Friendship without Words

As usual the shawlwala of Kashmir visited our house. But this time the shawlwala did not come, it was his son and that too without his heavy bundle of shawls. I reminisce, Rashid miyan comes to our house every winter to sell shawls to my mother and grandmother. His luxurious pashminas were so warm and magnificent. I was ten when he started coming to our house along with his son Rahmat. Rahmat was of my age. When I first saw him I instantly felt a pull towards him. His fair complexion, deep blue innocent eyes, his brown hair charmed me. I was a reticent child and so did he. I wanted to talk to him but couldn’t gather the courage to speak the first words. He used to come to our house every winter wearing phiran. For a couple of years our speechless friendship grew. We started exchanging smiles. I waited for winters so that I can meet him. I wanted to ask him that is his land haven as everyone said. How does the white spotless snow clad mountains look. My fascination for him grew. But as my education took over my time, I hardly get to see him during winters. My fondness seemed to decline. Lately when I saw him, he was no longer a boy; he was a handsome young man in his early twenties. He has the same lovely blue eyes but with more mature features. I tried to recall those boyish looks in his manly features. We exchanged glances as if trying to dig our childhood memories that were buried under the dust of time. He somberly stated his father’s demise and revealed that he will never come again because now he owns a shop in Srinagar which is doing well since the tourism has augmented. Though I had almost forgotten him yet when we looked at each other I felt a strong pain and sorrow as if a significant twine has been snapped inside me.Our friendship without words ended and I bid him adieu with gloomy eyes.