she will find you even in a crowd. And if it is not, you will not find her no matter how hard you search."Bittoo fell silent. He knew his mother was right, yet his heart remained heavy with longing. He began tidying the house—removing the old bedsheet, spreading a fresh one, and adjusting the curtains, as if trying to straighten the tangled knots within his own heart. Just then, his mother emerged from the kitchen and said, "Bittoo, if everything, it is only after someone leaves our life that we truly understand their worth. How strange it is that the person who understands us the most is often the one we push farthest away. And then, we begin weaving an intricate web of illusions around a person who never truly existed—a figment of our imagination—trapping ourselves in a delicate spider's web of our own making.
Arjun did not know exactly when these lines had formed in his mind—whether on that long, melancholy evening after Kavya had left, or now, in the moonlit memory of Dev Deepavali's drenched silver light.
With Arjun and Kavya too, something similar had happened."Even when one person changes in a relationship, it changes both."
Their beautiful five-year bond had been like a fragrant season, filled with countless smiles and tender feelings written upon the sands of memory—feelings that had only grown deeper and more radiant with time. Never, even in their wildest dreams, had they imagined that this year they would drift apart.
This year's Diwali had filled his heart with an emptiness he could not fill, no matter how hard he tried. Again and again, his mind pulled him toward the ghat where Kavya used to stand.
Toward the ghat at Mayapur, where every year the two of them, along with a few locals, would perform a small diya offering. It flowed like an unspoken prayer of their love.This diya offering was never as grand as the Deepotsav of Varanasi. Only the priests from the local temples and a handful of residents would gather. Members of the ISKCON temple group were often seen lighting and floating lamps in the Bhagirathi River at Mayapur and Navadvipa.
His heart kept insisting that Kavya would surely come for the diya offering. Perhaps they would meet. It had been so long since he had truly seen her.
His mother said, "Yes, Bittoo, we will definitely go, but I haven't made any preparations yet. Help me a little with the arrangements. Let's first get the wicks and all the materials ready. The rest—arranging and lighting the lamps—we'll do at the ghat itself. When Ranjana was here, I had so much comfort. She used to handle all these tasks herself. Now I have to do everything."
Arjun replied gently, "I'm here, Ma. Just tell me what needs to be done. I'll take care of it."
His mother said, "Go to the market and bring earthen diyas, flower garlands, and mustard oil. I'll make the wicks from cotton here at home in the meantime."
Meanwhile, Kavya was thinking: When the beloved slowly stops expressing love as before, when his messages lose their warmth, when he begins to hide behind his busyness and you are left waiting anxiously for his reply, checking the clock, yearning for his time and affection—then an invisible emptiness begins to grow inside you. It feels as if no hope remains; you are merely existing, lifeless.
When every ring of the phone makes your heart leap with the hope of hearing his voice, when you keep searching for a message with his name, when every notification makes your heart jump like an excited child only to sink again in disappointment—then you realize you have unknowingly handed over the key to your happiness to someone else. You realize the other person is controlling you.
Love never survives on one-sided effort. In fact, no relationship remains balanced unless both sides make equal efforts. When only one person is invested, the relationship turns into stubbornness and suffocation. Gradually, a quiet courage begins to awaken within. It takes time to understand this truth, but you cannot stop someone from changing their behavior.
What you can control is yourself. If someone wishes to walk away, no matter how devoted you are, you cannot stop them. The most important thing in this entire process is to preserve your self-respect, your dignity, your soul, and your inner grace. Rejection hurts deeply; sometimes it becomes difficult even to hold oneself together. Yet one takes a deep breath and says, "It's all right.
Whatever happens, happens for the best. God's will and my own good were hidden in this."Those whom love leaves with pain and wounds often take years to believe that the person had merely worn a mask of goodness and kindness, while their true nature was something else. The heart of a truly sincere person is always the one that gets wounded.
Evening arrived once more. On the ghat beside the Bhagirathi River, Arjun stood restless, eager to offer his diyas—where people release their deepest hopes and longings upon the flickering flames of lamps, letting them drift away with the current.
Arjun, too, was restless with the same hope. Since morning, one thought had been flashing through his mind: perhaps Kavya would also appear at the ghat today. It had been so long since he had properly seen her.
Mother and son sat together on the cot. His mother was rolling thin, delicate wicks from cotton. Bittoo carefully fixed those wicks into the earthen diyas, one by one. His mother's fingers had performed this ritual for years, yet today Bittoo's fingers trembled—a trembling his mother quietly noticed.
Softly she said, "Don't be so restless, my son. If it is written that you will meet, you will find her even in a crowd. And if it is not written, you will not find her no matter how hard you search."
Bittoo fell silent. He knew his mother was speaking the truth, yet his heart remained heavy with unease. He began tidying the house—removing the old sheet, spreading a fresh one, then adjusting the curtains, as though trying to straighten the tangles within his own mind.
Just then, his mother emerged from the kitchen and said, "Bittoo, if everything is ready, let's go to the ghat." She picked up a small wooden basket and handed it to him. "Put the colorful flowers and garlands in this as well."When the last diya was finally prepared, his mother took a deep breath and said, "Come, Bittoo. Now just arrange them neatly in the basket. We'll do the rest when we reach the ghat."
When the last diya was finally ready, his mother took a deep breath and said, "Come, Bittoo. Now just arrange them neatly in the basket. We'll do the rest at the ghat."
Bittoo carefully lifted the basket. As he stepped out of the house, a sudden gust of wind blew through the courtyard.
One diya flickered… then went out.
His mother stopped. For a second, her face changed—like she understood something unspoken.
"The wind carries an unfamiliar feeling today." she murmured.
Bittoo looked at the extinguished diya.
And for no reason…his heart sank.
As if—
something was about to end… or return.
© Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi
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