A wait unfulfilled

It all began on a wet, bone-chillingly cold day. The rock, his mind in turmoil, sat still like a sage. His body had been torn apart by the piercing rain that continued to inflict pain upon him in tandem with the strong winds. Such was the brutality of it that even the rock, an intimidatingly imposing structure, was reduced to a shivering mass. But he knew relief would come, sooner or later. He had known it all day long ever since the first wave had caressed his feet early in the morning. More waves had followed, one after the other, each subdued in its efforts. A tiny strand, as if in rebellion, rose up in a wave and crashed against the rock where its flight was crushed. The rock had endured the pain because he was waiting for his salvation. He could see the wave, a tall, serene mass of water moving as easily as a serpent slithering on grass. His body had frozen but his heart was a burning crescendo. His patience was being tested as other waves touched him and sprayed his face with mist. But yet he waited, unflinching and undeterred, for the wave to arrive and touch him in the face. The waves had partially immersed him now. He waited with bated breath as the wave came closer. His wait had reached its climax. A song was playing somewhere in the distance. He didn’t pay attention but instead chose to stare unblinkingly at the sea which grew boisterous every passing minute. The song got even louder. The rock still chose to ignore it. The wave was all that mattered to him. The interlude since their last meeting had been painful enough but he knew he had no option but to wait. And he did, every fiber of him calling out to the wave. Just then a song jerked him out of his trance. A boy, in his late teens, had walked onto the rock itself and was sitting on his knees. The wave was surging ahead rapidly. The boy started bleating on top of the music. The wave was drawing closer, surging ahead in its own trance. But the rock couldn’t think of the wave. The boy had interrupted his meditation. Closer, even closer it came. The boy had started to cry. The wave, at last, had arrived. The rock felt two warm drops fall on himself which were soon swallowed by the wave as it immersed the rock in itself. The boy sat there weeping pitifully. But the rock felt no pity for the boy. His own wails were much louder than that of the boy’s. The boy, in his quest for solitude, had spoilt an intimate moment which the rock had awaited for days. Slowly as the water receded the boy left the rock alone to moan the quirk of fate which had soured its ecstasy. The rock watched the wave as it receded back to the sea. In his heart he felt an anger that he had never known before. But in the larger scheme of things it mattered not. What mattered was that in a few weeks the wave would come again. Till then the rock would wait, unfazed and undeterred. It wasn’t the end of the world and he knew it. He was accustomed to the long wait. In those moments of solitude he kept reminding himself that waiting for something is always better than waiting for nothing. This game between the rock and the wave had continued for ages. And it would continue-for eternity or till the day one of them would cease to exist. Till then the rock would wait, sitting patiently like a sage.