The Last Night

Having had enough of India, Nishinath decided it was time for him to go back home. It had been just over ten months since he had come back to India, all the way from New York. Delhi had held a lot of promises for him, before he had arrived. He had been sure of having a good time here, but the last ten months had taken a lot out of him. Now, tired and alone, he wanted to go back home.

Nishinath was born in New York. Before Delhi, he hadn't seen anything of the world. New York had been his world, till the day he found out all about his parents town. Delhi – the name itself had seemed romantic. His parents told him all about the city, and how seeped in history it was. His father told him how every lane of Delhi had a story to go with. Some stories, of course, were older than the others, but every single one of those stories was older than any living man he had met. The place went back a long time, and that was one of the main attributes of this mysterious city that drew Nishinath towards it.

So, after working for two years, and having saved up enough, he decided it was time for him to spread his wings and fly to Delhi. He was somehow sure that for him, the city would be no stranger, and that the city would accept him exactly the way he was.

Ten months later, he was sitting outside his little rented apartment, waiting for the taxi to pick him up for the airport. The taxi was late; he was getting worried that he might miss his flight. One of his friends was dead. Another had disappeared. The love of his life didn't want to see him again; although, since she was blind, he didn't think it would be very hard to fulfill that requirement.

He couldn't bear to think of her right now, but every few minutes, he caught himself hoping longingly that she would give him a call. Everything about her had been perfect. In these last few moments, before he left her town, he allowed himself to think about her.

Netravati – the name itself had enticed her. He tasted that name one more time on his lips: Netravati. She was beautiful, and he was sure she had no idea just how beautiful. He had tried describing it to her, the way she looked, but she hadn't let him. She hadn't wanted to know, and so Nishinath had shut up and kissed her instead.

It was because of Mrityunjay that he had met Netravati in the first place. Mrityunjay, his friend; the first person he had truly known in this crazy city. Mrityunjay; the man who had put a roof above his head when he had no place to go, and had no one he knew. Now Mrityunjay was dead, and it was his fault.

"Don't think that!" he told himself. "It's bad enough that Margi thinks that. It's 'coz of that, she left. He's dead, and she's gone, and there ain't nothin' I can do to make it alright. Netravati won't see me, she won't come near me no more. Goddamn, I ain't got no light either! Fuck!"

The unlit cigarette was taking the brunt of all his feelings. The crumpled paper reminded him of a dented metal pipe that had been used to crack someone's head open. Of course, things like this happened back in New York, but Nishinath somehow found it easier to deal with things like that than the unfair insanity that surrounded him here. The tobacco from the cigarette was dropping out, and he still didn't have a light. There was no one out in the world at the time; everyone preferred to be indoors after dark in this city, so asking someone else for a light was also out of the question.

He wished Mrityunjay was here. He was sure to have a light, even if he didn't smoke himself. The need for a smoke was killing him here, although he didn't smoke that much back in New York. Before coming here, he'd thought Delhi would be more of a home than New York ever had been. Now, however, he was glad he was leaving this place. He was so glad to be going back home.

A light suddenly appeared in front of his face. A hand, holding a cigarette lighter; he finally lit the cigarette, without even looking at the man, and muttered "Thanks."

The man sat down next to Nishinath, and said "You're welcome." A deep, rumbling voice, that Nishinath thought he could recognize, but couldn't exactly pinpoint. It seemed to be a voice that he had heard a long, long time ago, but had half forgotten. This didn't exactly make sense, since he had never been out of New York, and this man didn't seem the type who had gotten out of Delhi either.

Nishinath turned around, and looked at the man sitting next to him. He was wearing a black overcoat, which Nishinath knew must have been for the cold. Still, it looked slightly out of place on the man; the night wasn't that cold. He was wearing a black hat that covered his head, and his face was covered with a thick black beard. Underneath the black overcoat, Nishinath could make out that the man was wearing a black suit. He took a look at the man's hands, and could see that he was wearing black leather gloves. Black shoes, black socks; Nishinath couldn't understand why this man was covered from head to toe in black, when he found a pair of glittering black eyes staring back at him.

"Say, buddy," Nishinath began as the man continued looking at him with those unblinking eyes, "do I know you from someplace? 'Coz man, your voice sounds real familiar. We met before?"

"No, we haven't met before," said the man. "At least, not like this."

"Wazzat mean?" asked Nishinath, "and what's your name, anyway?"

The strange man looked around with a smile, and said, "I am the night. I've known you for quite some time now; you've always held a strange fascination for me, haven't you?"

The man looked away, and said after a while, "You've always preferred the night, haven't you, Nishinath? You've always trusted me; somehow all your worries and your secrets have come out of you so much easier at this time.

