The mission

Write Tribe

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.” – Cinderella

The afternoon sun shone hard, making it really difficult for him to continue to walk. But walk he did, for today was hopefully the culmination of his mission of almost a year. If all went well, today would be the last day of his search and he would finally rest after a year’s struggle.

When he approached the row-house on the middle of the lane, he knew it. It was as if his heart was programmed to feel their presence. He knew it without a doubt that this was the home. He walked there slowly with heavy steps. He seemed to be dragging his feet now.

After what felt like ages, he stood in front of the home. The door was closed, but not locked. The windows were open but there were curtains covering them from inside the house. There was a small porch at the front of the house where two simple chairs had been kept. Suddenly feeling weary, he slowly climbed the single stair of the house and sat quietly on the chair. He closed his eyes in relief. This is it. The end of my journey, my mission, my efforts…

He wouldn’t say that it had started just a year ago. It started five years ago, on that fateful day when he left for the war. He had said his usual goodbye, assuring everyone that he would return on the next available holiday. But he hadn’t returned. Instead, he had found himself in the most compromising position that every soldier dreads – he was taken as a prisoner of war.

For the first few days he was barely conscious. Even now, in his sleep, he dreamt about the torture. His left leg, now with a permanent limp, twitched slightly, as if remembering those dreadful and miserable days of torture and grief. He had done the very thing that he hated – he had cried, a lot. The pain had been excruciating and humiliating. He had wished badly for death.

They tortured him for the first few days. When they couldn’t get anything from him, they decided to spare him. He was kept in confinement. It was a luxury, compared to the torture chamber. There were two blankets and two pair of clothes. He was allowed to take bath once in a day and had access to the toilet. He was provided simple and basic meals twice in a day. It was during this time that he developed a sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures of life.

The rest of his stay had been un-remarkable. He was not in a very high position in the army, so obviously, no one from his country’s government took the pains to find out whether he was alive or dead. He assumed that his family would have received news of his supposed death by now. He longed for his family badly. It was like a constant heartache that refused to leave him. He turned the ache into his motivation and inspiration. He kept himself strong by eating the food that was given to him and by doing some basic exercises and yoga every day. His left leg didn’t allow for much exercise, still he managed to keep himself active.

He made it a point to maintain good relations with everyone around him. The jailors, the superiors, the cell-mates and every staff with whom he came in contact… They were rough with him at first, then the roughness slowly turned to wary mistrust, then they started humiliating him and finally, when they realized his true nature, that he indeed didn’t mean them any harm and he just wanted to go back home, they started looking at him with respect and awe. That, in turn, led to a friendship never seen in any part of the world. They joked with him, shared lunch with him, treated him with special dishes on their festivals and slowly became an integral part of his life. In a way, he began to look at them as the family that had replaced his.

 Four years later, from the time he left his family for the war, he was released. There was no breaking news to report, there was no coverage, in fact, no one knew except for himself and the people with whom he had spent the last four years of his life. It was an emotional farewell as almost everyone came to hug him, including those who tortured him. They had felt the most, apologizing to him with folded hands and tears in their eyes. He had hugged them simply, for he was never the one to carry any grudge in his heart. At that moment of time, all that mattered was, he was finally going home.

But he realized that the home that he had been dreaming of, was now just an illusion. His family had moved from there. The neighbors were new and had no idea of who had been staying there and how long. His first reaction was despair, but he allowed it for only the first few minutes. He decided to go to his native place. He decided to move every stone and pillar on the earth to unite with his family.

His visit to the native place was a bit more successful though it didn’t bring immediate results. His family had moved from there too but without leaving any forwarding address. But thankfully, the neighbours were still the same. He stayed at their home for two months, gathering information from all the relatives of his family that the good neighbours knew. And here he realized the importance of a village, for here, the people seemed to make it their business to know everything about every family staying there. Contact numbers were preciously saved in pocket-sized books. Though his family had not provided any number (and here he cursed himself for delaying purchase of a mobile for them), the neighbours had contact numbers of many of his relatives who had visited his native place from time to time.

His first task in the village was to go to his bank and check his account balance. To his relief, he found that his savings were intact and the account had not been closed at all. They wouldn’t know how to close it… he thought fondly about his family. He withdrew some money and purchased a simple mobile phone. After getting a prepaid connection, he started calling every relative whose number was noted in the contact book of his neighbor. The first few calls didn’t yield any results. The relatives expressed shock that he was alive and then regret that his family didn’t know about him.

He had almost lost his hope when he made just another call and the relative mentioned that his family had now moved to the city where he was staying. He didn’t have much details, except the name of the area. He had met them once at a temple in the city, and that’s how he came to know that they had moved there.

After he ended the call, he sat back on the sofa with closed eyes, savoring the victorious sensation. But then he had felt a strange kind of weakness from within. To his utter dismay, he had fallen sick. It seemed to be some sort of a flu that was making rounds in the village. It took him almost three weeks to recover fully.

And finally he had taken a bus to the city where his family now lived. And here he was, sitting outside the house on the chair, wanting to, and yet not wanting to get up and ring the bell. The doubts plagued him like always – would they be alive? But he brushed the concern off. He knew they were alive. He would have felt in his heart if either one of them had left.

He got up slowly from the chair and rang the door-bell. The door opened after few seconds. His mom stood there, first looking at him with narrowed eyes and then with an expression of disbelief, joy and pain. For few seconds, nobody spoke. Then she held his arm and ushered him inside simply saying ‘I have made your favorite lemon-rice today. Go freshen up. I won’t allow you to have lunch without taking a bath.’ Her voice quivered with emotion as she said this.

“Did you remember to make it spicy?” He asked in a low voice, struggling to compose himself.

She just hugged him, not letting go of him for several minutes. Then she looked up at him and smiled. “Of course, I always make it spicy for you. I knew you would come, and you came!” The last three words came out in wonder and awe and he hugged her fiercely.

“Where is father?” He asked her.

She gestured to the verandah at the far end of the house. He walked slowly, taking in his parents’ new house. It was large and airy and felt like his old home.

He saw his father sitting on a chair and gazing out on the verandah. When he heard his footsteps, he turned around and saw him. The same emotions were displayed on his face too – disbelief, joy and pain. His father kept looking at him as he took another chair and sat beside him.

“Did you bring the newspaper? I have not read any paper since five years now.” His father said in a sorrowful tone.

He chuckled, with tears in his eyes. “No, I forgot. But I will bring it everyday, starting from tomorrow. Just like I used to always..”

His father nodded, wiping his eyes. Then he smiled at his son and shook his head. Father and son shared an easy laugh, each rejoicing in the happiness of the other’s company.

“Both of you boys come in and have lunch.” His mother’s strict command came over and they both got up, holding hands. His father noticed his limp and looked at him questioningly. When he shook his head, he accepted and let it go.

His mother had arranged everything on the dining table. She looked at him again in awe. “You are really here.” She said simply.

“Yes, and now I am not going anywhere. I am here to stay.” He said simply.

“Then you better find a wife for yourself or I will bring in a girl of my choice.” He laughed out loud at his mother’s usual threat. It was great to be back home.