Short story: Mother's love

"That's my ball!" She stretched out her hand... for the patched beach ball.

She seemed so close, her eyes... I've seen those brown eyes before. We have met some where. I'm pretty sure, we have met before.

She's so beautiful. Her fair, pink face... She was like dew, which sparkles in the morning... She's like a candle light, which lights a room... She's an angel...

"Excuse me, that's my ball!" She screamed again. I realized only that I have picked up the wrong one. But may be it is the right one; the one which is right for my life.

"Gosh, what's wrong with you? Are you deaf? I need my ball right now!"

"I'm sorry, I guess I have picked the wrong one." I unfolded my hand for her soft fingers to take her ball. She grabbed it though.

Frowning

"May I know your name..." She was frowning..."...Please?"

"None of your business" She was still screaming. "Her attitude was not as loving as her sight," I thought.

"Tanya! Tanya! Where the hell are you? Tanya!" A faded, dry voice of a young woman was heard just as I was going to ask the question again.

"Here we go again," she murmured. "Coming," she turned back but surprisingly, turned to me again.

"I'm Tanya, thanks for the ball," she made a corner of her loving lips rise. She smiled! Then, she ran away...

Daughter

It's my daughter. I know it's her. Some one out there, up in the sky, has sent her back to me, but through another woman's life. She was just the right age of my daughter when she closed her eyes for ever. It was about ten years ago.

Ten years ago, I had a daughter, a beautiful daughter, I sustained the pain of ten months, and bred the beautiful child to the world.

I dripped tears, on the day she was born. I cried with joy, with pride, and with fear. I feared for the destiny, for the future, and for her life. But she was a hope of raising my spirit. I thought she's the voice of my wisdom. And she was too, till her horrible death.

Beauty

Her beauty in life was dragged by a drunken car driver on a dark, rainy Sunday. The beauty of her life slipped away just as I held her tight to my heart. Her last breath is still in my memory.

From that dreaded day onwards, I was waiting. I was waiting for her to come. I come every Sunday to the beach, the closest place where she breathed her last, sit a side, and wait for my daughter to come back to me again, for I knew she would come to me to ask for her last breath, which she poured to my heart on that day.

Hand

Today she came. My daughter came and stretched her sweet hand towards me. I felt as if she was asking me for her last breath. "Though she came to life through the soul of another, she saw the light of this world through my prayers. So, she's mine, she's my daughter," I thought again and again, because that thought raised my essence and gave a silver thread of a joy to my heart.

Since my daughter's death, I came to the beach with hope, the hope of meeting my daughter again. The daughter who came into being through my soul. From today, I will come to the beach, again, with a hope; a hope of meeting my daughter again. The daughter who came into being through my prayers!

Irangika Nawaratna, American College of Higher Education, Kandy.

War and "Peace"

It was a busy day for the General Hospital staff. There had been a bomb blast and casualties were filling in. There was a big rush at the entrance of the hospital. Doctors and nurses scurried around, treating the wounded.

Among the badly injured was a little boy aged around four. He had a severe head injury with a damaged skull. His situation seemed fatal.

The operation

The boy was taken to the operation theatre in a split second, where his operation took place immediately. After a tedious operation of nine long hours, Dr. Nadarajah was able to save the boy's life.

It was a miracle.

The miracle

The miraculous salvation was the main topic of conversation among the public for the next fortnight. Various newspapers related the story of the "boy who lived." Dr. Nadarajah was called for an interview regarding "the miracle."

The interview

The first question posed was, "Dr. Nadarajah, what did you feel while performing the nine-hour long operation to save the boy's life?"

Dr. Nadarajah answered, "He strongly reminded me of the little brother I lost, I only concentrated on saving his life. I was determined to do it and....... I did it."

The next question came; "Would you mind telling us how you lost your little brother?"

The doctor remained silent for a moment, then he answered, holding back his tears, "It's a long story my dear, it's a long story."

The untold story

It was the year 1987, Dr. Nadarajah was then a school boy. He lived a simple but happy life with his parents and brother in a village in Batticaloa. His brother Rajesh was merely three years old.

The destiny

Rajesh was taken ill with Dengue fever. Since there was no other mode of transportation, they decided to take him to the hospital by bus.

As Nadarajah had to attend school, he stayed behind while his parents took Rajesh to the hospital.

They never came back home; their corpses did, along with the shocking news, "The bus they were travelling has been ambushed by terrorists."

The funeral

The three dead bodies, lined up in a row, was the worst sight Nadarajah ever saw in his life. The few relatives they had were all present at the funeral. Some government representatives and members of Non-governmental organizations were also present, but they didn't do anything more than heaping Nadarajah up with promises; which were never kept.

Growing-up

Nadarajah was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who already had three kids in their family. They had more weight on their shoulders than they could bear and Nadarajah tried his best not to become another burden for his poor aunt and uncle.

He worked hard. He found a part-time job and engaged in it after-school. He came home past dinner time, tired and famished. But he studied with utmost interest, irrespective of his difficulties. He had a clear aim and he didn't let any debacle to surrender him.

The reward

His hard work and determination was rewarded by his examination results. He was the only one from his school to get selected for the university. He wondered what his parents would have said if they were alive.

He went home and cried his heart out, until the dawn of the next day.

The interview

........"We are very sorry to hear your story. I am sure the public will be ever grateful to you for saving an innocent life." "Well, we are here to help each other, aren't we? It is immaterial whether you are Sinhalese or a Tamil or of any other community, because we are all humans!"

A few months later

The excitement over the miracle died out in the matter of a few weeks. Only a few people talked about it now. A few more months lapsed....

His name hit the newspaper headlines once again. But this time it was a quite different story; "Doctor Nadarajah has been shot and killed by a sniper."

Epilogue

Children losing parents,

Parents losing children,

The war is a dark cloud,

With no silver lining.

Keshinie Samarasekara, Homagama.