Hope you all remember the pitiful destiny of Anjana's in Before the Summer. Introducing the second and the final part, here goes. Enjoy. 

THEN CAME THE WINTER

The brushes in Danyal’s room remained still with dried paint sticking onto it. It hasn’t felt its master’s hands for almost four months. ‘Take me,’ it had told him many times silently. But all it saw was his master sitting on his bed, going through a red diary, day in and day out. It knew the diary belonged to Anjana Krishnan, the woman who had caressed the brush just as Danyal did. After observing him for months, the brush came to a conclusion that something bad had happened to Anjana for him to stop painting.

The phone vibrated by the bedpost. Danyal looked at the screen for a moment, and then left it there. It was David, trying to reach him third time the day. He knew what would happen next. Soon, the phone will vibrate continuously for minutes, with Ag, Neha and Rob each trying to hear his voice. Then they would all show up by his room, knock on it for minutes and then pound on it. Later on they’ll enter the room some way and will try to cheer him up and leave, except for David and Ag who would stay with him all night, trying to talk to him.

‘Clumsy handwriting,’ Danyal said to himself, smiling at the lines on the diary. Each word was etched into his heart but he still was looking for something, a missing piece perhaps.

“Open the door Danny,” David’s voice said from the door. “Otherwise I’ll have to knock it down.” Danyal unlocked it and returned to the bed, where the diary rested everyday with him.

“It’s just me and Ag for the day,” David said as he sat down on one of the chair. Ag moved towards the closet where his paintings hung, hoping to see a new one. She shook her head at David, saying that it was all the same.

“So what’s new,” Ag asked.

“Nothing really,” Danyal said, stacking the diary back to Anjana’s backpack. “Just me and the diary and the paints all day.”

“Except the paints are untouched,” Danyal said, pointing at the bottles with dried up paint. “Anjana meant a lot to us too, and she meant a hell lot to you too, I know it. She knows it too. Don’t you think it’s time for you to get up and go out? It’s been four bloody months.”

“Four bloody months since she hung herself onto a tree branch and left me a note?” Danyal asked, his voice void of life.

“Have you read the note?” Ag asked, trying to change his mood. “Maybe what you are looking for is in it.”

“No, I haven’t. Maybe you’re right,” Danyal replied. “I’ll get my head around it sometime.”

“Wanna go for a ride?” David asked, shaking the keys. “It’s a beautiful day after all.”

“Not feeling like it. Where are the others?”

“Jamming,” Ag replied. “They’re working on a new song. We escaped during the break.”

“You two should get back,” Danyal said, throwing his motorcycle’s keys to David. “And take her out for a spin. She’s been in the garage forever.”

“Sure,” David said, catching the keys. “If the track gets completed, I’ll send you the copy tonight. Come on Ag, let’s go.”

                                                            ****

The room fell silent again, except for the regular sound of pages turning. Danyal slowly took the note Anjana had left for the gang before she bid farewell. It had been in the backpack the day he swore never to stop loving her. ‘Paint the world with true spirits and show your rage, love and anger through it.’ His eyes stuck onto that line. ‘Should I begin again?’ he asked himself. The paintbrush cried out in frustration to his master to take him and show him his love, the colours in the bottle. Only Danyal chose not to hear them.

He heard the sound of his motorcycle’s engine come to an end after a few seconds. David’s heavy footsteps could reach his ears even from a distance, along with the clinking of the keys with the keychain.

“She’s fine,” David said, placing the key on the table. “Needed some fuel, and some air check. All done, although she needs to be taken out every now and then. What say Dan?”

“I’ll get my head around that thought,” Danyal smiled.

“Oh, we completed the track. The producer is going crazy about my idea to send it to you, so I copied it to a CD without him knowing,” he said, placing a CD in a cover beside the key. “Give it a try. Anjana wrote the words for it.” Danyal’s eyes beamed on hearing her name. He got up from the bed and moved to his computer.

“I should get going,” David continued. “My eyes are begging me to get some sleep.”

Danyal followed David to the door. Hearing his footsteps disappear into the night, he locked himself in his room. The CD looked fresh and neat. In a few seconds the track started playing in his computer, with the words piercing into his ears through his earphones.

Maybe, it’s time to go on
To hit the high note
To be somewhere fresh and new.

I know, that it’s hard to forget
The ones I loved are here
In this locked up world.

Maybe they’ll hear these words someday
Maybe they’ll follow me to my home
Where there are no rules to follow
Where they are all on their own.

If you want this world
Maybe make it yourself
In this locked up world.

I’m sure I’ll know
For I’m watching you all
From this new home of mine

From this new home of mine
I send out my love to you
I hope you’re hearing me out
For I’m talking to you.

