“Well,” he said stoically, “when I failed with Kala, it made me introspect about the power of prayer over the will of God. Could there have been a more worthy cause and a selfless prayer than mine? Yet, why did God dispose of my proposal! For all I know, God is but a myth and even if there is one I've realized, he would only grant that which He thinks fit and not what we might pray for. Any way you look at it, we can’t bend His will through prayer and if there is none, well, it's a waste of time.”
“Maybe your theory,” she said as she steered the car back on to the road, “leaves no scope for anything contrary.”
“It was then I turned to the Bhagavad Gita only to find it was all there in it to the last detail,” he said in apparent admiration for it and added, “It’s the tragedy of man that he doesn’t benefit from the existing wisdom.”
“How true,” she said, “but do tell me about life in Calcutta.”
“I don’t know why,” he began reminiscently, “but the Howrah Bridge always fascinated me ever since I’d seen it in the title movie starring Madhubala. It’s a different matter that her love story is no less fascinating than her persona, and her life as poignant as her death, at only thirty-six. You know what a fan of hers I was but you don't know that I mourned her death like a lover, as you know, I was in Ranchi then.”
“I was no less lovelorn then,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe, the saving grace of unrequited love is that it makes a fascinating story. And what an irony that is!”
“True, but our story of rediscovery” he said lovingly, “makes it a fairy tale really.”
“Isn’t it written all over our faces?” she said joyously. “Now continue with your Calcutta.”
“That morning when I first set foot there,” he resumed, “I was awestruck finding the cantilever bridge right across the railway station. As I crossed it in a cab, I was overawed by its awesome grandeur. Many times over, I used to saunter on it only to experience a peculiar sense of solace looking at the Hooghly down below. Come evening and all that would change. The sprawling structure becomes a hindrance to those who have to catch the trains that leave the Howrah station around that time. The traffic jams that stretch up to miles send people in the cabs and cars alike into jitters. But the ingenuity of the coolies provides escape routes for those who’re willing to venture out. With your baggage as head load in their bamboo trays, with you in tow, they meander their way over the bridge to the railway station and imagine boarding the trains that are a heartbeat away from the green signal! But all can’t be lucky, all the time, and the queues of hapless souls who've missed the trains could well be the index of Cal’s chaos.”