"Well, my friend," continued the man; a smile lighting up his eyes as he looked back into Nishinath's eyes, "I sensed that you were troubled. I sensed you were alone. So many times, in the past, while you were at home in New York City, you have come to me. You have trusted me, so many times. So, I thought maybe, this time too, I could meet and make things better for you. Plus, I saw that you needed a light there."

"Shit! Are you telling me that you, the man sitting right in front of me, is The Night?" asked Nishinath, bewildered. "Goddamn, man! I can't believe this. You real, or you wacko?"

"No, Nishinath. I'm not 'wacko'," said the man, that patient, happy smile still lighting up his dark features. "I'm real; and I'm your friend. I know a lot about you."

"Bullshit," said Nishinath. "C'mon man, if you know me so damn well, why don't you go right ahead and prove it, eh?"

"Alright," said the man. "If that's what it will take for you to trust me in this form, so be it. Nishinath Bhardwaj, born 2^nd October, 1985. Father, Nitin Bhardwaj, general contractor. Mother, Swati Bhardwaj, housewife, although she does teach some children after school hours. Younger sister, Disha Bhardwaj. Died when she was three years old; that's also the first time you came and talked to me, if you remember. You had a pet dog, by the name of Rocky. Why you kept that name, you have no idea; especially since you hated that name for him.

"First time you got drunk was when you were seven years old. Ashley's drunkard father thought it might be a good idea to let you taste your first whisky while you were at her place, and you got high. Ashley's father laughed a lot, while Ashley screamed a lot at him. You never went back to her place again, even though you and Ashley dated some years later. She was the first girl you kissed, and the first girl you thought you were in love with. You weren't sure if you were in love with her or not, though.

"You ended things with Ashley pretty soon, though. Still, it did break your heart, even if for one day. You cried, the one and only time, for a girl. She remained your friend after that too, for quite a few days; until she moved away. By that time, of course, you had moved on. You don't remember her much these days. Things had become very different for you, as you grew up.

"New York was becoming claustrophobic. There were far too many people, cramped in that city. You didn't have space to breathe, or think, or feel anything. You told your parents that you wanted to see Delhi, for you were fascinated by it; you told them that you wanted to know the place where they came from, the place that you truly belong to. The real reason you came here was that you wanted to escape from New York. You wanted to run away, as you didn't know what else could remove that intense loneliness you felt in that city. So, you ran away, as far as you could. You ran to Delhi, to your past."

The man turned his eyes back to Nishinath. He could see that Nishinath couldn't believe anything he had heard, and looked quite incapable of saying anything after hearing everything the man had said. He smiled kindly at Nishinath, and said, "I don't really know what's been going on with you ever since you came to Delhi. You haven't talked to me that way since, but tonight you seemed real upset. That's why I came here tonight, Nishinath; to talk"

Nishinath still couldn't say anything. The man waited for him to speak, then put his arms around Nishinath's shoulder and said in a very gentle voice, "Finish that cigarette. Take all the time in the world. You'll feel like talking the moment you finish that cigarette."

*

Nishinath could feel the drags of the cigarette he was taking in. It was a weird night for him, but he felt a lot calmer now. The man sitting next to him did seem to be an old friend, however absurd his story might sound like. As Nishinath steadily proceeded towards the last drag of the cigarette, he started feeling an irresistible urge to start talking to the man. He could not explain why, but he wanted to tell the man everything that had happened to him in the last ten months, and he knew it wouldn't matter if it was in order or not. He just had to talk, and the man sitting next to him would understand.

"I reached Delhi on a fine sunny day," began Nishinath, "at 'bout the beginnin' of spring. Fine day it was, a li'l windy though. I remember, the wind caught hold of my hat that day, and blew it away. I'd laughed that time, as I chased the hat through the streets. The people were laughin' too, and when I finally caught the damn thing, there was a lot of cheers that came my way as well. That's the first memory of this goddamn place I got – chasin' my fuckin' hat all over the streets!

"I came to the city by train. Caught the train from Bombay, took me more than a day to get here. From the outside, I remember thinking 'trains here sure do suck, man!' but when I got inside one of those cramped compartments, and had been ripped off nice by the son-of-a-bitch porter that got my luggage for me, I found it wasn't all that bad. There were all sorts of people sittin' there with me, and I got to talkin' and shit with them. Never expected it, but that train ride sure ended up bein' fun; in its own fucked up way though.

"I didn't know nobody when I reached here. All I had that time was the name of this guy I was supposed to meet up. Mrityunjay – that was his name. I mean, who the fuck has a name like that? Took me a whole damn day to learn how to say that name right. Anyway, I had his number, so I gave him a buzz. Told me to come down to his place, so I caught a cab and went over.

