A lost life

I have three very talented friends on Facebook who take some really amazing pictures. I've decided to dedicate the next three entries to them. Just an acknowledgement of their sheer genius, and an amalgamation of our talents.

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Photographer, Sangram Lotankar.

Kishore looked around the expanse of black stone and abandoned leaves. The wind whipped around him, weaving a song of mesmerizing beauty. Its hypnotic tune forced him to close his eyes, to take a deep breath filled with memories of the old.

His senses expanded, a natural consequence of the loss of sight. He heard the distant call of a bird, tasted the salt in the air. His hands spread out on their own, almost as if someone were holding his fists and asking him to dance with an invisible force. He smiled faintly, as the stone beneath his feet rose and fell in uneven pieces.

What was it about this place that fascinated him so? Why had his imagination galloped like a prized stallion the moment he entered the abandoned fort?

"Kishore?"

He turned at the softly spoken question. His wife Maya had a frown on her face. Why was she frowning in a place of such splendor? Could she not feel the faint echo of kings lost in the wind? Could she not feel the unnatural sense of connection he was feeling?

"Honey, whats wrong with you? You look pale. Almost as if you've seen a ghost."

Had he? Had he seen a ghost. Kishore looked around again, taking in the seemingly ordinary looking surroundings. Why was this old fort so familiar? Had he been here before?

"No," answered Maya. He hadn't realized that he asked the question out loud. He turned to her, his heart warming at the sight of her in the yellow saree. She looked radiant. But confused.

"I have never been here before." It was a statement, which came out sounding like a question.

"No," she said again. "We've never been here. Your parents specifically told me that you have never visited Rajasthan. That is why we're honeymooning here." She stepped closer. "Whats wrong?" she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder.

Her touch was warm, concerned, but yet somehow foreign. In this place, standing in the middle of this courtyard, Kishore felt like somebody else. Somebody who wasn't a middle class, working man with a new wife. Someone who wasn't so lost up in his life of office, tax, tv and trains.

Who was he? Where had he seen this fort before? In a dream? In a previous life maybe?

Did he even believe in things like that?

He walked over towards the stairs to one side.

The feeling of deja vu increased, until he could hear the royal courtiers mumble amongst themselves. He could see the grandeur of this place, as it had once been.

Perspiration trickled down his back, his head pounding in a headache that felt like a bad hangover. What was going on here?

"Kishore, you're really scaring me."

He was scaring himself.

"Sahab?" the guide took a tentative step forward. "Are you alright?"

"What is this place?"

"This used to be the defense fort of the Raja. They say that the presiding officer of this place was very kind and loyal. But he died."

"Of course he did," his wife muttered. "He lived hundreds of years ago, for gods sake."

Kishore ignored them. He moved towards the balcony. The view was breathtaking. Hills jutted out of the earth, covered in greenery. Huts and houses littered the landscape and colorful clothes fluttered in the wind. Women left 'papads' to dry on the terraces. Kids played, running up and down the streets.

He remembered.

He remembered the view being very different. His gaze shifted, landing on the drop below. They were hundreds of feet above.

He wasn't afraid of heights, but suddenly the worst case of vertigo hit him. His hands clutched the stones nearby, as his vision grew dizzy.

"How did he die?" Kishore asked, his voice guttural.

The guide stepped up next to him. "He fell from this balcony."