There, he saw it again, like he did the first time. Many years ago, driving back home in the silence of the night, in the backseat of his father’s car, nose pressed flat against the cold window, he, then a child, saw a giant ball of still ice, following him everywhere in the darkness. Skirting past the silver edges of dark clouds, gliding across the sky, soon it came into full view. The child closed his eyes, waiting for it to disappear. But when he opened them, he saw it again, towering in the sky, beyond his reach, a mystery, like life itself. That’s heaven, he thought. His ears pricked at the sound of a soft knock at the door. It was the light from the object in the sky. It cast a pale glow against the mist on the window. Trembling with curiosity, he lowered the window slightly, at first. The night air, like cold steel, bruised the skin under his eyes. The light clambered in, dropping and sinking into his lap, and then quickly spread itself inside the car. Why have you opened the window? It’s cold outside; you will get sick. Sorry, Dad. He rolled up the window, closing the tiny opening. Amused, the child then lifted his hand, now bathed in a pale silver light, and brought it closer to his face. He saw it then. The object in the sky had cleverly invaded his body. He had been fooled. Made part of a rude prank. Miffed, he tried to shun it away, wringing his hands on the seat. But he couldn’t. The light had sought a new home for itself. The betrayal of that night would weigh on his mind for days to come. One night, gazing into the darkness from his window, he took out an empty glass bottle and placed it near the base of the table opposite the window. When the object came up in the sky again that night, he opened the window and let the light come inside. As it hit the bottle, filling inside its empty walls, he quickly got up and put a cork on the bottle, trapping the light inside. The light exploded brightly. Screeching at the glass surface, it burst into tiny bolts, shooting upwards, struggling to break past the barrier. The boy became still, his rage now quieted. Something yet nameless inside his chest stirred. That night, he realized what very few people did – the glowing object in the night-sky was a friend, not an enemy. Embarrassed at his mistake, he uncorked the bottle and released the light into the room. From there on, wherever he went, the object travelled with him, like a faithful companion. Neither its beauty nor its light faded with time. And there certainly appeared nothing different about it when he saw it tonight in the street, the child now a grown man, older and drunk and tired, returning from work. Why after all, it was his life, the silent witness, the record of the endless distance between him and the darkness above, between life and death. It was his beloved, the Moon.

Next: Moonstruck ‘1 (https://sahilsood.wordpress.com/2019/08/12/moonstruck-1/)