The Auction

She had called him that morning with a purposeful tone in her voice which always meant he was in trouble. Now what was that he had done this time....? It was something he had forgotten, oh yes, her birthday. He stood outside her door wondering whether that little foolishness on his part was enough to incite her to break up with him. He stood with flowers and a newspaper wrapped gift in his hand which he would never give her for she was getting married to Karan next week and had gone out with him that evening. It still did not sink in.

He had won her, but had lost her love. He had spent a third of his whole month’s earnings on the gifts. The flowers he gave them to the old lady who sat next to the tea stall selling toffees. The gift he would keep as a burning memory of a hatred which soon would be quenched by mere indifference. He was a painter. His strokes as aggressive and as exquisite as the veins that ran on his forearms fuelling his passion for art. She was his inspiration, his admirer, his critic and his only love. And now he had lost her, forever. She married Karan, an affluent businessman who kept her happier and more occupied than a bankrupt painter ever could.

He sat in one of the back rows, watching his painting being auctioned, camouflaged by the crowd. It was her birthday. He watched her bid and battle for his masterpiece, the one he had painted for her, and wrapped in a newspaper, for her birthday, years ago. He was the only one to notice the single tear flow down her eye when she could bid no more.

And then, across the room her eyes met his. He stared into the eyes of a middle aged unhappy wife whose successful, ambitious husband steered her away unmindful of her sadness which he did not understand and did not care for. She kept looking at him as she walked away. And her eyes confessed the burden she had been carrying for so long. The way her circumstances had auctioned her off to the highest bidder who had demanded her life’s biggest sacrifice. Her eyes were full of the invisible tears for she had lost her only memory of her love, a memory of what could have been possible. A gavel banging the table brought him back to reality. Sold. He now had money that would last him three lifetimes. The love he had thought as lost forever and had abandoned, had always been in her and its only memory which he needed now was now gone forever. He saw her disappear in to the crowd, their eyes unwilling to break apart till the end.
He had won her love but had lost her forever.

(All right... I see the rotten tomatoes... and eggs ...)

(To be continued next week is a graphic account of adultery and passion.... keep reading)