“They called them messiahs of the broken birds—healers who could mend any wounded soul except their own.” A deeply touching poem about the unsung heroes who dedicate their lives to healing others—the counselors, caregivers, and compassionate souls who mend broken spirits only to face the inevitable loneliness when those they’ve helped move on.
“I slipped out of my mother’s sleeping arms that summer afternoon and wandered into a backyard full of anacondas, deserts, and a talking turtle who had been waiting centuries to teach me about God.”
Introduction
A tender story capturing the magical world of childhood through the eyes of four-year-old Tipu, who befriends a wise ancient turtle in his backyard. This enchanting tale explores profound spiritual questions through innocent wonder, as the turtle gently guides the child to understand that God can be seen and felt through love, dreams, and the beauty of everyday life. Blending magical realism with philosophical depth, the story celebrates the unique perspective of dreamers who can perceive divine presence in nature’s smallest details - from squirrels and “anaconda” earthworms to warm maternal embraces. A beautiful exploration of how children naturally connect with spirituality and the sacred wisdom found in simple conversations between generations.
When I was very young, probably four or five, I was friends with a very ancient turtle. He lived in our backyard and talked to me. He told me many stories of times, long past and people, long dead. He was wise, very wise and the mind of a child was no match to his wisdom. But he talked to me because he loved me. And he loved me because I could listen to him for long with my pupils enlarged in astonishment and my brow knitted in curiosity.
It was a quiet summer afternoon when we first met. My mother was fast asleep, and I slipped out of her arms very quietly. I missed her warm, sweet smell, but outside, the adventures were waiting for me. Adventures have always waited for me.
It must have been a large house. But to me, it looked enormous. There were rainforests hidden deep within the rose bushes, and anacondas wriggled freely in the moist soil. My mother called them earthworms, but I knew they were anacondas. There was a desert in one corner of the backyard - my very own Sahara. My mother thought it was just construction sand, which was left behind by the workers. Adults can be so wrong sometimes. To me, it was a desert, complete with dunes, and when I planted some saplings, there was an oasis too.
I looked up and peeked at the golden sun from under the shadow of my palm. He was furious with the world but was smiling down at me. His golden rays kissed my cheeks and whispered in my ears, ‘Go ahead, son. The adventure is waiting for you.’
‘But it is so hot and you are ferocious today.’ I replied while readjusting my palm.
‘Not for you. You are a dreamer. For you, I will always be kind.’ The sun crackled a deep-throated laughter.
Reassured, I started looking around for adventure.
Suddenly, a squirrel hiding in the mango tree caught my attention. ‘Come down little one. I want to play with your soft bushy tail.’ I called her down kindly.
‘Always be kind. Kindness goes a long way.’ My grandfather said to me often.
The squirrel came down. I called her Sweetie, and we had always been on friendly terms. She shared her nuts with me, and in return, I brushed her soft tail. It was softer than my father’s shaving brush and was of a most marvelous silver-grey color.
‘Hey, have you heard the news? The turtle has woken up.’ She sat on my shoulder and squeaked into my ear.
‘Huh! Turtle? Which turtle?’ I was surprised.
‘The turtle in the backyard, silly.’ Sweetie informed me while breaking a nut and offering me half of it.
‘There is a turtle in our backyard? Wow!’ It was marvelous news to me.
‘There has always been a turtle in the backyard. But he had been asleep for the last few hundred years or so.’ She chattered on, ‘Go meet him. Pay your respects. He would certainly like that.’
So I ran to the backyard, but I couldn’t see any turtle.
‘Mr Turtle! Mr Turtle! Where are you?’ I hesitatingly called.
I could hear nothing in response. All was silent, and the brick floor was shimmering in the bright sunlight.
‘Look closely son. He is having his siesta under the rose bushes.’ The sun whispered to me.
‘Where? I cannot see him.’ I desperately searched under the bushes.
