

The time to apart

You will always remain

Deep inside my heart

Sayonara. .  . sayonara !

Truth now unfolds

Stories are told

Broken heart

Pale eye

Sayonara. .  Good-Bye 

Out of the blue, my vision gets blurred with tears and I couldn’t feel the world around me. After some blinks when I regain my consciousness she was long gone. I behold her existence slowly fading away from the canvas of my vision and with each moving steps she completely get vanished in winter fog.