Infinity to Null
It was 12 noon. The church bell rang. She was standing near the door, waiting for someone, as usual. I knew after some time she would enter the church, offer her prayers, light he candle and then leave with a dismal look .It was a daily scene for me and a daily wait for someone for her. I had arrived in this new town just few months ago. The war was over, but like many for me who survived, everything had been destroyed. Our village, our beloveds, our homes, everything. We were just surviving, living without a purpose, without a dream, pondering that our survival was a luck or a misfortune.
This new town was now my new home. A new place, with new people, different cultures, a place that always reminded me of my end . The church priest had been kind enough to offer me a shelter and job of daily chores, till I find something more of my interest. Frankly speaking I didn’t have any interest left in anything, I was in mid-30 and had no idea what I am going to do with my life ahead. The war had killed my wife, my daughter, my brother. I always questioned myself why did I survive? Life for me had ended but why was I still breathing.
The church was located on the outskirts of the town. It was almost an hour’s walk to the town. I didn’t go to the town often so didn’t know many people yet and anyways most of the town was demolished too. Slowly as help was arriving the town was getting reestablished. I preferred the church instead. I was never a worshipper, but now no one in my life left, I preferred talking to the abstract cross whom people were so devoted to. My conversations first started with allegations. But now I kind of felt truce with the cross. Nothing more to lose, now it was just a daily friendly conversation. A lame belief that my family somewhere is safe and my friend is taking care of them.
From the day I had been in the church, I have seen her. She comes here daily at 5 minutes for 12, her veil covering her head, she stands near the door looking at the main entrance. Then once the bell strikes at 12, she enters the church, kneels at the very front, and prays. After few minutes, she relights one of candles and leaves. She too must have lost her dear ones like me. But I wonder whom she waits for? What she prays for? I wonder what people like me pray for, whose lives have been destroyed, and no hope of getting it back the way it was. Praying for the happiness of the world I don’t really care right now, I am not such a saintly soul. I haven’t done anyone any harm that’s what just matters to me, but I am not so self-giving to forget my sorrows and grief and start thinking of others wellbeing. So what should I pray for, I ask my friend the abstract cross, when all my hopes have been killed?
Weather was changing. The few unburnt tress which were left around the church were changing their colors. The changing hues made me feel good. It was a pleasant sight in place where each sight screamed of its tale of destruction. It’s surprising that how nature in its own ways can make humans feel good even in their gloomiest time. I described this to my abstract cross friend too. I narrated to the cross how after so many months , looking at those beautiful colors I felt a bit better , and teased my friend is that what people call miracle. And then I cried, I wanted to be with my family in this beautiful moment, I missed them more than ever.
Today I decided to ask her whom was she waiting for anyways. May be talking to someone will give her some relief. She arrived at the same time, waited, then the bell struck and she entered the church, finished her prayers, I was waiting for her outside. It was chilly, weather was changing too quick, and the colorful leaves were now shed. I saw her coming, if my mother would be alive may be she would look like her now I thought. I asked her if she would like to have some coffee in this cold weather. She readily agreed. I got her some coffee, while she waited staring at the main entrance.
As we were having coffee and disusing about general things about town rebuilding, I popped up my curiosity. She smiled, “Look at the entrance the little 5 year old is my grandchild and his mother my daughter and the man she is holding hand my son in law. He is more like a son to me.They wait there at the entrance as my grand child may be bit noisy inside. Some day he will be better behaved then we all can pray together.”
I couldn’t see anyone at the entrance. I was speechless. She continued,” I lost them in the war. My grandchild will never grow up to accompany me in the church; it’s an everlasting wait for me, and all I can do is to just imagine him playing near the entrance. And I pray that someday that image will fade, someday I will see beyond the entrance, someday I will let go my grief my pain, someday I will enter the church without the wait.”
And she left. I sat there looking blankly at my abstract cross friend.
Serendipity 