Everytime I have read this novel, I have wept. As far as I can remember, I have read it at least three times. So, I have shed my tears three times. Tears, which were so alien to me at one time that all my prayers were directed towards gaining these pearls. The two deserts of my eyes were so much heated by thousands of scorching suns located inside my very heart, heart which was itself no more than a desert, that these tiny angels were almost afraid to come there. Tears are always like rare pearls whose origin always remain beyond sight. I often wonder what was it in that tiny book which made such a miracle possible.
Was it Gemma's fate. No. Was it tragic fall of Dmitri Sanin. Not at all. I wept when these tragedies became too old to be mourned. Towards the end of the story, when Sanin read Gemma's letter from America. When almost everything was finished, the miracle happened.
And at the very first page, these lines from an old russian song told me in advance that the territory you are going to tread is not an ordinary one.
Those happy years,
Those days so gay,
Like the rush of spring torrents,
Have vanished away.
What is the coming and going of a thing like spring torrents or cherry blossoms? I often wonder now. The relationship of Sanin and Gemma was like spring torrents and cherry blossoms, as beautiful as it was short-lived.
Alas! how bitter the truth is?
I now see my entire life as coming to terms with the bitterness of this truth. And I have realized that life would have been a hell without this bitterness. Fate has given me bounties of this bitterness and I am almost on the brinks of tasting the real sweetness concealed under this bitterness.
This bitterness is exactly that substance which makes one's heart bow before a rose and pray. Sometimes, these lonely prayers are heard. But these prayers are granted only with an increased dose of the bitterness, which ramains always there to loom like a heavy cloud over all one's petty delights.
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