By Ojaswani Saxena
I don't remember my age, but I am in class 8,
It was a normal day, but my father took a half day today,
He looked tensed, maybe he lost some important paper again,
Shouldn't you ask for help?
Mumma knows everything well.
I asked him what teacher asked,
"Tell me, What's left after a war?"
He didn't listen, so I asked again,
And he says, "Aashi, please go to your bed,
Not today."
I can sense from the voices and tones,
From the little whispering and my worst fears,
From the air which smells like a bad messenger,
Danger was knocking on my door.
He knows the address of my home,
But how?
Are there any signs I missed before?
Maybe I was wrong, I repeat it like a prayer,
All the doors were shut,
I took a peek from tiny holes,
Puzzle pieces of my father's eyes flashes,
But why are they teary?
My father never cries.
Those eyes look synonymous to foreign bodies,
My mother catches my glance,
And I wonder how she sees right through me, every time.
She called me, "Come here soan chiriya."
By a nickname she used, when she was utterly happy with me.
By her look I believed,
I was safe, my prayers worked.
She hugged me tight and told me she loved me too much,
I don't understand what's happening.
Are they called tears of joy?
But I can sense something was wrong,
But they made it seem alright.
In the meantime, all the family gathered,
It wasn't a festive day.
And there were voices and noises,
But four words of horror, took away my ground.
It wasn't love, they murmured,
They say, it was her last stage.
I learned the footsteps of my mother with her payal,
In the back of my mind.
But I hear nothing, when she comes towards me and explains me all logical reasons.
And I say to her,
"Mumma, but I am 14, I'm in class 8",
"I love my family and you know I topped again."
"Please wake me up from a dream,
I don't wanna lose you, I'm too young for this."
She holds me tightly, I can smell her,
But what if I can't again?
She holds my hand and says when she lost her mother,
Grandma gave her, her God, who listens to her always.
Light always enters in tiniest leaks,
I can always hear you, through her.
I was only 14, my mother was my God,
'Her God' became my God.
When turned 18, she stopped aging.
A good dream that vanishes in a blink.
But you promise to remember it forever.
It's a price you pay for 18 summers in heaven.
I'm 22 now, I can't remember the details,
What's left are only tears,
Who came home when they heard her name.
I'm still in grief and bargained with her God about everything,
I cried, fought and shouted too.
Asked many questions like,
Why bad things happen to the people we love?
He whispered nothing!
I never saw wars in real life,
Just glimpses in movies and books.
But now I know, every day, any person who lost their loved one,
Fought and lost a war,
Like two worlds collides and expands.
And what's left after a war?
An orphan and 'her God'.
And her god believes,
Everything finds a medium to return back home,
It's the law of nature after all.