Those Polished Nails

Every morning it had been an agonizing routine for Raman to look at that scene and shed a few tears over a cup of tea which he finished in about an hour, remembering the events which followed after the fall of that nail polish bottle.

Anamika’s beauty surpassed all that which could be put into words and it was impossible to erase her sweet memories. Raman and Anamika had been living together for six years and during that period they had literally ignored the world which existed out of their own kingdom of love. They were studying at the same college, both of them had their jobs, they shared a three room flat in New Delhi. Except for the hours they spent away from their cozy nest, they remained almost glued to each other in every part of their small living place, for they could not afford to miss even a second of proximity they enjoyed in each other’s company.

Their parents who lived in a small village, about three hundred kilometers from New Delhi never objected to their relationship because their marriage was almost an arranged thing after the completion of their higher education. Though living in a very traditional village, their elders never interfered in their children’s lives.

Anamika, a tall beautiful fair-complexioned girl of around twenty three was definitely one out of millions as to her external appearance, of which her light blue eyes and long black hair were predominant. Like Alexander Pope’s poetic heroine, Anamika loved adorning herself; she spent hours in front of the mirror when she would be free, though that freedom solely depended on the approval of her beloved Raman, who equally loved seeing her performing the rituals of beauty every morning and evening. When she needed something, or she saw some particular brand of cosmetics was almost on the verge of disappearing from her dressing table, she simply looked in the direction of Raman and he very religiously and obediently ran out to the local cosmetic store to fetch her brand of lipstick, powder, nail polish, or the other things which she needed. He loved running errands for his beautiful nymph. She was the only object which kept him tied to the earth, for he believed that there was nothing useful besides love in this otherwise chaotic world running a mad race. In fact he could not see beyond her.

The other day, one of his colleagues in his office teased him, “Raman, I think, after your marriage, you won’t need a servant in your house, for you are going to be a perfect slave to your wife!”

The other people present in the office had a hearty but annoying laugh over this cheap joke. Raman felt a little shy but he knew that it was their frustration and nothing else; he believed that they envied his luck when it came to talking about Anamika.

He thought for a while and then said, “Helping one’s wife in trivial tasks at home is not slavery, my friend.”

If given the time and choice to live forever, he could also spend ages in praise of every part of Anamika’s beautiful body, very similar to the scene created in ‘To His Coy Mistress’, but he knew that it was to be narrowed down to certain organs. Those organs which he liked most were Anamika’s beautiful slender fingers. He would caress and kiss her hands hundreds of times every day.

Anamika would sit before him and apply nail polish on her long beautiful nails and he would keep on watching every move, every stroke of the brush, every single detail he could catch glimpse of. Her polished nails would glow after a while and a smile brightened her face.

Finally, the day arrived when they tied the nuptial knot and were declared husband and wife. After two days, they decided to visit Shimla, a hill station in India, for their honeymoon.

Anamika was sitting on the floor of their bedroom, hurriedly polishing her beautiful nails.

Raman called loudly, “Anamika, we are getting late, please, hurry up!”

“It’s all most over. I am coming,” answered Anamika.

After about a minute, the driver of the waiting taxi, outside their house, blew the horn and informed them that it was the time they started their journey.

Anamika got up hurriedly and rushed towards the cupboard, but her left foot hit the polish bottle and it tumbled onto the floor, polish pouring out. She did not care for it and began to get dressed quickly.

Raman entered the room and looked at the spilled polish on the floor but he said, “Leave that polish bottle; you can clean the floor when we come back from Shimla.”

“No, I must clean and wash the floor now otherwise this polish will dry and stick to the floor,” said Anamika and rushed towards the kitchen to bring a piece of cloth.

“Anamika, please leave it there, the driver is calling us!” Raman almost shouted.

They left the open bottle of the nail polish on the floor and, picking their bags, left the house.

In Shimla they got lost in the beautiful natural scenes of mountains. They put up at a luxurious hotel very comfortably; they visited various scenic spots in the following three days; they were so much lost in each other they hardly remembered there a world existed beyond their own existences. The lovers were in the seventh heaven of love and romance.

The evening before their return to New Delhi, they were walking along a narrow track, with mountains on one side and a deep gorge on the other. Raman was walking near the mountains, his left hand holding Anamika’s right hand. They ambled along, oblivious to the other things around them. The gentle breeze brought them the bliss which true lovers need in the moments of proximity.

The sky was cloudy and frequently lightening flashed through the darkness which was gradually increasing by the moment. Suddenly, a flash of lightening followed by a terrifying roar of thunder scared Anamika to death. She tried to cling to Raman’s arm but in the process her left foot slipped. The very next instant she found herself sliding downward. Raman was not ready for this sudden moment, however, he held her right hand very tightly but before he could do anything, he felt that he was being pulled down by the weight of Anamika who was hanging in the gorge, only her right hand holding Raman’s hand. She was crying for help and Raman began to use all his strength to pull her up.

The very next moment, it began to rain and soon they were completely drenched. It was very difficult for Raman to continue to hold her hand. He was on his knees, trying to pull Anamika up but he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. The rainwater made it very difficult to keep hold on Anamika’s hand. Suddenly, her hand slipped and he felt that he was holding only her fingers, those beautiful fingers with enchanting polished nails. Those polished nails seemed to be horrible for an instant because they were slippery and he knew that he could not maintain his grasp on her fingers. He made a final attempt but it was over. Those polished nails slipped from his hand and Anamika’s yell reverberated in the deep gorge. She disappeared as if she had never existed. That was it.

Six months had passed but Raman was not ready to believe that it had happened to him. He looked at the bottle of the polish on the floor. He had not cleaned the room after his return from Shimla. He had sought the help of the police but they were unable to trace Anamika’s dead body. Raman bent down and stared at the dry nail polish on the floor. The bottle of the polish seemed to be teasing him. Now that nail polish was the monster that had taken his beloved away forever.

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