The House

It was a small house with one slightly bigger room and a small box-like room attached to it. There was a kitchen on the back of the living room. A wall separated the kitchen from the living room. There was another floor on top of living room which was more like a loft than the hall, the name by which it was called.

The mother went from one room to another, looking into all nooks and crannies. She even climbed the ladder to look into the loft, but the house was empty. She went around the house many a time. Being a small house, it should not have taken much time, but she took a lot of time in looking around. The house was silent.

Every time she came back after searching the house, she realised that her son had left the house for the outside world. Of course, it was not forever, yet it disheartened her to see the empty house. She tried to busy herself in household chores, but she would become restless after a while and go around the house, even though knowing very well that it was in vain. She cried a little after every round of the house.

Even though she knew that her son shall be visiting her during holidays, yet that still did not lessen the sense of loss. It was as if someone had suddenly snapped the chord which attached her son to the house and hence, to her.

….

The house wore a forlorn look. It had not changed much in the last few years, except for the fact that it was empty. Its sole occupant having left for the place from where nobody ever came back.

The son decided to go around the house, not unlike his mother, with a fond hope of finding her sitting in her favourite place in the kitchen or some other corner of the house.

He was exhausted from the aimless search, yet after almost every hour he still took a round of the house, not expecting to find anyone yet hoping for someone to be there.

Today he had all the time in the world to bond with the house.

…

The years gone by had changed him from a boy to a man. The house had, however, not changed much during all those years. It welcomed him the same way as it had done earlier, that is, with silence. Yet it was like meeting a long-lost friend. He hoped that the house had missed him as much as he had missed it.

The lone inhabitant of the house had gone beyond the stage of missing anyone. Perhaps the house missed the mother also.

Today again there was only one person in the house, but that was the son. The house was still there, but mother was not there.

….

The mother had told him the story about her despair when he had left home for the first time. He wondered whom he could tell the story about his search for his mother in the house. No one else will understand his feelings except his mother and she was unlikely to come back to listen to him.

He walked around the house with heavy steps, perhaps not very different from what his mother had done long ago.

Only silence greeted him. The house was empty.