Story

Story 

By Rajul Tiwari 

(Dedicated to late Rani, my student)

Inside the closed lid of my pen, I hear a sobbing. It is in union with my hand, that it turns into a throbbing. It is when, it starts bleeding ink that I discover a little story, so tiny that in a drop... it would sink. A story which has cocooned inside it so long that it forgot how to "unfold". A story which was so much unloved that it hated birth. A story which took so much time to realise the lamp's glare and at last, it gave in and opened layer by layer. 

A story which has a poor princess in rags but no witch followed neither the love of a charming prince bestowed. A princess who had not attention of the death and neither life loved her. A princess who would come and peep through my window when I taught my son... When he would make some mistake, she would smile and answer "o-n-e is one". When I offered her food, she said "No, I can live without it but teach me to read... if you should" . Rani learnt English to the extent that she reads novels, she sits on a book-stand with growling bowels. I felt uneasy to see her filling her tummy with words, in the summer afternoon when we would eat ice-cream or yogurt! One fine morning she cheerfully said "Ma'm I have something to write. Before, I knew words, I used to read the world... and everything was a story to me, now when I know them well, everything else is boring to me. I know wisdom now but I have not gained it yet. So, I will write about how not knowing things is wise, I will write that feelings don't go beyond knowledge and wisdom combined... So, if you decide to gain, gain it till you reach this wall, or be ready to feel more and endure a fall. I will write about you, who taught me to be true!" I smiled and said,"You don't know, but you have reached that far, feelings don't affect you and truth has unknowingly raised your bar.." To my shock all light in her eyes went away, she said,"Oh then its over, then I must go!" Whole night I kept thinking about her, why did she say so? ... I searched for her near the book-stand and heard from someone, that she passed away with a pen in hand...