Our Favourite Indian Stories
Page 40
The children, being young, would find a way. They would chart their own paths. It was her man who needed her now. How could she explain her attachment to this 60 - year old retired man? To the world he was just another grey, bespectacled, balding old man. For her he was the very meaning of her existence.
With a sigh she came to a decision. No, she could not leave him now. Not even for a day.. He was as helpless as a child without her to cook for him and lay out his clothes. Surely his need for her was greater than theirs. No, I will not go this time, decided Parvati, coming to a final decision.
Beyond, at the Ashtalakshmi temple, myriads of oil-lamps glowed. Around them, the sea breeze whispered longings. Above, the stars rained down endearments. Tenderly, Shivaswamy reached over and picked up the ends of her blue silk sari which the breeze had playfully pulled down from her frail shoulders. In a forgotten gesture of youth, he bought a sweet-scented rose and fixed it lovingly on Parvati's hair. Sun, sea and sand merged into one. Time stood still.
The Eternal Man and the Ageless Woman. Shiva and Parvati. Everyman and Everywoman. They had been together since the beginning of Creation. They lived on in the hearts of each couple who grew old together.
The sun had dipped into the spacious expanse of water, transforming it to liquid gold. Tomorrow, it would rise again to unfold a new, glorious day.
Shyly, Parvati took her husband's proffered hand. The gentle hands which now looked like twisted oak branches, weathered and gnarled. In the gathering dusk, they walked together in silent companionship. Yes, their life together had just begun.