All along the song, the guitar, the piano, the occasional cry of violin, the once in a while beat of the drums for the acoustic track didn’t matter to Danyal. All he heard was Ag’s voice saying the words written by Anjana, the words she was trying to tell him. From the living room, he could hear his father shouting at his mother for not making the curry spicy and for leaving the TV on while she was on the phone. He could hear his little brother trying to separate them off, but instead getting beaten up by the man who was a part of him. Danyal wanted to escape this world and make one of his own.

His thoughts picked him up and took him to his inner self that he didn’t even notice the track playing on a loop. I need to get out of here, he told himself. He didn’t know the destination, but he sure knew the purpose. Make the world Anjana wanted for him and her to live in with their life. He dived into his gallery and rolled up few canvases. A dusted duffel bag soon got cleaned up and was stuffed in by canvases and paint brushes. The old ones were dried up, yet he took them for they were there when he needed them the most. The paint in the shelf, as quiet as a dead mouse, yearned to be with those brushes. Soon, their dreams became true.

“Where are you off to in the middle of the night?” Hameed, the ruthless monster who claimed to be the king of his own world, asked his son.

“Some place where I can find a little bit of peace,” Danyal answered.

“You are not going anywhere,” Hameed set his glass of whiskey down. “You will join me in my business tomorrow. It’s a good thing your lady friend died. You’ve been quiet and minding your own business and not with those wretched painting of yours.”

A moment of silence filled in the hall, followed by the sound of Danyal’s palm resting on his father’s cheek, imprinting his fingers that were once held by Anjana and embraced by the dried up paint. “God made a mistake of taking her away. It should’ve been you,” Danyal muttered, seeing his father’s eyes bloodshot.

“How dare you touch me you piece of meat!” Hameed raised his hand. Instead of touching his son, it fell on the face of the woman who had taken all the other beatings.

“Don’t you dare touch my son,” Nadiya yelled at Hameed. “If he wants to leave, let him. At least he won’t become his father.” Nadiya grabbed his son by his arm and led him to the door. “Go,” she whispered. “I know you’ll come back to us. Just call me once in a while to let me know that you’re safe.”  Danyal hugged his mother, close to his heart, to let her know that it was beating only for her. Kissing her son’s forehead with love, she returned back to the man who was a monster in disguise.

Danyal climbed on his Harley, stacking up the camp supplies and his backpack in the second seat. He remembered how Anjana used to sit there, telling him stories as they went on from one place to another. He now wished for the supplies and himself to have a story when they got back. The engine fired to life, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

Danyal rode on for miles on the wet road embraced by nature. With him, he had neither a map nor a destination. The single lined road stretched on forever as lonely as a fly in a bottle. The moon slowly started to sink in the sea and the sun rose up, trying to hide behind the waves. In Danyal’s ears went on the song the band just played, reminding his purpose every now and then. The trees let in a very little sunshine to the road that was surrounded by little tea shops and children running in their torn up dresses, playing skipping stones and crossing roads without any caution. Something told him he had to stop here for breakfast, for there would be fewer things to look forward to.

                                                        **

David climbed up the stairs to Danyal’s room and knocked on the door, and then started pounding. Ag stayed downstairs, waiting for Nadiya to show up. After a few minutes, Nadiya emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron with flora print.

“Where is Danny?” David asked.

“He left,” Nadiya smiled.

“To?” Ag asked in confusion.

“I wish I knew,” she continued. “He’ll be back, I am sure. Maybe he has found his way after all.”

David and Ag left the house and remained seated in Ag’s car. “I knew it would work,” David started smiling as he started the engine.

“What?” Ag remained confused.

“The song we worked on last night. I knew it would work on him. He’ll be back Ag. And he’ll be back for good.”

                                            **

The motorcycle couldn’t be happier. It had been on the road for three days, on smooth and metalled road. Danyal was somewhere he believed to be paradise. The population seemed to be less although it seemed to be cherished with wondrous animals who sang along with the songs someone sang long ago. The song ‘Brand New Day’ by Kodaline went on in the earphones, giving him some kind of freedom he hadn’t experienced for a long time. ‘We could write stories ‘bout the journeys that we made,’ the words went on. Danyal wished to paint those stories so that someone could understand them someday.

He killed the engines on seeing a small lodge with not much people on it. Nearby the lodge were the woods, where he could set up the camp and start his work. He could easily come to the lodge and freshen up every day as long as he needed, for he was loaded with the money he had earned while working with the group.

Danyal set up a camp in the heart of the woods, very similar to that of the one where the Casa was pinned in. Here, memories wouldn’t haunt him. He was sure of that, and even if they did, he would lash it out to the canvas that was ready to receive anything, as long as it was filled with colours. He set up his art station and stretched the rolled up canvas. He slowly pulled out the small wooden stand where he would pin the canvas. Setting the paint bottles to one side and the brushes to other, he glanced around and at the board. Looking at it, he whispered, “Anjana, talk to me. Tell me another story that I can paint.”

