Disclaimer: Billu Barber slash fic. Original plot and lyrics by me, based off the Bollywood film...
Pairing: Billu/Sahir
Author: Rosirasaf. No Copyright Infringement Intended.
"You've forgotten me, oh my heart who hurts my feelings. Don't worry if my days pass slowly, it's possible that my heart is aching for memories that I can't forget. So long as you are happy, though I am tired, I am better so long as you are smiling."
...
Oh Master, I Am Here
… that this dust bowl may become a garden*i
Bindiya's breath was a soft whisper in the small room. Billu lay on his side, hearing the gentle lull of air pass from between her lips behind him. He adjusted himself slightly on the small cot, hearing the wooden frame creek beneath his weight. There was barely room enough to press a feather between them, let alone lie on his back and the children made do with sleeping on the floor in makeshift beds of wool blankets.
Billu sighed with a restlessness he had known since the sleepy village of Budbudda had been turned on its head a few days before.
Adorning the wall across from him, the moonlight picked out the edges of the culprit's face. Sahir Khan's skin shone almost blue in the reflective glow. Ever since the Bollywood mega star had come here, the village had turned itself into a darshan to house this earthly idol.
Over-zealous villagers hung his visage on every wall, inside and outside. They praised his name and sold his likeness on t-shirts. For the first time in his life, Billu became a local celebrity after Bindiya and their children had divulged the nature of his relationship with Sahir to prying village ears.
And since the return of his childhood companion, the retainer of old promises and ecstatic words spoken beneath a radiant and resurrected sun, he could not sleep. He'd become alienated from himself and it added toil to a life he'd once taken pride in. That fateful day he'd taken Bindiya by the hand, a woman from a different caste, they ran for their lives toward a new life, a new dawn… considering themselves purified of old things.
Yet he'd never stopped thinking about Sahir. He never forgot the things they'd said to each other in the back rows in darkened movie theaters, the way Sahir danced as they walked home, his voice, the touch of his hand, his scent, his face the color of flowers. In the haze of loves theology, Billu knew that behind the blue sky, his master had been born there and that Sahir was his future. For the beautiful boy with the long dark hair and shining eyes, his heart grew along with the scope of his universe.
"I will build a house for you with my own hands," he'd pledged and went on to describe in great detail how they would live. Sahir's eyes sang to him as he recited the daydream. On rare occasions, Billu sometimes caught himself thinking back, missing that dream house. Though his friend had been poor, he'd been more precious than gold, and he'd gone faraway since then.
* Rumi
