Thousand Years | A Shubman Gill & Ishan Kishan Fanfiction ✓

Mitul and Jasvir

 1363 AD, Ajmer 

Mitul and Jasvir had finished performing the last Kathputli show of their lives and were sitting in the room that had every puppet, every character, every imagination of theirs that had come to life through their stories. 

Mitul had not spoken a word since they finished the storytelling. People of different ages had come up to them after the show, hoping to talk to them or even get a handshake. 

There were middle aged adults, some of them had traveled from the duo's hometown, Jaipur, and were reminiscing their childhood that was vibrant with the richness of Mitul and Jasvir’s stories. There were youngsters, lamenting the loss of artists they had only begun admiring. And then there were children, who did not say much but smiled and gestured and giggled before getting distracted by other attractions in the marketplace. 

Through all of it, Mitul had smiled and nodded without uttering a single word. Jasvir studied him holding a Kathputli and tried to break through the barrier of his friend's blank facade. 

Sensing Jasvir's eyes on him Mitul looked up and swallowed before speaking, 

“I think it was a wise decision for us to stop. My hands are no longer as sturdy as they used to be. They had started shaking in the first five minutes.” He stopped, a sentimental smile on his face, still revealing the dimples amidst the wrinkled skin. 

“Well you at least lasted five minutes. My hands started shaking within the first five seconds and haven't stopped shaking since then.” Jasvir laughed as he put his hands forward for Mitul to examine. Mitul shook his head and said, 

“It's been a long time hasn't it?” 

“A very, very long time.” Jasvir agreed with a grin. 

Six decades ago, they were seven year old boys who had stopped to see a Kathputli show in Jaipur. And it had changed their lives. On their way back to home they were weaving stories or their own, adding to each other's imagination. 

After that day, they would wait for the show to come to their town for weeks and when it would, they would sit next to each other and watch the puppets dance in a carnival filled with music, dance and creativity. After the show, they would run to the artists with eager minds and passionate hearts asking question after question. 

They had both fallen in love with the craft. 

Mitul held Jasvir's eyes and uttered a soft, “Thank you.” 

Jasvir heard the additional unspoken sentence too, ‘I couldn't have done it without you’ 

“Thank you to you too, mhara Mitul” he said, calling Mitul his own. 

“All these years…I had the best time of my life, creating stories with you. I could always come up with plot twists and humorous way to introduce the characters but you my dear friend, you were the true magician with your empathy, adding perspective to the stories, breathing life into our Kathputlis.” 

“You're too kind, Jasvir. But I know that I couldn't have done this without you believing in me even when I would have periods where I could not think of anything. Times when I couldn't even feel anything, let alone make the characters feel something. But you were so patient with me.” Mitul took a pause, letting Jasvir absorb the overwhelming sincerity of his words. 

“You and your ahaa moments!” A fond laugh escapes Jasvir's dry throat. 

“Remember that day when you were buying brinjal from the market and had an idea for a story, a new character that would change its course and you ran all the way to my house, not caring what others would think. You are one amazing artist Mitul. I just got lucky to have had you as my dearest friend.” 

The two fell silent for some time, each reliving their journey from their eyes. 

The highs of applause. 

The lows of finance. 

The adrenaline of creation. 

The feebleness of bodies. 

The evening dinners spent discussing tales. 

The walks through shops to buy supplies. 

The training years during their youth. 

Training the youth to take over. 

At the same moment the two looked up at each other and Mitul saw an image. 

An image of two boys in the hills with their heads bent. They were planting something. Before he could understand it, the image erased itself from his memory and Mitul sighed. 

Turning his attention back to Jasvir, feeling extremely cognizant of the frailness of his body he said, 

“Will you meet me in the next lifetime as well, Jasvir?” 

Jasvir, who would have normally laughed at such a question answered with strong conviction, 

“Yes, I will.” 

When Jasvir saw that this did not ease Mitul's furrowed brow, he added,

“I promise.”

And Mitul smiled.