                                                                   

AFTER 250 DAYS

Danyal woke up with a start inside the lodge room that he had rented. Surrounded by cans of 7 up and empty paint bottles were dozens of rolled up canvases filled with colours and memories. Danyal, after coming across this lodge, which he recalled was about two hundred and fifty days ago, was in fact a tourist spot for summer and for riders who would pass the roads in their heavy machine. With the help of some local people, he was able to locate a supply store, a few miles away from the lodge. He bought all his paint supplies and canvases from there, which made him and the shop owner happy.

In the calendar, it was the month of August. 20^th of August to be precise. It was the day Anjana had written him the letter and hung herself up in the woods where they spent most of their time. Danyal reached across the table and grabbed his handset and dialled.

“I knew you would call me today,” David’s voice beamed from the other side. “When can we meet?”

“I’ll turn on the location in a minute,” Danyal smiled. “I’m staying in a lodge here.”

“Anything else?”

“Come in Ag’s car,” Danyal replied. “Bring her too. We have some stuff to pack up.”

Danyal spent the whole day, wandering about the village, talking to the people and having fun with them. The kids were jolly good and full of surprises, teaching him country songs and telling him about the famous crafts there. Before he went to check out from the lodge, he headed back to the supply store and left a hefty amount to the shop owner, thanking him for everything.

Little before midnight, a Honda City stopped in front of the lodge. Nothing could explain Danyal’s feelings, for he was given freedom from his own and was meeting the duo who had given him the space to track himself down.

“We thought you joined the military,” Ag said, opening the trunk. “Although I don’t understand why you wanted my car.”

“That’s why,” Danyal said, pointing at a pile of canvases beside his backpack. “I hope your car has good boot space.”

“You can run an exhibition back here,” Ag smiled, giving him a warm hug. “Welcome back to normalcy Danny. We missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Danyal smiled for real this time. “I heard your band is touring now?”

“Heading to Banglore next week,” David said, stacking up the paintings in the trunk. “We want you there too.”

“Sure,” Danyal replied. “Would it be hard to arrange an art exhibition after your tour?”

“Good news is, we are free after the show in Banglore,” David replied. “All set to go. You want me to take the ride?”

“She’s with me,” Danyal said, patting the motorcycle. “She’s my plucky sidekick from now on.”

The motorcycle rode behind the car. The night sky beamed above them, the moon, not afraid to show himself to the world. Somehow, that night, Danyal and the moon became one.

                                              

REMINISCENCE: ART EXHIBITION 2015. 

“Danyal,” the interviewer spoke his name to the microphone. “What inspired you to do this extravagant work and gave you the courage to show it to the world?”

“Everyone has a past,” Danyal smiled to the woman with the microphone. “Let it be colourful or haunting. And with the past comes the memories. This memories keeps us alive, it gives an essence to live. Every living thing in this world has a story to tell. Some might have happy endings, some might be tear shedding. It all comes down to how you want that memory to remain it for the rest of your life. If it is painful, we can make it colourful by expressing it in one way or another. Let it be through music, through movies, through stories, anything. It all depends on what we want it to be. I wanted my painful memories to be stories, and I painted those stories with the help of a soul that had been with me almost all my life. This event is for her, and through this event, I am not the only one telling the stories. Somewhere around those specks are her words.”

“Thank you Mr. Hameed,” the interviewer replied.

“It’s Mr. Hussain. Danyal Hussain,” Danyal said. Nadiya Hussain, his mother, smiled somewhere in the event, looking at her son’s work that his father failed to notice.

“The event is going great,” David said, checking out the sales. “Half of them are already booked and sold out.”

“That’s good news,” Danyal said, looking around. “When are you guys playing?”

“In an hour,” David said, checking the clipboard that had the details of arrangement for the band. “It’s good that you picked the place where we all played for the first time.”

“Reminiscence, that’s all it is,” Danyal said, his lips curling upward for a smile. David left him alone to reminisce the moments he had in there.

Wearing a tucked in black shirt and blue jeans, Danyal waded through the crowd to the place where the control system were set. It was the same place where he and Anjana stood, holding hands, watching their friends create history. He could hear the answer to the question he had asked her almost a year ago, the question on what her dream was. Looking at the crowd, he found the answer in them. Danyal reached out his hands to hold her. Even though she wasn’t there physically, he knew she wouldn’t miss it for anything spiritually. ‘Have your dreams come true now?’ he whispered to the air. He could feel her nodding her head, smiling at him while her head was around another story. For a minute, everything seemed to be good for him. Maybe it will be good after all, something told him.