"He wasn't what I'd thought he'd be. He sounded cool over the phone and all, but he looked like a total geek up front! Weird ass glasses that were constantly slippin' down from his nose, teeth too fuckin' large for his mouth so they're hangin' half out, a big blob for a nose. Still, I didn't have no choice, so I said hello and moved in with him.

"He took me over to meet a friend of his that night. Now, I don't get why parents have to fuck up their kids' lives here so much by givin' them goofy names. Mrityunjay's friend was called Margi. I don't even know what the heck that means, sounds like some sorta herb or somethin'. Anyway, so we met Margi the other day, and she was kinda cool too. We got to talkin' and stuff, and that's when I realized that these guys weren't dorks. They were nice folks, although they looked a bit funny.

"I met Netravati the next day. She's a friend of Margi, and she's blind. Even so, she had to be the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen! Damn, she was so pretty, I couldn't stop lookin' at her. She had to be the best girl I'd seen all my life. I mean, they don't even make them like that in The States. I dunno what it was about her, but the more I spent time with her, the crazier I went for her.

"I asked Netravati out soon, and we were havin' a great time. Margi was, somehow, not really happy about the situation though. See, Margi and Netravati are real good friends, and Margi's always been somewhat protective so far Netravati went. I guess Margi never really trusted me enough, but I knew that this time, I was really fallin' in love with this girl.

"Netravati's damn focused on her life as well. I mean, she'd do anythin' to make sure that becomes somethin'. She started spendin' a ton of her time at the office, and that started to piss me off. I mean, I was missin' her! So, I told her, and that's when me and her had our first big fight. That was fine too, but what pissed me off was the fact that Margi interfered in the whole thing. She told me that I ain't good enough for Netravati, and that she deserves better than me. 'Course, I couldn't take Margi sayin' all that shit to me. Hell, I wouldn't have taken nobody sayin' that shit to me. So I told her to go fuck herself, and that I'm in love with Netravati.

"When Netravati heard about all that, she told me that she ain't got no time for love. She said she's too damn busy in her own life, and that she didn't like the fact that I screamed at Margi the way I did. Man, she was fuckin' pissed that night. I tried to calm her down, but nothin' worked. She told me to get lost from her apartment, so I left that night. I went to the local pub, and I got drunk, bad. Then, I dunno why the fuck, I gave Netravati a call.

"She told me a lot of things, that she liked me and stuff, but she wasn't in love with me. She said shit like 'there's no future to this' and 'I'm too tied up in my job'. I slammed the phone down and swore I wouldn't talk to her again. Still, I needed a friend with me, so I gave Mrityunjay a call, told him to come down. I shouldn't have done that, 'coz that night as he was drivin' over to the pub to make sure I was fine, a drunk motherfucker slammed into his car. He was killed on the spot." A single tear leaked out from Nishinath's eyes. "On the fuckin' spot."

Nishinath fell silent. He couldn't tell the man sitting next to him how he felt when he saw Mrityunjay's twisted body within the steel cage that used to be his car. He couldn't go on about just how red the trickle of blood on his forehead had been that night. He couldn't tell the man how sorry he was that his friend was dead.

Margi had called him up the next day, to tell him that she was leaving. She told him that she couldn't take any of the things that had happened in the last few days, and that she was leaving town just to get away from Nishinath. Nishinath asked her about Netravati, but he got no answer. Netravati never called him again.

In a new, foreign city, a place he had hoped would become his home, Nishinath was a stranger again. He was worse off than his first day here, for now even his friend Mrityunjay wasn't there. He was alone in this strange city, away from home. His friends, all of them, were gone. One of his friends was dead. Another had disappeared. The love of his life didn't want to see him again; and Nishinath was tired.

It was quite a few moments that the two of them sat quietly there – Nishinath, and The Night. Like old friends, they sat, no words needed between them. The darkness seemed to press on around them, as they waited in silence for the taxi to come by.

A long time went by, and then finally in the distance, a pinprick of light pierced the darkness. The pinprick became two, and finally they could be recognized as the headlights of a taxi. It was time for Nishinath to leave this wretched city.

He turned to look at the man. He knew he wouldn't be able to say anything, but he also knew that no words were necessary. "Don't forget to talk to me now, Nishinath. You never know when you might need that," said the man. "I have to go now; I'm not really fond of the light. Quite understandable, isn't it?"

"Yeah, reckon so," said Nishinath. "See ya when I get back home, man."

The man turned around and walked away. For a while, Nishinath could see his back, but as the taxi grew closer and the light grew brighter, it became harder for him to focus on the man. He turned and signaled for the taxi to stop. His heart lighter than before, he started thinking longingly about home and his parents, and all his friends he knew were waiting for him there – at New York City.