Tara Bhatta

I released my glittering sword in the air to make it exactly on the bull’s eye. The crowd cheered me a warm welcome. I became the champion knight of the ceremony. The princess was mine. So there stood my gorgeous award surrounded by her mates, earnestly and rather bashfully gazing at the prince of her fate. I could sense a hitherto never felt intimacy with her. As I drew her closer, she bade goodbye to her friends and followed me. “What’s your name, my girl?” I asked. “Sajita,” her chirpy voice kind of calmed my nerves. The way took us to a deserted narrow lane adjoining an incredibly beautiful garden filled with graceful trees swaying in an aromatic breeze. As we walked further down, we reached a shallow stream where lay a big log in the middle about the shape of a crocodile which startled both of us. I dropped my wallet and she got hold of it, curiously focusing at the picture upon it and then at my eyes. “She’s no longer mine,” my voice wavered with emotion. “You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” she uttered. “Perhaps God has sent me as her another incarnation, my prince. I shall never leave you”. A thick gloom covered my face, puzzled by that statement of hers. She blazed with brilliant affection but suddenly I saw tears roll down her cheeks. “But you are going back so far, my heart,” she choked. I looked at her quizzically pointing her to come with me. “Your wish is my command,” she exhaled deeply and flew into my arms.

I gently caressed her hair and closely beheld her beautiful cascade. Almost reflexively, her arms came to cross over her chest in an age-old gesture of sweet feminine modesty. She closed her eyes, surrendering herself to infinite sensation. Then I got suddenly aroused when my roommate kicked me on the back.

Dreams have always had a particular fascination on me since childhood. I have been an avid supporter of Freud and have repeatedly analysed his interpretation. More than that, I dream abnormally a lot and remember many of my dreams vividly. Trying to figure out what this very dream portends would be the craziest thing to do. I feel somewhere from the core though, that it tends to agitate my spiritual connection with the girl I lost lately. I often talked and wrote about dreams and their cryptic symbols and could easily make my hostel mates gape spellbound with my compelling dream stories. Dreams have indeed filled a creative attitude in my veins. Sure eno-ugh, I’ll never quit my will to portray the explicit picture of my ever-mysterious dreams.