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Shot 2
Prem is an extraordinarily handsome Maharashtrian man, with black hair, dark brown eyes and the most charming smile. His bangs were falling on his forehead which was making him look cuter. His charm and easy wit hid the grief he was feeling at the death of his brother, who had died ten months ago in an automobile accident in Canada.
The unusual aspect of Prem's story was the ten months that had elapsed since his brother's death. By this time grief is generally resolving. The long time span of Prem's grief suggested an underlying, even deeper despair. His sadness actually extended far beyond his brother's death. The sudden death of his brother reminded him, in the deepest unconscious recesses of his mind, loss of even greater, even more tragic, over millennia...the loss of HIS LOVE he had not yet FOUND...His heart was paining but the reason was not understood...Why was he feeling as if he has lost something priceless...he felt as if his heart was crying and the pain was unbearable...why? He came to me to seek the answer to his question... WHY????
"Tell me about yourself," I asked. "Your childhood, your family, and whatever else you feel is important. Tell me everything you think I should know."
Prem sighed deeply and sank back into the large, soft chair. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. His body language told me this wouldn't be easy for him.
Prem came from a very privileged family, both financially and politically. His father owned a large business and several factories. They lived in the hills above the city, in a spectacular house within a secure, gated community.
Prem had attended the finest private schools in the city. He was the eldest son. His sister was the oldest child, and even though she was four years older than he, Prem was extremely protective of her. His brother was two years younger and very close to Prem.
Prem's father worked very hard and usually didn't come home until late at night. His mother and the nannies, maids and other staff ran the house and cared for the children.
Prem studied business in college. He had several girlfriends but no serious relationship...he just didn't feel it right. "Somehow my mother was never fond of the girls I dated," Prem added. "She always found some particular fault and never let me forget." "Even I wasn't interested, it was for my sister's sake that I used to go on a date or two with the girl she suggested...she wanted to see me happy. But my heart was missing."
After graduation, he went back home. At first he worked in the factories, learning more about the business. Later on he came back to India from Canada, to run the business here and abroad.
"How is the business going?"
"Very well, but it occupies too much of my time."
"Is that a problem?"
"It doesn't help my love life," Prem said, grinning. He was not entirely joking. Now twenty-eight years old, he felt he was racing past time to find love, marry, and start a family. Racing, but no prospects.
"Are you having relationships with women?"
"No," he answered, "I haven't really fallen in love...I hope I can," he added with some concern in his voice. "I will very soon have to return to Canada and live there," Prem mused, "in order to take over my brother's duties. Perhaps I will meet someone there," he commented without conviction.
I wondered if his mother's criticisms of Prem's girlfriends was a psycological obstacle to a loving and intimate relationship. But I didn't know that time had stored something in surprise for Prem...a beautiful surprise...something priceless.
"And how is your family in Canada?" I asked, lightening the mood while contining to collect information.
"They are well. My father is more than seventy now, so my brother and I ---" Prem stopped abruptly. He swallowed and took a deep breath before resuming. "SO I have more responsibility in the business," he concluded in a quite voice.
"My mother is also well." He paused before amending his answer. "But they are both not coping well with the death. It had taken a great deal out of them. They have grown much older."
"And your sister?"
"She is sad also, but she has her husband and her children," Prem explained.
I nodded my head in understanding. She had more distractions to help her cope.
I became aware of time. We had run twenty minutes late. My internal alarm clock was usually much more reliable. I must have been really absorbed in the drama of Prem's story. I rationalized silently, unaware that even more absorbing dramas were only now beginning to unfold....
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Prem returned to my office one week later for his second appointment. Grief still tormented him, robbing him of simple pleasures and interfering with his sleep. He began by telling me about an unusual dream he had dreamt twice in the past week.
"I was dreaming something else when all of a sudden an older woman appeared," Prem explained.
"Did you recognize the woman?" I asked.
"No," he answered immediately. "She appeared to be in her sixties or seventies. She wore a beautiful white dress, but she was not in peace. Her face was anguished. She reached out to me, and she kept repeating the same words."
"What did she say?"
" ' Hold her Hand...Hold her Hand. You will know. Reach out to her. Hold her hand, she is here.' That is what she told."
"Hold whose hand?"
"I don't know. She just said 'Hold her Hand.' "
"Was there anything more in the dream?"
"Not really. But I did notice that she was holding a white feather in one hand."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"You are the doctor," Prem reminded me.
Yes, I thought. I am the doctor. I knew that symbols could mean almost anything, depending on the unique experiences of the dreamers.
I responded to the "You're the doctor" comment and its implied answer need to be answered.
"I am not sure," I answered truthfully. "It could mean a lot of things. The white feather could symbolize peace or spirituality or many other things. We will have to explore the dream," I added, relegating its interpretation to the future.
"I had the dream again last night," Prem said.
"Same woman?"
"Same woman, same words, same feather," Prem clarified. " 'Hold her Hand...Hold her Hand. Reach out to her. Hold her Hand.' "
"Perhaps the answers will come to you in the regressions or in the future," I suggested. "Are you ready?"
He nodded, and we began journey back in time...in a search. Prem had not even in his wildest dreams would have thought that this one dream could change his destiny...it was a call but only the God and the angels knew...it was a call of Love, a call of reaching out to his heart his soul...his beloved, his Soulmate.
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Jab do log ek dusre se milte hai, Toh unke beech ka pyaar unhe nahi jodta,
Iss duniya mein sabse bada rishta hota hai dard ka,
Woh dard jo ek insan ko hota hai aur dusra insan use mehsoos kar leta hai.
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Hope that you guys enjoyed this part. Love u guys. Take care. 😃 And do let me know what you feel about this update. 😕
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