Her first reaction to him was one of aggression. She didn’t like him getting into her space and befriending the ones she loved so much. She almost wanted to chase him away and even attempted the same. But he held on. Patiently waiting his chance. Shy and obliging. Always the docile one, ready to accede. Ready to share. Ready to move away and vanish into the crowd, only to reappear again, to be by her side.
Her scorn gradually vanished, replaced almost by a feigned acceptance of this timid, humble, kind friend. His persistence paid off over time and she warmed upto him.
And thus started the beginning of a long journey. Of sharing and caring. Of living together under the same roof, eating the same food, fighting the same devils and loving this shared life.
Life went on. The young partners greyed with time. Worn out by struggles, yet protected by love, their peaceful life continued unhindered. She fell sick the first time and was admitted to a hospital. Took days to recover while he kept patiently waiting for her return. She did come back and they picked up the thread from where they had left it. They were once more together.
She again fell ill. Once more an undeclared journey to the hospital. He waited. This time does he question her return? He had grown old. Very old. Did he fear a life of solitude? She seemed to be taking a bit longer this time. He waited. And waited. And then fell ill. His appetite vanished and he lay still. His life seemed to ebb away slowly, yet he waited for her to return.
He grew weak. And then weaker, finally so weak that he barely knew he was alive. In his dreams, there were the two of them loving and living the lives they have known for so long. She has been his habit. A way of life. A part of his soul.
His life seemed to have left him but for his eyes which only awaited one last look at her. She never came. He had gone too far, his vision had become too blurred, his heart had grown too weak. He had virtually left their much loved abode to another place, yet his heart still beat a weak rhythm. A habit of beating and waiting which followed. His old worn heart was growing weaker by the second. One early morning it just stopped. And in a whiff of a second he was gone. Leaving his life, leaving his love. Without the reward of seeing the one he sought so longingly all his life for one last time.
After a couple of days, she returned. And looked. And knew. She lived.
A real story of two street dogs raised ever-so-lovingly amongst so many others by my parents. Kalu, the ardent and silent lover and Dushtu, the boisterous and lovable partner. Kalu finally left Dushtu after 6-7 years of longing for her and keeping her loyal company. Or did he?
