Twelve years long

Twelve years have passed in waiting. I was sixteen when this waiting began. Do you know, Shanak? Every day I have thought—perhaps today will be my last day of waiting, my last night. Perhaps in just a moment dawn will break and free me forever from this darkness. But that dawn never came; I seemed to witness only moonless nights.

I never spoke the word love to you, but were you truly so naive? Did you understand nothing? Never? If you understood nothing, then why did you answer my unblinking stares with that mysterious little smile? What were you answering?

I saw no illusion—I observed everything minutely. But were those smiles merely meant to beguile a boy? Did you think me childish and try to pacify me that way?

Today I am twenty-eight. During every one of the thirteen festivals of these twelve years, I have searched for you. I dress myself perfectly and set out to find you, so no one can grasp the real truth. My family, neighbors, relatives, friends—even the shopkeepers in our lane—have spent these twelve years suspecting your existence. And by refusing marriage, making excuse after excuse, I have gradually proven their suspicions true.

Everyone understands that I am growing older sitting in wait for you—everyone except you. I no longer have fear, hesitation, doubt, or shame. And look, the one for whom I swept all these away—I don't even have that you! I often wonder, do I really have anything to call my own?

Let everyone know the truth if they must. I haven't stolen anything. And what of people's talk? Talking and spreading gossip is what people do. Let them do as they please.

Listen, you could visit our neighborhood even on holidays. Or have you forgotten the way here too, Shanak? I heard you haven't married either. If you don't love me, I understand—but whom do you love? Who is she? Tell me. Shall I find someone for you?

Everyone thinks I'm waiting for you, and you for me. They also think we meet secretly and will announce everything when the time comes! Ha ha ha... I think too—oh, if even a drop of these speculations were true!

During pujas every year I go to your area. The most pandals in our city are set up in your neighborhood. From Shashthi until Visarjan, every day I go to see the deities in your area. I don't skip even the narrow lanes or the tiny pandals in cramped spaces. Oh, if only I could meet you! Now the people in your area know me well too. Earlier they knew me by name, now they recognize my face.

They whisper about me—it reaches my ears. I don't mind anything, of course. Whatever they say is true, and even if it's not true, I accept their words. Still, please return. If you return, I'm ready to bear a world's worth of humiliation, slander, and shame. Shanak, come back! Let my waiting end now.

You fool! Do people hide even during pujas? Who gives you a place to hide? For twelve years I've been digging hole after hole in the same place searching for you—are you certain there's anywhere safer than this to hide?