Under the shade of a silk cotton tree he sat, his pencil moving with a slow, smooth motion over the sketch pad, bringing to life, a thousand times, on a thousand pages, the face of one who had gone somewhere far. He sat alone each day, as seasons changed, hoping one day she would come back into his life. The two old men nearby playing a game of checkers and taking swigs of white rum from tin cups looked at the young man with concern. The wrinkles on their faces told stories that spanned decades and even without seeing the portrait, they knew he had troubles of the heart. In a world abound with life, he could not feel the warm sunshine or the coldness of the rain for his mind was lost somewhere in the darkness. One old man, said quietly to his friend: “It’s a woman his heart aches for.”
“True,” his friend agreed, “There’s no light in his eyes.”
“A woman’s love is like the light.” said the other.
“Sarah,” the young man said, holding up the sketch, as though he knew what they were saying, “That’s her name.”
The old men nodded, knowing how a lost love can bring a man’s world crashing down.
“Rajiv,” his sister, Padmini called to him as she crossed the street.
She had brought his lunch and she sat patiently waiting while he ate his favourite food. There was no hiding the sadness in her eyes for her big brother.
The scholarship he had received to advance his studies in engineering had been an answer to his prayers. For a boy from the lower middle class, college had seemed out of his reach.
“London, here I come!” he had celebrated.
After two years of devoted studies, he had obtained his diploma, working towards his degree when something new walked into his young life. Her name was Sarah, a first year medical student. She was like a dream. He wanted to hold unto and never let go and a friendship blossomed between two young ambitious people. But her elite English family disapproved of the South American middle class boy and despite the stumbling blocks strewn in their path, they stayed together. A beautiful friendship that blossomed like spring, courted such danger, the blossoms dried and withered away.
It had been her birthday and as he had waited for his ride, a special gift in his pocket, a black sedan from nowhere struck him down, dragging his helpless body a good distance before driving away. She had waited for hours, unaware of the tragedy as he laid in a hospital fighting for his life. The hit on his head left him in a comatose state and there was nothing she could have done for him during the days she sat at his bedside.
Life interrupted, dreams shattered, he had returned home.
Four years of therapy and the love and care of his family had helped him regain a little of his life but his mind still wandered in the dark wilderness. Sarah had called continuously for a whole year and had visited him a few times waiting for the good news that would say he had completely recovered his senses but the call never came.
The withered blossoms scattered by the changing winds, laid lifeless for the lovers separated, lived each day with sadness.
As twilight approached his little sister held his hand and they walked home. That night, like so many nights, as he closed his eyes to sleep he whispered,
“Where are you Sarah?”
The doctors had told her his chances of full recovery were slim but she didn’t want to believe that, holding onto hopes after one year, hopes fading, unable to study at home and unhappy, knowing somehow her family was responsible for Rajiv’s accident, she had left, working for the United Nations in far remote areas of Africa and Asia.
Five years passed slowly and on her birthday, the same night of the tragedy, as she slept in the doctor’s camp she heard someone call her name. She sat up, but there was no one there. She knew that voice and as she laid down to sleep she wondered if he was calling her. Her eyes closed and again she heard the call.
“Sarah.”
She sat up, knowing for sure he was calling her. The call she had been waiting for, for five long years.
Summer was coming to an end and under the silk cotton tree he sat, putting the finishing touches to another sketch when he heard her voice,
“Rajiv.”
His pencil froze and for a long moment, he sat motionless, then he turned slowly. From nowhere as though a plan was coming into play, a storm in his mind blew away the darkness. She stood there, more beautiful than he remembered her, the soft look in her hazel eyes, her smile,
“Sarah.”
“I was waiting for your call,” she said, “Why did you take so long?”
“I was lost.” He said, tears rolling down his face, “thinking of you each day was helping me to find my way.”
She was crying too and not a dry eye was there as the villagers watched the reunion of two young lovers seeing for the first time, the portrait on the sketchpad in real life.
There will now be new blossoms for they were together again to love, to live each day with happiness.

(By Maureen Rampertab)