Stories Untold

They said, ‘Time heals everything’. Ironic, I guess. They inquire, ‘Why write about Love?’ I just love writing about things Fiction to me. They ask, ‘What is the regret for?’ Temporary things became permanent, as were held onto for too long. 

Catheo was in tears. The prologue of her favorite authors’ last book was released. It had questions Catheo always thought of. Questions, Catheo wanted to ask Mr-Dravish;- The Aspirant Author.

It was, however, too late. News of the demise of Mr-Dravish was viral and authentic. “The great writer died too young”. His last Book; “For Her” was yet to be published. 

Catheo, with a melancholic heart started reading the latest book written by Mr-Dravish, named: “Stories Untold”. 

‘Synthia, You see; stories such as Romeo-Juliet, Pride And Prejudice and Fault in our Stars etc. All of them are critically acclaimed. We all know how true love cherished in these tales. But; some love stories; they are not even ever told. Let me narrate one last story for the time being. Until we meet again. It starts from 

“The house.......’

Catheo, being a considerate and resolute reader of books by Mr-Dravish; she knew that Synthia was an imaginative character, a whimsical friend of ‘The Narrator’:- Mr-Dravish. (himself within the book)

“The house they lived in as children now looked very..... different. It was the same building, made with two-storeys. Providing space for two families to live. The same old, mismanaged, tilted photographs hanging on the ‘Wall of Accolades’. Everything seemed the same, but; now there were no quarrels, no fights, no arguments or no noise. No creaking sound of the utensils. No one used to exclaim, ‘Yellow.... Yellow! Dirty Fellow’. No one made drawings on the wall, no one spilled water on the floor, no one played with the electronic switch in the room. 

Synthia! The house seemed the same for those who saw it from beyond the walls but it was different. Different for those within.

Different for Gospel. 

It all actually starts from Gospel 

Gospel, name of the holy book and yes Gospel was his name. A struggling single parent. A struggling father. An unlucky person. Gospel, who lost his wife due to a psychological indisposition; A tragedy which shook him. He gave it his all to become a psychiatrist and prevent such tribulations from recurring. 

Gospel was underemployed, hence he barely earned enough to eat twice a day. He lived with his only son, ‘Ferric” in the same house; On the ground floor as a tenant. The first floor (Top floor) was permanently locked and that two-Storey house actually belonged to Mr-and-Mrs Gravity. They were settled abroad, but; their only daughter, ‘Iodine’ lived with Gospel and Ferric.  

Isn’t it courageous of parents to leave their children under the care of a struggling stranger tenant? Right Synthia?

However, the Gospel was unlike any other. A peculiar dual-natured person. He loved Iodine more than Ferric. In fact he used to call ‘Iodine’ as ‘Jod’. Jod, the new name for Iodine and a name Gospel fancied. Probably he saw his wife’s reflection in Jod. 

Gospel always hated his life in misery. He always wished for riches. His lives only aim was fame and money, and to attain this he was determined. Determined to do well. 

You know Synthia, I could personally, never understand Gospel. Funny of him or weird of him. I don’t know. He was determined at one time and then very greedy for fame and money all of a sudden. Him, becoming a psychiatrist was due to his wife’s death and then, with inspiration so positive and morally correct he would wish for all worldly things by all kinds of means. That person was home to a very contradictory personality I guess. 

God had gifted Gospel with certain abilities every doctor strives for. Gospel had in him; the essential, ‘Love and Gratitude’. 

Synthia, You would definitely agree with the fact that everyone is gifted with qualities but only a few use them to the fullest. His son Ferric taught, rather showed him how to use them. 

Ferric and Jod were seven years old. The sweetest, they looked together. They used to laugh and cry on minute things. They used to quarrel on board markers, loved making drawings on the walls, played with the kitchen utensils producing a creaking sound. They used to knock on the walls constantly, argue through the partition in the room. Played with the switches, spill water on the floor and made loads of .....   loads of noise. On one side Jod used to tease everyone by saying, “Yellow....Yellow! Dirty Fellow”. 

Whilst on the other side Ferric whistled, made a weird funny monkey-like face and used to say, “O! La.....la...la...la...di....a!” which made Jod laugh.  

For everyone else, this noise might be a headache, but, for Gospel, it was a stress reliever. Forget everything and observe. Observe Jod and Ferric smile. “A smile which could gather every attention around”.

Time flew in the blink of an eye and Jod grew up to be a twenty-one-year-old gorgeous woman. So beautiful, as if God made her Himself in utmost perfection. Long Blonde, silky, smooth hair with blemish-free skin and lips as if flowers blossoming in spring. Her eyes were like orbs of ivory crafted upon a satin cloth exquisitely. Her smile could stop time, put a stopper to death and bring solace or solitude to those who seek it. 

But; the sad part is, Synthia, that we as humans won’t really care for what people are born with. We can’t accept, what others are gifted with; though we should. Someone with extraordinary sentiments or extraordinary innocence is considered not normal. Being too good or too bad, too innocent or too wicked. Being an extremist of any sort makes you what we call: abnormal. Alas! Jod had a similar case. Young age had bought infirmity to her. A gorgeous woman with a brain of a seven-year-old girl. 

Jod; was declared untreatable even by the finest psychiatrists known. Even Gospel had lost his determination treating Jod and facing failure. But; still, one mam didn’t lose hope. One man tried fighting for her on his own. One man, who loved her not physically rather spiritually (truly). One man who loved her for who she was. One man whose childhood bond of friendship and mere likeness had turned to love. One man who knew that there are certain things medicine cannot treat but love can. 

One man...

Yes! Synthia. He was Ferric. A rather slim looking, dark-coloured bearded one. A person so slim that his bones were evident from his flesh. A person severely afflicted by malnutrition. A person with a heart of Gold but apparently unprepossessing. Ferric. 

