A desolate path. A path that glowed with hopes. A path that you chose and we looked at you with pride. A path that is waiting.
A vista that made our summers blissful but you found wider ones, away from us, from the hills that raised you. How easily do we forget the fun of growing up!
You said you would come back. I know you never lie. Each day we sit here and rush back to our cottage to hear some news about you but the only connection we have with you sits mute.
You said you would keep in touch. I know you never forget your promises. Your dad disagrees. He says, “I don’t care.” But I can see his moist eyes; a lump in his throat is also visible.
I don’t believe what he says. I tell him I care; the umbilical cord is throbbing within me. I know the call would reach you.
The path gapes at me. The flowers don’t bloom any more. Birds look at my face and wonder whether they should sing a happy song. Only wind witches around me.
The candle is burning, its flame may be threatened by the wind but it refuses to die down. I have many more to brighten my evenings. The flickering flame exudes a thousand messages. I can discern them.
I looked around and smiled with glee, wondering how did it all change? A lifetime dream had been accomplished! I sat in my round house, disseminating silvery light. Children sat around me in a semi-circle, awed by the stories I could tell them, one after the other. My adventure in the ocean was the favorite one, and evoked a thousand questions.
“How could you traverse it?”
“Didn’t you get lost?”
“Yes, I did,” I mused, “I couldn’t get back.”
I don’t know how many days had passed as I drifted between slumber and consciousness. All pain had dissipated when I saw the face of a nurse who asked how I was feeling. I told her I dreamt I was the moon and had a magnificent view of the earth from space. Green and blue colors added charm to my stories. I closed my eyes, anticipating the same serenity.