Flute

    Flute

My name is Rithvika. I grew up entirely in Mumbai. I got a job and moved to Chennai. Today is the first day I shifted into this house. It was built and completed a few months ago. All around, there are houses — some completed, some half-built.

After finishing dinner, I completed the half-read book and changed into my nightdress. I collapsed onto the bed, extremely tired. Nights are usually cruel to me. No matter what time I go to bed, sleep would only come after three hours. Those three hours feel like hell. I would toss and turn. I would listen to songs. I would sway in old memories. But it always takes exactly three hours for sleep to embrace me.

Just as sleep began to touch my eyes, suddenly all my senses sharpened. A soft music took hold of me.

It became clearer — the sound of a flute. Where was this music coming from? Who would be playing the flute at this hour? I closed my eyes. The flow of the music spread throughout my body. The image of the mystical Lord Krishna appeared before my eyes. I melted into the music that stirred my emotions. I silently pleaded for it to never end. I don’t even remember when I fell asleep.

The next night, I went to bed with anticipation. I turned off the lights. Complete darkness. Silence. After a while, the sound of the flute caressed me through the night breeze. My mind started blooming with imaginations. What might the flute player look like? Did he know I was listening? Was he lonely like me? My imagination ran wild.

He sat on a rock by the seashore playing the flute, while I stood nearby, lost in his melody. I stood beneath a waterfall, and he played the flute while gazing at me. He played surrounded by birds in the forest. Many such scenes filled my mind.

The next night, during the flute's melody, I felt him coming closer. He gently embraced me. He played my body like a flute itself. That night, I mentally imagined making love to him.

A desire to meet him in person arose. The music must be coming from the nearby house. I stood before that house’s doors and watched. There were no signs of anyone living there. I wondered if I should knock.

But then I hesitated, thinking how he might react, and turned away.

That night again, the music played. The power of the music drew me towards it. My heart fluttered with anticipation. I knocked on the door. It opened by itself. The living room was dark. In the next room, there was light. The music came from there. Slowly, I entered that room. The eyes of the flute player met mine. The next moment, I fled, collapsing onto my bed. My heart shattered. What a huge disappointment. Tears soaked my pillow.

The next morning, I went again to the house. A 52-year-old woman sat on a chair. She asked me to sit on the sofa.

“Why did you run away like that last night? Did you expect to see Lord Krishna playing the flute and felt disappointed?”

It hit me like a slap.

“Can you make coffee for both of us? I have severe joint pain today.”

I prepared coffee. We both sipped together.

“How many years have you been playing the flute?” I asked.

“15 years.”

“Who taught you?”

“Purely by listening. My husband was a master.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s not dead, but it’s been many years since he left me. His name is Madanagopal. Our marriage was arranged by our parents. I was 16, he was ten years older. He worked for a big company with a good salary. He was an intellectual, always reading books. He would talk about music, literature, history — things I didn’t understand. I would just listen. When he spoke of the things he loved, his face would light up. I loved watching that. He called me Mandu Gomathi. Yes, that’s my name. Every night at 10, he played the flute. The music you heard yesterday doesn’t even come close. When he played, every nerve in the body would reach ecstasy. It would take you to another world, to Krishna’s Gokulam. But that happiness lasted only a few years. Everything changed when Mohana arrived.”

“She was supposedly from a royal lineage from Kerala. They met at a concert. He would talk to her for hours on the phone. Eventually, she started visiting our house. They would talk for 5 or 6 hours straight. Names like Mozart, Bach, Eliot, Bernard Shaw — words I didn’t even recognize — I would just sit quietly and listen. In the evenings, he would play the flute for her. She would sing along. Later at night, he would come to me. Those days were intensely passionate. One night, at the height of it all, he uttered her name and collapsed. The next day, he left a letter and disappeared. I haven’t seen him since.”

Gomathi fell silent for a while.

“After he left, loneliness consumed me. My parents passed away. I had no relatives worth mentioning. He was everything to me. One day, while cleaning the cupboard, I found this flute. I started playing it every night. Gradually, I got used to it. Years passed like that.”

“Can I ask you something without offending you?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why haven’t you forgotten him? I think you’ve not moved on from the longing. That’s why the flute, the music... all this.”

Gomathi stayed silent.

“If he came back to you now, would you live with him again?”

“If he comes again, I would spit in his face. I have never forgiven him. But this music... it’s like a child. I have accepted it as my own and live with it.”

From that day onwards, I regularly visited Gomathi. I cooked for her, chatted, enjoyed her music, and she became a good friend to me.

One night, I heard laughter from her house. Someone else was with Gomathi. I realized it was an older man, and my curiosity grew.

“Rithu, didn’t I tell you? This is Madanagopal. He has come to see me after all these years. Today we will have a feast together. Come to the kitchen.”

In the kitchen, I asked him privately.

“Mohana passed away last month. He remembered me. Realized all his mistakes. When he arrived, I shouted at him to get out and locked myself inside. Do you know what he did? He played a melody on the flute, and all my anger melted. I opened the door and embraced him. After he left me, I too studied history and literature. Now, I can talk to him equally. He listened to my flute and said it was beautiful. Yesterday, we even... you know... did that. Even at this age, you see.”

I stayed silent.

“Why are you staring like that?”

“Nothing. Just one thing — whose name did he call out last night?”

Without even looking at Gomathi’s face, I left in a hurry.

The next day, I vacated the house.