The next day, Arun visited the local music school, where his grandfather had once taught. He met with his grandfather’s old friend and fellow musician, Pandit Sharma. When Arun mentioned the tape, Pandit Sharma’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Ah, ‘The Melody of Life,'” he said with a smile. “Your grandfather was working on that composition for years. It was meant to be a tribute to your grandmother, who passed away when your father was just a boy. But he never finished it. Something always held him back.”
Arun was intrigued. Why had his grandfather never completed the piece? What had held him back? Pandit Sharma suggested that Arun explore his grandfather’s old notes and compositions, which were still stored in the music school’s archive.
As Arun delved into his grandfather’s work, he began to piece together the story of his grandparents’ love—a love that had been both beautiful and tragic. His grandmother, Meera, had been the muse for many of his grandfather’s compositions, but her sudden death had left a void that even music couldn’t fill. The unfinished melody was Raghav’s attempt to capture the essence of their love, but he had never been able to bring himself to complete it.
Arun’s days in Chandanpur became a blend of the present and the past. By day, he explored his grandfather’s notes, trying to understand the man behind the music. By night, he listened to the haunting melody on repeat, letting it seep into his soul.
The more he immersed himself in his grandfather’s world, the more Arun began to question his own life. He realized that he had been living on autopilot, disconnected from his passions and from the people who mattered most to him. The melody became a mirror, reflecting his own unspoken desires and fears.
One evening, as Arun sat by the riverbank with the cassette player, he felt a sudden urge to play the sitar again. He hadn’t touched the instrument in years, but the pull was irresistible. Back at the house, he dusted off his grandfather’s sitar and began to play, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. The notes came to him naturally, as if they had been waiting all along.
As Arun played, he felt a sense of peace that had eluded him for years. The music flowed from him effortlessly, filling the house with a warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time. In that moment, Arun knew that he had found what he had been missing.
The next morning, Arun visited Pandit Sharma again and shared his thoughts. “I think I know how to finish the melody,” he said. Pandit Sharma nodded, recognizing the determination in Arun’s eyes.
Over the next few days, Arun immersed himself in the music, working tirelessly to complete his grandfather’s unfinished composition. He drew on everything he had learned—from his grandfather’s notes, from the haunting tape, and from his own heart. Slowly but surely, the melody began to take shape.
The final piece was a blend of Raghav’s original composition and Arun’s own interpretation. It was both a tribute to his grandparents and a reflection of his own journey. When Arun played the completed melody for Pandit Sharma, the old man’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your grandfather would be proud,” he said softly.( To be continued)
Rajat chandra Sarmah
21/08/24
Guwahati , Assam , India
Mail ID : rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
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