The sun laughed quietly and shifted a little. The shadows changed, and I started to see something that was never there before. There was a mottled, hard, and curved shell - all dark green and grey. I poked at it with a small stick, and it moved.
‘Who disturbs me?’ A strange, low voice inquired.
‘I am sorry, sir. I just wanted to meet you and say hi!’ I said very, very respectfully. Turtles were serious business, and I knew my manners.
‘Hmm! Once you grow old, you will realize something very important.’ The turtle said in a tired voice, gradually opening up his small, deep eyes and looking at me. ‘Nothing in this life is more delicious than a siesta in summer afternoons.’
‘I apologize for disturbing your siesta. I am really sorry. You can go back to sleep. We will chat some other time.’ I tried to withdraw.
‘There is something else you will realize once you grow old. No time is better than now.’ He smiled at me kindly. ‘Sit down and let me have a closer look at you.’
I sat down with turtle under the rose bushes. It was very pleasant there. The dark soil was wet, and the anacondas were squirming happily. I prodded one with my finger. It was all moist and soft.
‘Now don’t do that. He doesn’t like it.’ The turtle admonished me softly. I withdrew my finger. But the turtle was wrong. The anaconda didn’t care.
‘What are you doing outside, at this ungodly hour?’ The turtle asked me gently.
‘What is wrong with this hour? This is the hour of adventure.’ I was confused.
‘You should get out at another time. It is hot.’ He looked up at the bright sun.
‘No time is better than now.’ I repeated his words, and the turtle laughed. It was a deep rattling sound, pleasant to hear. It was a warm laughter coming straight from his belly.
‘My mother is asleep and I am free. There are lions to hunt and desert gypsies to dance with.’ I explained politely after his laughter died down.
‘Aha!’ he grinned. ‘We have a dreamer here.’
‘Is it bad being a dreamer?’ I asked him. My grandfather always said it was better to act than dream.
‘Bad? Absolutely not. Being a dreamer is rather marvelous.’ The turtle winked at me, ‘It is the dreamers who change the world.’
‘Change the world? But how?’ I found his comment very strange.
‘Dreamers can see things that others can’t, and dreamers can sense things that others can’t. Dreamers can hear things that others can’,t and dreamers can do things that others can’t.’ The turtle said slowly.
It was more of a song than a statement. I loved songs. They were simple, yet meaningful.
‘Can dreamers see God?’ I asked him. It was a very important question, as my father always said that God was invisible.
‘Oh yes! They can. You can.’ The turtle raised an eyebrow.
‘Nope, I cannot see Him. Nobody can.’ I pursed my lips determinedly.
‘Hmm! What do you think God looks like?’ He asked an easy question.
‘He is big - bigger than everything. He must be a giant because He is all mighty and powerful. He moves His finger and the earth moves and the mountains crumble.’ I could go on and on, but the strange expression in the turtle’s eyes halted me.
‘Now who told you that?’ He asked concernedly.
‘My teacher has told me that.’ I said while visualizing my teacher’s deep green eyes and golden hair, which made a halo around her lovely oval face. She was probably my very first crush.
‘But she didn’t say what God looked like. I added the giant part myself.’ I said proudly.
‘Of course, you did because you are a dreamer.’ The turtle laughed again.
‘Can I feel your belly when you laugh?’ I asked the turtle hesitatingly. Touching somebody’s belly was not something I normally did. But I wanted to feel the warm vibrations.
‘Oh yes, you can, my boy. You can do anything that makes you happy.’ He answered with a jolly laugh, and I gently placed my palm against his belly. Those were good vibrations. They traveled up my arm and reached my heart. They tickled my heart, and I laughed too.
‘God is somebody you can easily see and feel.’ The turtle finally said after we both finished laughing.
‘How do you feel about your mother? I mean, what if she gets up when your eyes are closed? Can you feel her leaving?’ He asked.
The turtle had asked a very strange question. I had never thought about it. So I closed my eyes and imagined myself lying in my mother’s embrace. And then the answer came to me, as clear as sunlight kissing a brilliant red rose.
