My House

Baby squealed when the fireworks began, bringing my attention to her laying cuddled in my arms. Her eyes, widened in excitement, reflected the Diwali celebrations outside. The two of us were the only ones inside the house. I didn’t want Baby anywhere near the crackers, even though the ones we had bought weren’t over the top loud. Besdes, it gave me a reason to stay inside because I was one scaredy cat when it came to fireworks. I remember being afraid of the noise as a child and the fear that one would come hurtling in my direction. A cracker that is, not a child. And so I stayed inside with Baby. Although looking down at her face I think she would have been perfectly fine outside. She’s certainly braver than her sister. Everyone at the orphanage calls me Sister. Everyone except Baby because she can’t talk yet. And we still haven’t decided on a name for her. When she came to us, she was wrapped in a tiny blue blanket and for some reason I wanted to call her Blue. Blue for the blanket, Blue for the color of her eyes and Blue for the sadness that engulfed the house she had been dropped outside of. This house. My house. The Orphanage. But we soon discovered that Blue was no sad baby. She quickly became the life of the place, slowly and steadily dispelling the perpetual darkness that shrouded this place. She managed to do in days what I had been unable to in the past many years; make the other children happy. I don’t know if someone’s ever said that smiling is like riding a bike, but it is. Even if years of penury will make you lose your smile, it will come back instantly when life gives you a reason to do so. And it’s like you never stopped smiling.

Perhaps I should name her Bliss?

Our Home Bakery kicked off and we managed to clear all our outstanding bills, however we were still making ends meet. Not unlike last year, this Diwali too would have been one without the decorations and fireworks. If it hadn’t been for the letter I received last week. I patted my pocket to feel the folded piece of paper. It was still there.

Or perhaps Bless?

I smiled just as Baby made a coo sound. ‘Do you want to hear a story Baby?’ She answered by drooling around another coo sound. ‘Okay then,’ I wiped the drool off her face and started to rock her in my arms.

Once upon a time in a Kingdom far, far away, the Queen sat alone, in her chambers, sad and defeated. A cruel plague was upon them, sickening the princesses. Her army was now only half strong, scores of villagers were affected. The Alchemist, the Doctor and the Nurse worked round the clock and yet no solution surfaced. They feared it was a curse and that this would mark the downfall of the Kingdom they knew and adored. The youngest Princess, the wisest of them all, thwarted the claims and led them to the wall, behind which she played as a child, there is a wishing Well that fulfills all desires. Before you dismiss me, try it yourself, ask for healing and the Well will respect. They gathered around it, singing prayers while the princess drew water from the Well in a bucket, golden. She poured a glass to each one in attendance and had the guards distribute to others in the village. The next day a crowd like no other, gathered in the main hall, all hail the Princess they said, as the Queen stood by her, proud and tall. The Well was a secret gift from her late father. If you have faith, help will arrive. If you give up, you’ll fall even before the enemy strikes.

Baby let out a yawn, too big for her tiny face. I couldn’t help but nuzzle that button nose against my cheek. A quick check of the backyard through the window told me everybody was behaving, so I decided to bring Baby up to her room. She was still half awake so I lay her in her crib and pulled out the letter from my pocket. ‘Okay, I’ll read it to you one more time.’

I was afraid to return home, knowing you still lived here. I often thought if we ever ran into each other, would you look the other way? My dad told me you ran an orphanage and it wasn’t doing well. I have been meaning to visit but was held back by what-ifs. But the other day, when I was at a meeting at TLBB with my new business partner (the owner of TLBB), I saw you at a table at the other end of the restaurant. You were with some guy, who chucked a stack of papers on the table and walked out, leaving you crying. I was halfway to your table when I thought I was perhaps the last person you’d want to see in the state you were in. And so, I chased the guy instead, finding him in the parking lot. He told me he was your agent who was no longer going to represent you because you were no good. What a joke. I remember the stories you used to write and they are still my favorite. When I returned to the restaurant, you had left but your manuscript was still there. You’ve always hated someone reading something that didn’t belong to them and your manuscript certainly qualified but I couldn’t stop myself. And I’m glad I read it. We want to publish your story. I am sending this letter instead of showing up at your doorstep to give you the space to decide. Please call me at the number below. And until then, please accept 20000 cash (enclosed) as donation to the orphanage until royalties from your book(s) start pouring in.

PS. I still have the little black book you gifted me on my sixteenth birthday. That’s what I’ve named my restaurant after.

PPS. Even if you don’t call, I will come by after Diwali. To return your manuscript and have the conversation we should have had before I left.

Baby started to snore just as I reached the end of the letter. I switched the lights off and closed the door behind me. Downstairs, the children were still untired from the celebrations but it was time for dinner and then bed. And then time to make the call to my best friend from school.