Two Suparna Birds: 2

The distance has grown terribly—conspicuously so. After writing page upon page, when you find nothing...then a strange emptiness takes hold within you—if we can cross this moment, we can continue the game for a long time, permanently.

It is indeed a game! Through its touch you will encounter a kind of purity, but the soul's yearning that will consume your body and mind—in most cases it bears no relation to your reality.

For such a long time...not letting daylight mingle with the body, a pallor has come over the skin—most of the body trapped beneath a hard shell.

I had thought everything was fine—now I could escape from everyone. Yet reality is entirely different.

I went out for a walk again one midday...after a month or so. You could say, quite reluctantly...I had fasted for three days before that, not for any particular reason—rather, because no food was available at that moment.

For human survival, maintaining a food supply is truly essential. But if the will to live itself is absent, that's another matter entirely. There's no point threatening with fear of death—I'm not afraid of such things.

Actually, all this is complete nonsense. If there were no fear of death, would people think so much about themselves? How else could they become so utterly selfish! At the end of the day, I too am selfish.

For a time I used to do my writing on this cellphone's notepad. But it's been two months since I chose these pages instead. It seems no better medium exists for writing. I'm thinking of selling the phone.

The mobile phone lies switched off almost always, in a corner of the room. I don't worry much about it. These days, in this age of social networks, staying away from this device called mobile is supposedly quite difficult, I hear! Perhaps I'm the one who can't keep proper pace with the times.

Phone ringing, messages coming...these are terrifying scenes to me!

Be that as it may, I never feel regret. Even matters fully worthy of regret—I can't recall them now, no matter how hard I try.

Since most of my day is spent immersed in deep contemplation...I begin writing these thoughts on paper again in the deep night.

For some reason I feel...I'm not sleeping properly these days. Eyes closed, I keep thinking of something or other, seeing bizarre dreams...

Unconsciously I merge into another world. Where humans, animals, even birds suffer from existential crisis. Such thoughts surround me—thoughts with no bottom.

Apart from writing, I have only one other favorite activity: mastering music. In the sense that I don't merely listen, but absorb music—yes, this is the right word.

There's a famous Chopin instrumental, you know...Spring Waltz! Countless netizens on YouTube mistakenly believed it to be Chopin's creation for a long time. But the melody is actually Paul de Senneville's creation and its name is Mariage d'amour (Marriage of Love)! Meaning, this magnificent creation is not Chopin's and its name is not Spring Waltz either. Before the description was changed on YouTube, its view count had crossed 34 million. Countless people around the world have known it by the wrong identity for ages, and still do, listening with pure joy!

What people see may not all be true. And often it isn't. Unless one can emerge from the stubbornness that only one's own seeing or thinking is correct, it takes time for a person to become human. It's best to avoid at any cost those ugly people who think only their way is right, everyone else's wrong.

The Jains have a wonderful religious philosophy—Anekantavad—whatever is true for someone, that is their life. They know how to quietly accept others' opinions and paths with humility. Their religion teaches this, practices it. Jain philosophy instructs respect and appreciation for people of all religions and beliefs. This is why Jains become very liberal and gentle. It's hard to believe that the religion of those intolerant toward others' faiths teaches anything beautiful. We don't know the mother, we know the child; yet the child alone doesn't bear the insult!

I once had quite a few friends, and now I withdraw myself from people...that is, from acquaintances, strangers, or visitors—from anyone at all.

More people means more trouble. Funny thing is, most people don't realize they're needlessly irritating others. Well, are only Bengalis afflicted with this disease? Or are there other such senseless peoples in the world?

No one has ever been able to touch my inner self. To say no one could would be wrong though—the person without whose touch, whose fragrance I would sink into unbearable pain...I distanced myself even from that person after a time—there's no particular reason behind this. The purpose is singular: to keep them free. If you love someone, you must let them be completely themselves. If you don't let them be, it's not called love, it's called selfishness.

Remarkably, our external form is entirely different from the person within.

Most of the day I sleep. But if I need to know some particular information...I try to understand through inference.

It's been many days since I've had much contact with any family member. When the cellphone suddenly rings, I'm terrified...thinking I might receive news of someone's death! When someone's voice utters my name from the other side—my chest trembles inside! I love being cast into oblivion.

Again, I've discovered a strange habit of mine—until I reach the final stage of breathlessness, I'll just keep writing.

Continuing this was extremely difficult for me. Because I have breathing problems, surviving without an inhaler is impossible for me. Still, this game is my special favorite—because only during this time can I...perceive death's agony from close up, and the next moment desperately try to keep myself alive. If for some reason there's a moment's delay—then death is certain.

Two more hours until dawn. The time has come. I must go out. I must return in due time.

That day, on a routine day just like today, a strange incident occurred. In the dim light of dawn, hurrying...the dog that stood blocking my path stunned me for a few moments...

(End of Part Two)