"Don't lie to me, Maa," he said softly. "Ever since I arrived, I've been sitting right here. I haven't gone anywhere, nor was I waiting for anyone."
Kavya stood directly before him, her face bearing neither anger nor reproach, nor any other visible emotion—only that same serene calm that Arjun had once considered her greatest virtue.
"So, you came after all?"
Kavya said, looking at him. Though she had not truly expected him, deep within her heart she had held an unspoken faith that he would come today.
Arjun could only manage a few words: "The offering of diyas… I couldn't leave it undone." A faint, mischievous smile curved Kavya's lips. "Yes… relationships can be broken so easily, and our loved ones…"
She continued, "I had once made a promise to perform the deep-daan, and I know how to honor my word."
Arjun knew well that the remark was aimed at him. Since the fault was his, he remained silent. Between them, silence spoke far more eloquently than words. For a long while, the two stood together on the riverbank.
His mother gently reminded him, "Bittu, I have already lit the diyas, yet look—some have gone out again."The strong wind was preventing the flames from burning steadily, and even conversation was becoming difficult in the gusts.
Then Kavya spoke in a quiet voice, "Give them to me. I'll help."She cupped her hands around the flickering lamp to shield it from the wind and said to Arjun, in the same way, we can face the obstacles of life together."
"You with your duties and your personal struggles, and I… I have been shattered in your absence. Think of something, Arjun, so that neither of us breaks again."
It is necessary to seek solutions to our problems, not to run away from them. The more you distance yourself from the shore, the more the storms will surround you."
Arjun gazed intently at her face. Today she appeared far more mature than before. Distance, responsibility, and time had evidently deepened and sobered them both. The once playful, bubbly Kavya seemed to have been lost somewhere in the past.
"I was terribly wrong, Kavya…" Arjun's voice trembled slightly. "One should never abandon one's companion in the middle of the river. I committed that very arrogance. But believe me, I had convinced myself that your happiness lay in staying away from me."
He went on, "I thought love meant nothing but sacrifice. I began to walk away from you for the sake of your happiness. I considered your image, and that of our family, but I ignored the voice of my own heart."
I was still trapped in depression. Amid life's struggles and tensions, I overlooked your love and support. I am guilty before you. You may punish me in any way you wish.
"In your eyes I may seem selfish, but I forgot that you needed me too. You wanted to be by my side, yet I didn't want even the slightest shadow to fall upon you."
Kavya's eyes grew moist as well. She closed them for a brief moment and said, "Arjun, I never had any complaint against you. My only grievance was that you turned sorrow into your sole path and left love standing alone."
Our joys and sorrows should have been shared. How did they become separate—yours and mine?
"Suppose we had been married and something like this happened later—would we have separated then?
Imagine if, after marriage, I met with an accident and became disabled—would you have abandoned me, thinking me a burden? Or would I have left you?"
The vow was to stand together in both happiness and sorrow, yet in your pain you treated me like a stranger.
Kavya's clear words pierced through the fog that had enveloped Arjun for months.The festival of deep-daan had, as it were, granted a rebirth to their relationship.
Many boats and boatmen stood ready to embark on the watery journey and offer their lamps upon the river.
Arjun's mother deliberately declined to board the boat. Arjun and Kavya slowly stepped into a small wooden boat. Kavya lifted the tray of lamps she held in her hands. Arjun too took a glowing tray of lit diyas, which they were to set afloat on the flowing water.
Adorned with floral garlands, both carried their respective trays of flickering diyas toward the river's current.The boatman lifted his oar, and as he struck the first stroke, the soft sound of "chhap… chhap… chhap…" rose from the water.
The boat began gliding gently toward the heart of the stream.It was not merely the sound of the river; it felt as though the river's own heart was beating vigorously, sensing every movement of the boat. Each time the oar cut through the water, a delicate wave rose and broke against the boat's sides, creating a rhythmic melody.
Kavya dipped her hand lightly into the water and said softly, "This is not noise, Arjun… This is the river's song."
Arjun looked at her and smiled. "Don't put your hand in the water, Kavya. There are snakes and crocodiles in it."
Kavya turned to him and replied, "When you are with me, I feel no fear."
"Arjun, this is not just sound—it is the river's story. It sings the song of people like us who were lost and are now finding each other again."
Arjun realized she was right. The sound carried the feeling that someone had torn through the sorrows of the past to carve a path toward the future.
He felt that every stroke of the oar was breaking the silence between two hearts. Each "chhap" was carrying away the pain of yesterday, and with every new ripple, a fresh emotion was being born.
The boat glided steadily forward into the heart of the river's current, each rhythmic dip of the oars washing away the silence that had gathered between two hearts. With every splash, an old wound fractured and a new feeling stirred to life.
The oars stilled.The river kept moving—but they didn't. He turned, her name resting on his lips… fragile, unfinished.
And for the first time, the silence between them wasn't empty—
it was waiting. She looked at him. Not away. Not hesitant.
Just… there.
"If you say it now…" she whispered, barely breathing,
"everything will change."
And he knew—
some silences are safer unbroken.
© Copyright Pushpa Chaturvedi
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