A New Dawn

The lustre of light has dispersed, its magnificent hues making the decorated lounge on the stage look vibrant, where Anmol and Sujata rendering the shades and sensations of their characters are completely lost in the boundaries of their art.

‘Let disaster reign the world… let the sky get ruptured… and the earth ripped… even if the sun loses its existence, I am still ready to take everything for you, just for your sake.’

‘No dear… how… how is our union possible?… such a lofty wall of society exists between us… this great mountain of riches stands stubbornly between your family, shimmering brilliantly with the splendours of prosperity and my family, entangled frigidly in the swirl of poverty.’

‘… this love… true love… genuine love… affectionate love… our love… will bloom like flowers in the garden of fortune, where other radiant flowers will behold the very being of our bond. Soaking in the shower of that ecstasy, we will back each other in every ups and downs of life; smearing the colours of that joy, we will overcome every hardship that hinders our subsistence.’

The clattering of claps covered the hall… but even in that distinguished sound of admiration, Anmol today felt that his performance looked simulated, not natural as before. In other words, his romantic reflections with Sujata today seemed insignificant. However, he knew that the history of his past had made the acting of his present look lively in the eyes of spectators. Some youths started bounding and whistling uncontrolled. More of its drive than its deluge has brought Tsunami in the hearts of the viewers… they were drifted by its flow to an isle of bliss.

The curtain is again raised and this time, with the introduction of artists. All artists are standing in a queue with their hands joined. The announcer starts the acquaintance. The spectators, with thunderous clapping, produce sounds of appraisal. Finally is the turn of the protagonists. The viewers cannot refrain themselves from coming to the stage, hauling, embracing and congratulating Anmol for his outstanding staging.

Anmol, engaging himself in tape-recorded answers of constant ‘thank-yous’, could hardly afford time and opportunity to speak anything more.

“You are such a fine actor!”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations… your acting has portrayed a real picture of true love.”

“Thank you.”

“Your performance has given a new course to the theatrical history.”

“Thank you.”

Anmol, thus held up with such conversations, is thrilled at the success of the drama and the unlimited failures inside him dissolve into oblivion for a time being. After the ending of drama and bidding adieu to the stage, his restrained obligation, ready to assimilate into his actual life, comes out in silence like a night-prowler.

Anmol is measuring the steps to his destination, his rented room. The road is full of activity as always. People are going here and there … colliding sometimes with the crowd of people is very usual… but he is walking, with his reality and responsibility getting along.

Anmol, infected by the virus of acting, became a playwright in hope of getting roles in the drama… above it, to direct the drama himself.

Newspapers and magazines featured his plays with phrases of appreciation.

The rattling sound of claps filled him with satisfaction. But the momentary contentment faded in the wink of an eye when he collides with anyone in that crowd.

Vehicles ply on the road, resulting in a serious traffic halt. But that jam has never stopped Anmol’s vehicle from going ahead. He is deprived of luxury. He doesn’t have an apartment of his own amidst those towering buildings… those deluxe restaurants also do not converge with his convenience. The pursuit of his reality plays hide-and-seek with the sufferings of his destiny.

The solitude of the damp room is waiting for him. The truth of cooking meal and eating welcomes him. The expensive price of rice and vegetables scoffs at his cheap life and describes vividly his adversities in one way or the other. Still, Anmol has learnt to survive in scarcity. He has excelled in being satisfied with what he has… but also, today…

He does not feel like cooking or doing anything. Little before, a great hero was standing in front of his impulsive spectators. But now, that hero has all of a sudden changed into a disturbed, fugitive-like man. The sound of isolation drowns the turmoil of the stage earlier.

Sujata is the heroine of his drama. But it would be better to say, she is the heroine of his life. They love each other deeply. Sujata too was brought up in misery and is good at understanding Anmol’s obligations.

That is why the love-scene in their drama also used to come out with its flying colours, its natural tinge. The spectators never came to know if it was acting or a reality.

“Anmol… I’ve got a marriage proposal from a rich family.”

“What are you saying?”

“We embraced poverty… now I want to embrace prosperity.”

“Meaning…”

“I am getting married to that man, so this is probably my last play.”

“A last one on this stage but a first one of your life, isn’t it?”

“Don’t turn your nose up at me.”

“What better can such a heart give?”

“Let’s become good friends. Let’s overlook the bygone days and begin a new one.”

An end of today’s drama such thoughts roil in Anmol’s heart. He tries to sleep but is unable to calm his turbulent mind. Like Sujata, sleep also has abandoned him.

Curse this life! Why should I suffer in the memories of Sujata when she is busy painting the portraits of her new life? No, I’ll also find a new… new life… The curtain has not dropped yet.

When did the sleep come, he doesn’t know. In his dream, a sweet dawn beckons.