Love Short Story – Palit and Bellerophon
Love Short Story – Palit and Bellerophon
He entered the room and from the corner of his eye glimpsed at Bellerophon. A sudden sparkle from the Corinthian’s face caught his eyes. He ducked under the dazzle and went about his work as if not seeing him. The answering machine has recorded messages from London, Delhi and from some unknown places. The one from London was from his office; the one from Delhi was from the home secretary. Out of the two from some unknown places one identified himself as “Sekhar Roy”, a friend of his whom he could hardly remember. Probably it was from Kanpur and had wished to meet him when the caller reaches Delhi. The last call recorded was anonymous, promising to call again.
He then dialed his office and gave the day’s report, reading form a sheet of paper where he had recorded them. He paused every now and then for the benefit of the listener at the other end of the line. Then promising to fax the details in due course of time he put down the receiver. He sat relaxed, feeling the presence of Bellerophon’s eyes on him. He once tried to look beyond Bellerophon and in the process chanced a sight of him but failed because he blinked at the crucial moment. He remembered Svetlana.
It was five years ago, someday in winter at 10 p.m. he had first met Svetlana. He remembered the time exactly because he had just looked at the Big Ben and turned when he spilled his beer on Svetlana. They stared at each other without speaking a word for a minute or so. But hardly it was five minutes past when they had laughed and joked about the incident. Svetlana was looking gorgeous that day. She wasn’t exactly beautiful in the sense defined by beauty pageants. Yet she had something in her which attracted every one to her. He was also attracted first by that. And that night he had licked the beer stains from her body. Strangely it didn’t taste much different.
It was Svetlana who had given him the nickname “Palti”, a corruption of Palit. He often feared that Bellerophon might know his nickname. It was her parting gift to him. Bellerophon was lapis-lazuli. As soon as he received it he had named it “Bellerophon on Pegasus” and she had creased her forehead on hearing the name and then smiled. Since then it has been a couple of years of his say in Delhi. He has been a hard-working journalist sending steady reportage to London. And he has been rising in that other work also which he first did for Svetlana and now directly for the agency. Money has been flowing in steadily and he has been living more comfortably that ever in his life.
He remembered the days when in London money was very important. Money saved was money earned. He had been doing odd jobs until Svetlana happened in his life. It was she who got him this journalist’s job for a little information he passed on to her. Then there was a change in management of the newspaper and he had almost lost his job but foe her… He was grateful to her. He liked her being happy and he was happy when she was so.
For three years he had been acquainted with her and for further six months they kept in touch with each other on phone. But then Chechnya happened in her life. She had to go under cover and could not be contacted any more. Suddenly he had a feeling that she might have died – killed by now. A shudder ran over his back. He flinched. The saying to himself, “Relax, relax.” he closed his eyes.
Bellerophon came to him and said, “I spy you.”
He asked Bellerophon, “Where is Svetlana?”
“In Chechnya,” replied Bellerophon.
“But why? Why in Chechnya?” he enquired aggressively.
Bellerophon turned around and looked at him in the eye and then answered gravely, “Why? Why, because she loves her country. And she is doing a job you know. As you are doing.”
Palit mused at himself, “Am I? Am I doing the same job?”
Bellerophon read his thoughts and shouted, “Some do it for money,” and galloped around his sofa.
Gradually Palit was getting irritated by Bellerophon moving across his sight again and again and he called out, “Stop.”
Bellerophon went on unheeded.
“Stop, I say.”
But there was no desired effect.
“Stop, stop, stop, st…op,” he cried and opened his eyes.
Bellerophon was still lapis-lazuli. He found his forehead sweating. He touched a few droplets and went for a wash in the bathroom. Carefully he avoided looking at Bellerophon on Pegasus.
The nest morning he met the home secretary. The meeting lasted not more than fifteen minutes. He did his work and for lunch he went to a cheap restaurant in the suburbs. He feared for this immune system, pampered by five-star food, giving away to such stuff. But he backed his genes. That was not to happen. He spent the next couple of days confined in his hotel suite under medication. Though he didn’t mind, he was not sure of Bellerophon. All those two days whenever he slept he dreamt of Bellerophon. And in one of those dreams he saw him crippled.
He got the agency’s new assignment the very next day. That very day, in the evening, he went to see a play and saw a very beautiful girl in the audience. She was sitting a few rows ahead of him. She was somewhat the beauty pageant type. He tried to get close to her after the show and appreciated her boisterous applause. He felt that gradually he was gaining ground with his talk when suddenly he was snubbed by her. He was dumbstruck. He came back. As he entered the room it was very dark. He was happy that he was not able to spy Bellerophon. He went and opened one of the windows. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky and a pleasant breeze was blowing. He didn’t bother to put on the air-conditioner. The breeze was enough.
Suddenly he saw a lightning flash in the sky. He went to the bathroom and the thunder followed him there. He looked at his face in the mirror. He saw new creases coming on it. He washed his face and as he re-entered the room another sparkle in the sky lighted the room and his eyes caught sight of Bellerophon on Pegasus.
That night he dreamt of Chimaera tormenting Svetlana with no Bellerophon to slay the monster. It was a long dream. He felt so. Yet when the constant ringing of the telephone woke him up he felt as if it had interrupted his dream. “It’s Shekhar. Shekhar Roy,” someone hollered from the receiver. For a few moments his mind was almost blank. Then he managed to remember and responded, “Calling form Kanpur, are you?” “No,” was the answer. They met at breakfast that day.
He managed to recognize him by eliminating from his probabilities two other solitary persons he saw at different tables in the restaurant. “Palit, it’s you,” he was greeted. They talked. Shekhar Roy reminisced about their days in Cambridge. After breakfast they talked over coffee. They parted company only after more than an hour had passed. Shekhar Roy left Palit to pay the bill and it was found that he also left behind the newspaper that he was reading. It was the Kanpur edition of an English daily. Palit took it with him to his room.
He hid face behind the newspaper to escape from catching a glimpse of the shining equestrian. He opened the newspaper ad started reading the headlines. One headline read “Beans Spilled” which attracted his attention. It was about the arrest of a few foreigners in Kanpur on charges of dubious conduct. It was not until he came upon the name “Svetlana” that he was absolutely shocked. “It can’t be,” he thought. “This might be someone else.”
It was then he saw a gadfly on the back of Pegasus. The time of the spies was over.
__END__
