‘Baba!’ my ten years old son pulls my hand, ‘was it very difficult?’
‘What was very difficult, my dear?’ I smile into his curious dark eyes.
‘Was it very difficult becoming your own father?’
‘Let me tell you a story. A story of the time when God left the house, Devil played the fiddle and the people cried Hallelujah!’
I had separated from the caravan. When I woke up, the camels were nowhere to be seen. Only the steaming piles of their dung and the smoldering fires remained. The sun had risen in the desert sky – it was already midday. A few vultures sat at a distance, watching me with hungry eyes.
The house of God was in order. Bowing angels stood in humble attendance.
Death begged admittance, wrapped within dark shadows.
‘What do you want…..the most despised conception of mine?’ the Godly voice thundered.
‘I want….I want a heart!’ death stuttered.
Åsa was only six years old but very different from his age mates. He preferred his own company over that of his friends’. A conflict raged like a storm within him. Outside, he was all sunshine and flowers and butterflies; and inside, he was as dark the heavy rain clouds. Åsa was also highly intelligent but depressed. The bright flashes of intelligence lit the heavy clouds of depression at frequent intervals.