I am glad that you are asleep. It is the only time of day when I can keep staring at your face, that does not hold any sadness or pain while you are dreaming. That very pain which plagues your eyes and seems to have wearied your shoulders in the past several weeks. That pain of which I am the sole cause. I thought I could find my victory if I broke you down, but I only found out they are your wounds I am bleeding from. I was right to think I do not love you. I do not. No, love is a meaningless word. I love the house where I was born, I love the sky above me and the colour blue, I love the feeling of paper brushing over my fingertips when I write. You I do not love. You I need.
I finally realized that few days ago, at that very moment when something I never would have imagined happened. Never will I forget that moment, when you avoided my touch...
What a strange household we formed for several long weeks. Me, you and your brother. He, obnoxious and annoying, boastful and always hinting about things I burn to know but I do not want to ask him. Me, refusing to use my heart while I fed my mind with thoughts of exhausting hatred, trying to hurt you, harm you, more and more every day, obsessed with an idea that by loving you I was betraying a woman, who was never meant for me. And finally you. Hardly uttering a word, your gaze always lowered, ignoring him and gently tending me and my arm, as if all my insults did not reach your ears. Until five days ago. When I heroically set out to put you through the greatest humiliation there is for a woman. I shall never not feel ashamed of myself for it. Did I make you hate me then? Did I kill all that love?
Perhaps you felt happy for a second, when I entered your room and kissed you. After all, I myself almost forgot to act like heartless knave, feeling your sweet form melting against me, but again my mind shut out my heart. And I took you. Not roughly - you did not refuse me after all - but with an intentional disinterest. And you knew, you knew within seconds I came to you like one of those other men before. To satisfy my needs. And were you not born and raised exactly for this? I changed from a besotted lover to a cold stranger. And you too changed. There was noting in you from the Chandramukhi who had used to cry with happiness in my arms as we made love. I suddenly caught a glimpse of us together in one of the large mirrors. An image that could take my breath away, so splendid and beautiful we were. Yet at the same time I knew you were just as indifferent as I was. Your body was completely mine, but you were slipping away through my fingers. And that image in the mirror, it was beautiful, but empty, like a painting by a true Master made to please others, to be exchanged for money so he can survive few more days without starving. As if both our souls departed from flesh and were waiting for that whole shameful thing to be over, so they could return and allow us to have feelings again. I left you then, without a word, in the middle of the whole thing. As I walked over to that mirror and rested my forehead against it, you didn't say a thing, just curled onto your side, your back towards me. And I felt sick, disgusted over myself. What have I done?
My heart broke free from the chains of my low mind. My heart was screaming. My body went numb. And I hated myself and will do so forever. I don't know how long I was standing there, sorrounded by a dead silence, night air biting into me as the sweat trickling down my spine grew cold and the warmth of my body seeped out. You must have been freezing too, yet you was still lying completely motionless. I could just picture you staring into the darkness in front of your eyes, waiting for me to just leave. Were there tears on your cheeks? Were you about to cry? No, I did not want that. I turned and made several steps toward you, and then I halted as the moonlight streaming into the room through a window lit up your silky skin. And I could see them suddenly. Scars. Thin and long, marking your whole back. Almost white in the dark and only visible from a certain angle. And my heart broke. I forgot. I forgot about your wounds completely. So preoccupied I was by the mark I put on Paro's forehead I completely forgot about the scars that you withstood for me. And all that came back suddenly, all those endless months I spend by your side, weeping over my fate and drinking, and then those days when your caring brought me back to life. Those horrible moments as I watched you fade away and those moments of utter horror when you disappeared and I was left alone. And then those moments we spent drunk with our love, as I hold you close to me and you slept in my arms, with the same peace upon your brow as you are now before my eyes. Only I am not lucky enough to have you in my embrace. How I long to! How I wanted to also at that moment when after reaching the lowest dirt I realized everything, and the scars on your back were silently accusing me of everything that was slowly killing you inside. I moved towards you, with no other desire but to clasp you in my arms and never let go again, but you must have heard my steps and as soon as my hand touched your shoulder the unthinkable happened.
You pulled away. So swiftly it could not have been a planned move, but an instinct. You pulled away, burying your face into the pillows, not wanting to even look at me. And your muffled voice. "Just go." "Chandramukhi..." I started gently. That was when you lifted your face and I met your eyes. No, there were no tears and no sorrow, just that agonizing pain and something I have never seen in there before. The mere existence of it had seemed impossible. Yet there it was now. Fury and anger gazing right at me from your eyes. "Go!" you said silently, but you could have as well cry out. "What will you talk to me about now? Just leave!" I could hardly make myself speak. "Chandramukhi, forgive me..." "I forgive you. Go and sleep peacefully!" One more time I tried reaching out to you, but you avoided my touch again. "What is there now to take?" you said. "I have nothing else to offer you. I interest you no more. What right do I have to complain? You are not mine. You were never mine and I accepted that. I did not need you to love me back to know I am breathing for you. I never asked for anything, I took everything you gave me without questions. Your affection. Your hatred." You laughed then, bitterly. "It was easier to live with your hatred than affection. And now you don't know if you love or hate me yourself. If you want to do me a favour - hate me. That is enough for me to be happy." I could only stare in you, short of any words, unable to react. And knowing all you said was true. I was a monster and you had every right to hate me. I could not move, the world around me was swaying. But you could not tolerate me in your presence any longer. Getting out of bed you quickly dressed and made your way to the door. There you turned one more time. "Never," you said, your voice still low and shaking with fury, "never has any of those men treated me like this. I was a toy for them, a distraction, even slave. But never a thing." With that you left me. I don't know where you went or what you did. I couldn't stop sobbing at first. And then I saw my image in that mirror again. I could not stand the sight of myself. Grabbing a nearby candle holder I threw it and smashed the cold, unfeeling looking glass. But that did not bring any comfort. I then went on, destroying everything I could lay my hands upon, but nothing seemed enough. Until I put my left arm through a window pane and the shards cut deeply into my flesh did the pain bring some relief to my mind. I caught myself hoping you would come to me then. That you would have horror in your eyes seeing me injured, that you would tend me, wrap my hand gently and carefully, that I will be allowed to fall asleep in your lap. But you did not come, even though you must have heard the noise and my cry of pain. You did not come, because your wound was much deeper.
It has been five days. Your brother knows what happened, or he can imagine. Your attitude towards me seems unchanged though. You still care if I have eaten, you even sent a maid to treat my new wound. You do not retreat from a room when I enter and you answer to everything I say. I have not yet found courage to talk about that night as yet though. Instead I creep into your room in the night and I watch you sleep. Because seeing your calm, untroubled face as you are dreaming, give me hope that perhaps all is not lost.
