Sunrise of Happy Days

🌅  Sunrise of Happy Days
✍️ by Kalpesh Patel

The winter sun of Sukhpur rose pale and late that year — the year Surya died.
Fever had taken her quietly one night, when the roads were closed and no doctor could reach their small village.
Jamanalal sat helpless, holding her burning hand till it turned cold.
Her last words were a whisper — “Don’t lose faith in the land… one day, it will give you back everything.”

Since that day, Jamanalal had aged more in silence than in years.
At seventy, his back was bent, his hands hard as stone, yet his eyes still carried that stubborn light — the same light Surya had once loved.

Every morning, he walked to his barren field — a patch of cracked earth that mocked most men, but not him.
He talked to it softly, like talking to her memory.
“Tu મને ખાલી હાથ નહિ રાખે, Surya બોલી હતી…”

Neighbors laughed.
“What will this old man find in rocks?” they said.
But Jamanalal only smiled. He had learned that belief doesn’t argue — it simply waits.

Then, one dusty afternoon, while digging out another stubborn stone, his spade struck something that rang — clear, metallic, alive.
He knelt down, brushed the soil aside, and there it was — a rare meteor metal, shining like the sun after rain.

The village filled with noise and visitors — scientists, reporters, officials — all praising his luck.
But that night, when the lights faded and the crowd went home, Jamanalal sat alone by the spot, the meteor cradled in his wrinkled hands.

Tears rolled down his face.

> “Surya,” he whispered, “today your words came true. But the one who needed this comfort most — you — are not here to see it.”



The dawn that followed was unlike any he had seen before.
The field glowed with soft gold, the air felt lighter — as if Surya herself had returned with the sun.

Now, every morning, Jamanalal begins his work as always — not for reward, not for fame, but to keep a promise.

> Because faith, like love, never dies.
It only waits… for the sunrise of happy days.




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