Little Messiah
She had stood by the window, every afternoon, for the last five years. Everyday, she saw the children run down from their homes on the mountain. From her window, the mountain seemed like an ominous barrier, but when the children emerged from it, it became a faraway fairy land. They lived in the villages strewn across the region. She watched them, as they laughed, played and lived moments in a way that she had long forsaken. In her lonely life, they were her cherished sustenance.
Her name was Martha. After her marriage, she left Delhi and moved in with Haider. Haider used to come down to Delhi to sell his paintings, and they met in one of his exhibitions. Somehow, falling in love with him changed everything. His canvas spoke of the desolate, rustic colours of the land. His indifference to everything urban fascinated her. Like his paintings, he was a mystery waiting to be unravelled. Suddenly, her Phd thesis on Metafiction, the scholarship she had won from one of the premier institutions of U.K, her dreams of making it big in the academic world paled beside the intriguing colours of Haider’s canvas.
Five years later, standing all alone in an empty house, the vibrant colours of the canvas now appeared to her in shades of grey. The desolateness without had moved within.
She was brought back from her reminiscences by a sharp knock on the door. One of the kids, named Ali, was thirsty. While he gulped down the sweets and a glass of water, she spoke to him about his family and friends. Then, suddenly, he asked her,
“I have seen you watching us everyday, would you want to play with us?”
She was taken aback and said, “Why would you let me join your game?”
“Why not?” said Ali, “you know, even my sister use to stand all alone because the boys did not let her join their game, but see now she is playing with us. I convinced them. Come on, I will teach you the rules of the game. It’s difficult at first, but with me helping you, you will never lose!”
Martha locked the doors of her house and joined Ali and his friends on the field. For the first time, in five years, Martha could see her own canvas again. The colours were still indistinct, but the journey had begun. She had found her messiah, in desolation…