Let Me Tell You A story

  Life meant to be fulfilling the purpose, as for me; I believe the statement. Clouds should roam around the world while the Sun needs to provide light. During the lonely night, Moon needs to shine brighter than other stars. Rain needs to flourish the ground while the sea maintains its depth. 

  I glanced at the sky, wondering, what is my purpose? Should I be cheerful like the rain or calm and patient like the clouds? I likely choose to be a Christmas tree, colorful. But, the harsh reality is you cannot choose. 

  I always wondered how others perceive me, always been a conscious one. Rather than a colorful one, I became lonesome. I hesitate around a group of strangers or the group of familiar strangers. While becoming colorful, I turned secretive, enough to forget my secrets. But for a while, I wondered how to describe those in words. It did start with my ambition to become a colorful one. 

  At the tender age of 6, I questioned myself. What am I? What am I supposed to be doing? What am I meant to be doing? I agreed; I was an extrovert person. Who isn't at that age? That timeline supposedly was my beginning. 

"Come on. Wake up, everyone. "

My mom babbled. I disagreed and shuffled my position inside the warmth of the blanket.

"Come on, Girls. Wake up. I want to fill the water pot. Sleep in the hall."

"Mumma. It's 5 in the morning. Please let us sleep."

My sister announced with her eyes closed. 

  The wooden walls crinkled as my mom rushed around the room to the hall. Though the floor was small, it was cozy and warm. A long hall maintained the space for the old TV and a swing which my grandfather adored. A squared hole inside the wall had an auspicious place as the temple. A rectangular bed sat at the end of the hall, while towards the east was a wooden window that opened towards the main road. Towards the west of the window was the bathroom, while the east contained wooden stairs to go downstairs. The western side of the hall had a little door for the room. The room had a kitchen in the south; in the midst, we slept. 

"Enough. Out of the blanket now. Both of you."

My mom was agitated. My sister stood up with her eyes closed while I still consciously listened for her steps. The hall was chaos. I heard different arguments between my father and grandfather, and I could only listen. Mom informed my sister for a bath as that was the only time we could bathe. While my sister, a complete opposite, with her eyes closed and went unconsciously for a bath. I kept my eyes closed wonderingly. Will the days be any different? My mom snatched my blanket and took me out of the warmth. I complain,

"Mumma. I want to sleep."

She informed without an ounce of another thought,

"Sleep after you bathe."

I knew there's never 'after you'; As I bathe, I thought how skillfully the water pushes itself out of the tap, and it amused me. Sometimes I wondered, even if I would've been the same girl as when I was 6; People won't look at me differently. But then I assure myself about how big and intellectual people talk about accepting yourself first and ignore worrying about others' judgment. It works even though for a few hours or days. I declare though the story isn't about changing yourself or accepting yourself. The story began when the answer to everyone's question wa

Advertisement

s necessary,

"Please tell us your story. We want to know how did it start? "

'What started and when began'; well, I too need to analyze the situation. 

  The day started when my grandfather took me to the temple. It used to be my favorite place for wholly different reasons. The temple was underground that surrounded by water from the nearby well. Sometimes little tortoises used to roam around the statue of Lord Shiva which fascinated me. Leaves of trees born from the wall surrounded the room beautifully. Except for my grandfather and me, no one visited that place. But for me, no other place is better than that. I was in love with the smell of moisture and the silence of the toddler tortoise. We heard a little noise from the crackling of the broken door of the temple. I ran behind my grandpa while a man similar to my pa came greeting,

"Would you like to have tea?"

He asked grandpa affectionately. My grandpa nodded,

"Yes. I'll be there."

As the man exited the premises, I turned to the grandpa,

"Pa, I want to stay a little longer."

Grandpa whispered,

"I don't mind leaving you here. But, you won't be able to find me when you are frightened."

I looked around; it was a scary but beautiful place, and I couldn't easily perceive myself as a scaredy-cat. 

I announced,

"It's fine, grandpa. I can handle ghosts; they befriend me."

Grandpa laughed me off and exited the premises alongside the man. I pampered the back of the toddler tortoise and announced,

"You don't laugh me off like grandpa. He told me enough stories to understand the ghost. If you are afraid, I can share one with you too."

The toddler tortoise went into hiding deep in the water. I initiated narrating as if they were listening,

"You know, my grandfather wasn't always slow. He was once a man with big mustaches and purposed his life as a lawyer. Though he is intelligent, his belief in ghosts and spirits is strong. Sometimes I wonder, maybe he could see one."

I shivered at the thought,

"Sorry, it sounded much better in my thoughts. Alas, I'll continue. My grandpa once visited a temple and sat for a while. But he forgot everything about himself. He questioned himself who he was or where his home was. But no answer returned. He sat at the temple, and later my mom rescued him." 

As I narrated, some voices declared their arrival,

"Was she your another granddaughter?"

A familiar voice answered,

"Yes. It's her. She loves to visit the temple."

"She looks good, but why is she so skinny? Is she ill?"

I shivered, was I? To me, I looked fine.

"No, Her name is Pankhuri, and she is perfectly well."

The man wasn't satisfied,

"Still, she looks a lot different than her sister."

My cheeks felt warmer. I didn't want to hear more of their conversation, so I started imagining the song of a flute that somehow erupted inside my mind. Somehow the tune felt sad as I felt desolate. Wasn't I good-looking enough for a six-year-old?

My grandfather announced,

"She is a beautiful and smart soul. You can't escape the warmth in her eyes. I once told her about a ghost and her reaction should naturally be terrifying, instead she replied, 'how pitiful is that ghost if i could anyway help it, grandpa i would'. 

Those were that little girl's words. I am so proud of her."