Ferric, who still made the same weird yet funny monkey-like faces, whistled the exact same old way and, then, used to say, “O! La....La....la....la.....di....a...!” just to make Jod laugh.

The person who gave Jod her preventive medicines on time. Who made love to her. Promised her lifetime support. Promised to marry her. Taught her how to live? What to wear? What are etiquettes quintessential at her age? He used to nurture her for the sake of love and treat her like a friend. Treated her like a normal one, not a maniac. Never pitied her. 

Even today, No heart can decide whether what kind of love is it? Love due to pity or true love. History has never witnessed such a miraculous love before. 

And, Yes. If you close your eyes, you can see them. 

Miracles....

Sorry? Synthia, you think that the couple of Jod and Ferric looks misfit. How will such a rich family of Mr-and-Mrs Gravity allow their only daughter to marry such a weakly affluent person?

I wish; I could answer that. Only if Mr-and-Mrs Gravity knew about it. Unfortunately they never did; Hence we can’t really guess their reaction then.

It was nothing short of a miracle. Certain medical tests, changes in behaviour and personality had affirmed everyone that Jod has recovered. She is cured. Everything is fine. 

EVERYTHING IS FINE!!! Not really....

Mr-and-Mrs Gravity returned, crying with the joy of getting their daughter back. They; as a token of appreciation and pleasure gifted Gospel the whole two-storey house and a blank check. Finally, Gospel had achieved what he had long yearned for. Fame and Money. But; that too, due to his son; Ferric. 

Nevertheless, Jod was going abroad with her parents to get married. Ferric, could not even bare the thought of separation at this point of time. 

It was a dark dewy night with a fully ripen petrichor. Thunderous night, it was raining cats and dogs. The airport was quite empty but there was relatively lots of traffic on the road. The hubbub of traffic, the rattle of rain on a metal roof, lightening and mud-splashes made a lot of noise. Even in this commotion a silence, a vacancy settled in Ferrics’ heart.

Jod turns towards the plane ready to leave her childhood place forever. Ready to bid farewell to everything, every memory. She turns. Someone approaches her and holds her hand. She turns again to inquire and witness who such an indecent person is, and; she is petrified. She witnesses a crazy-looking man panting and saying, ‘Jod...Jod...Jod...”

A man with his clothes all wet drenched in blood, water and mud. Clothed brutally torn, hairs nearly burnt and a stingy smell emanating from that person. The person with red teary eyes. Eyes full of tears yet shining, shining with sorrow and grief making the eyes deeper than the oceans. Scratches, Bruises or wounds everywhere. It was impossible to recognise who that man was. 

And; then, the strange man whistled made a weird funny monkey-like face and said, “O! La....la....la...la...di....a..!” but Jod. She didn’t react to it at all.

She opened her bag and took out a pile of money and; then, placed it on that strange man's hand. Then she turned and went away. Forever. Lost in the airport....

Before going she said, “Mr- I don’t know your name. Use this money. Get yourself treated. Everything will be fine brother!. With zero uneasiness, very normally she said it all and went away. As if she had nothing for him in the last twenty-one years. Nothing for him in her heart. If not love; fine, at least a relation of acquaintance, a relation of friendship was there. And, it deserved one last go........od.......! 

One last goodbye. 

He was left all alone at the airport. Lost, where? I don’t know. But; hurt. Yes. Loads. Hurt not by the fact that, he was humiliated for being considered a crazy beggar. Hurt not by the fact that, she could not even recognise her name: Jod. Or Was she avoiding all of this on purpose? No one knows....

But; he was hurt. Hurt by those ears ,who could hear every breath, every heart beat, every whistle, every word and every sound chanting her name: Jod....Jod....Jod.... yet the ears acted strangely. Hurt by the fact that, those eyes whom had seen love in his eyes; now couldn’t see the obsession he had. Hurt by those hands, who could sense anything but; couldn’t feel or sense or recognise his love for her. Hurt by the heart, which had forgotten everything it once so lived. 

How cruel of fate!. On one side the old man sitting on a moving chair, in front of the window witnessing every drop of memory they ever made fall to its extinction from the clouds to nowhere. On the other hand; a muddy, filthy, obsessed, aggrieved and senseless man sitting on the pavement outside the airport under the rain chanting the same thing periodically, “Jod! Jod! Jod!....O!..La...la...la...la...di....a!”. 

I can digest the fact; that, the brain, it had recently grown up. It had forgotten everything that, occurred in the transitional age from seven to twenty-one years. Yes, it might not be able to recognise him. But; but, tell me Synthia? The heart, wasn’t it always there the same way? The brain might be confused but the heart was fine from the start. Why did the heart act so ignorant? Why? Was it all a lie? Was it fate? What was it? 

He sat in the same moving chair; this time adjusted beside the phone. Waiting for a phone call. Waiting to hear the words ‘Sir, Mr-Gospel? Sorry to say but your son Ferric, is taken to a mental asylum. You can visit and check yourself. He has completely lost his senses. We can’t help him. It’s too late I guess’. 

There he sat all alone pondering upon what had he attained? And at what costs? His sacrifices meant nothing. 

Verily, the house they lived in as children now looked very different”.

Catheo, had fallen asleep whilst reading the book. Tears were still there, stationary; on her soft red cheeks and the book rested on her chest. Her mom enters, lifts the book, holds it, reads something and then smiles secretively. Lifts a pencil and writes something on the book but; then, erases it and leaves. What she had actually written was:

‘I wish, I could tell her about you and me ‘D’... I still love you. Miss you. Indeed as you, used to say, ‘There are many stories untold yet....’