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Mukta Singh-Zocchi Books

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“I sent word to my love-crazed brother, informing him of the news of the wedding of his beloved and reminding him that this love is a hollow emotion – is gilt, not gold - and the so-called beloveds, faithless people, and that his efforts must henceforth be directed towards worthier objects. But there is an inborn antagonism between love and reason, Sirs?”

“To lack confidence in a man is a most wasteful exercise. A woman is not as weak a creature as one presumes. I must tell you that there exists no man who can seduce a disinclined woman. And I cannot omit the fact that if the woman is determined to find love, no amount of policing can keep her from falling into that state.”

“So many days had passed since he had left her but the disorder that she had brought into his world had not left him. He thought of her many times during the day. Not being able to see her made him feverish. At nights he slept with emptiness filling his embrace. Life without her was unbearable and he longed to return to her.”

“She was not indifferent to him. He knew well how the sweet, little flame that she transported around as she labored and wore herself out, had a habit of growing to a conflagration in his months’ long absence; one that revealed itself at the end of the long first day of their return, when he could finally spread himself on his bed atop the terrace alone under the gaze of the stars in the heaven. Tiptoeing up, she too would join him by his side, throwing quickly her leg and her arm around him, taking him in her tight clasp. She would turn into a magician and he’d willingly let his queen play magic on his body. Turning, then, on his side he would tear open the front of her clothes, like a man removes the lid of his chest of valued treasures and a whole sweet universe would open to him. His heart was wedged between the two daggers of her eyes and in this life at least, he was stitched, body and soul, to her.”

“Like a thief, the image of her taut, well-formed body crept into his mind next. His hair swept backwards, shot up like long needles in the rush of the air and his thoughts grew bolder. He marveled how beautifully her body arched as she stood and gave commands. Vishwakarma, the god of all craftsmen, in an exalting moment had threaded a wire through it to give it that elegant curve. From that instant, the memories of a wife, of dear daughters waiting back in the village seemed hazy as in a dream. Inhibitions became soft barriers. He remembered the gestures of Chanda Bai’s two hands as she talked; her palms like delicate seashells; her elegant fingers. Flashes of her jewel studded ears, another pair of shells; and her long hair lovingly braided by her servants with thick strands of white and yellow jasmine flowers interlaced in them. He wanted to caress those flowers with his finger.”

“I am a story-teller, even a story-teller of renown. May I add now that I am not much to look at? No, I am serious. My face is hideous. A look at me reminds one of a little finger – brown - enlarged to the proportions of a human body, wrapped two thirds down with a cloth about the loins, the entire frame resting on two wobbly knees. I was born bald and not a single strand of hair has ever sprouted on this miserable head. Think of me as a faceless man; in fact, I would rather you think of me as just a voice.”

“He had often wondered if the sea that incessantly broke its many heads against the boulders without doing them any injury was in effect trying to convey something to man. Why it was an insinuation of the same charge – the message that the succession of sunshine and shade of the jungle carried and in a matter of a few moments it had become all too clear to him: Truth, deceit! Truth, deceit! the chant to which this world of ours whirls.”

“My friend, meaning to respond to her questions, I raved some words at someone and gaped at another and all the while the lady stood elsewhere. This morning, in reality your friend stood there overcome with silliness. So I told myself, “It’s time you take your leave, My Dear!” And when I turned around and tottered my way outwards, at her door, I fell down like a crumbling wall.”

“The guests were strangers no longer. They hung out with the members of the party in groups of three and four, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, like close pals. They had broken bread together, shared the little details, the deep desires, some secrets of their lives, even their hopes and fears. What more was left between them? They were content.”

“A life of madness I have been living for fifteen years. I have thrown away everything I had, my devoted wife, two lovely children, my family, my wealth on a hopeless passion. My love that once glowed like a warm flame is gone. A fire burns inside me now. My love, instead of being upheld has been cast aside like dirt. I can weep all I want out of rage and self-loathing but the world will only laugh at the sight of me.”