‘I know, I know.’ I answered excitedly. ‘When she gets up and leaves, her warmth and fragrance leave too.’
‘Exactly!’ The turtle nodded with satisfaction. ‘Now tell me, what makes your mother, your mother?’
He saw the confusion dancing in my eyes and so repeated his question. ‘What special quality makes her your mother?’
‘She gave birth to me. I came out of her tummy.’ I was wise, way beyond my years.
‘Yes, true. That is basic. But what quality makes her your mother?’ He asked again.
‘I guess that would be her love. She loves me no matter what. She loves me even when I break a glass. Of course, she is unhappy for a while and frowns, but she still loves me.’ I answered after really thinking hard.
‘Yes!’ the turtle sounded jubilant. ‘Her love makes her your mother. You see the love in her and sense it.’
‘So? What’s that got to do with God?’ I was a bit perplexed.
‘That’s got to do everything with God.’ He said matter-of-factly. ‘He created you, me, your mother, and everything that exists around us. And He loves us all unconditionally.’
‘So my mother is God too?’ I thought I was finally drawing a connection.
‘Hmm! Let’s just say that God is greater than her and different from her.’ The turtle was alert now. He was very alert and was looking at me with eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom.
‘Different how?’ I was mentally ready to start a comparison.
‘Different because, unlike your mother and mine, He runs through us and through everything around us. He makes you sense your mother’s warmth, and He makes you smell her warm fragrance. He makes you move, and He makes you stop. We are alive when He breathes inside us, and we fall dead when He leaves us. He is the sun, the moon, and the stars, and He is the rain forest, the desert, and the earthworms.’
‘Not earthworms. They are anacondas.’ I rudely interrupted him.
‘Yes, I am sorry. He is the Anacondas and not the earthworms.’ The turtle corrected himself with a kind and affectionate smile. ‘And most importantly, God makes you dream. He makes you dream so that you can see Him and sense Him in all His glory and warmth.’
‘Tipu? Tipu? Where are you?’ My mother’s voice echoed in the distance.
‘Oh shit! She is awake.’ I cursed and then suddenly stopped. Cursing was bad, and it was especially bad in front of a grown-up. You could get spanked for that.
‘No problem. You can always curse in front of me.’ The turtle winked at me knowingly.
‘Will I see you again?’ I asked while brushing off the seat of my shorts.
‘Oh yes. I will always be here. We will talk more and then some more. We will keep on talking till it is your time to move on.’ The turtle said while settling back down comfortably in the moist soil.
‘Hey, there you are. How many times have I told you not to play outside at this hour?’ My mother asked with a frown.
I ran to her and hugged her legs. She smiled and hugged me back. We started walking towards the cool shade under the verandah. I looked back and waved at the turtle. I could not see him because the sun had shifted again. But I was sure he could see me.
‘Who are you waving at?’ My mother looked back but couldn’t see anybody.
‘I made a new friend today. I was waving at him.’ I smiled at her.
‘A new friend? Who is he?’ She sounded a bit worried.
‘A turtle!’ I happily informed her.
‘A turtle?’ She looked surprised for a moment. But then she bent down and kissed my sweaty forehead. ‘You are a dreamer, my son. You will always be a dreamer.’ She had seen the happiness in my eyes, and she was happy that I was happy. I was happy because I was a dreamer and I could see God.
I had been living in Room 106 for as long as I could remember. The room had soft-padded, pale green walls and a white ceiling. There were neither windows nor ventilators - only a single door, which was always locked from the outside. A single fluorescent light, right in the middle of the ceiling, kept flashing at all times.
I hated that white light with a cold and seething vengeance. The brightness was merciless as it eroded the peaceful darkness behind my eyelids. And the light burnt with a noise - a humming noise like there was a swarm of angry bees, lurking and hiding behind the light; ready to appear and attack me when the light was switched off. I hated the light but wanted it to stay on forever. My fear of the bees greatly exceeded my hatred of the light.
What was that sad, lonely place? I had simply no idea how I happened to end there. Where in the world was this place located - which street in what city? I did not know. I had been living there for so long that I had forgotten so many important things like ‘when’, ‘what’, or ‘where’. I guess that’s what happens when we stay too long in one place. We become trees. We know ourselves and are aware of our own existence. But we do not know the exact location at which we stand. It is a terrible state of existence or perhaps blissful – terrible because we lack context, and blissful because not knowing everything is bliss.
Thrice a day, like Swiss clockwork, a small drawer within the door opened up silently and someone slid in a tray laden with food and medicines. I used to eat the food and take the red, green and white tablets without fail. Why did I do that? The answer is fear. I did it because I was so very afraid.
I was afraid because when I refused to eat or when I flushed the tablets down the toilet, strange, white-clad men barged into my cell and took me away. They dragged me to another small room and tied me to a narrow metallic bed. A strange contraption was put around my head. One man slightly nodded to someone beyond my field of view; and then the agony began.
Burning white sparks filled my eyeballs and seared my brain. I wanted to scream, but I could not. I wanted to move but I could not. I felt a thousand blades inflicting cuts all over my body, simultaneously.
The pain did not come in waves. It came and it stayed. It throbbed in and stung each one of the millions of my nerves and it felt as if I was being skinned alive. Muddy tears streamed down my cheeks, while my eyes remained wide open - trying to see the invisible demons of pain. Then suddenly the pain stopped its cruel and merciless onslaught. But the memory of the pain kept on echoing inside my head. I involuntarily relaxed my bladder and felt the warm wetness spreading beneath my buttocks and legs. There was no embarrassment or shame. There was only relief and fear - relief from that terrible pain and fear of the pain, making a decision to return unannounced.
I did not live alone in Room 106. I lived there with my best friend, Jojo. His existence brought me joy. In fact, Jojo has been with me as far as I can remember. He has been like my own shadow - following me wherever I go and being with me wherever I am.
If it were not for Jojo, I would have killed myself a long time ago. He refused to let me go, no matter how hard I tried.
‘Not yet, my friend….not yet!’ He cuddled me softly while snatching the razor blade away from my strong grip.
‘Why the hell not?’ I screamed. ‘I just want to leave.’
‘It is not yet time for you to leave.’ He patted my shoulder, ‘You have to learn and understand more.’
‘Learn and understand?’ I laughed. ‘You must be out of your fucking mind. How can I learn or understand anything within the confines of these padded walls? I cannot see the outside world. I cannot hear it.’
‘Yes, true….very true indeed.’ He nodded his head wisely, ‘But this will not be so for long. A day will come soon when you will learn your final lesson.’
‘The final lesson?’ I asked him sarcastically. ‘Learning this final lesson will be your last gift to the universal conscience. You cannot leave before this one final act.’ He said, while smiling kindly.
When Jojo stopped making sense, I often thought of believing what Doctor Morrison once told me.
‘Jojo is not real, Tom. You think he is real, but he is not. He is just a figment of your lonely imagination.’
‘Please tell me, my good Doctor, what is your definition of ‘real’?’ I asked him, while enjoying watching the sunlight, filtering through the mosaic glass panes.
‘Reality is a mutually agreed-upon observation. Jojo could be real if we both could see and observe him. But I cannot see him despite your insistence that he is sitting right beside you.’ The doctor had his back to the window and the sunlight was making a hallo around his bald shiny head.
‘Perhaps it is just a matter of difference in perspectives.’ I reflected while exchanging a secret smile with Jojo. We both enjoyed those discussions very much.
‘Difference in perspectives?’ The Doctor removed his rimless spectacles and started polishing the lens with his white handkerchief - a favourite pastime of his. ‘What do you mean by the difference in perspectives?’
‘What if you didn’t know this was a pencil?’ I said while picking up a lead pencil from the small rectangular vase. I rolled it within the grasp of my fingers and then pointed it at the Doctor - the sharp graphite tip directed right at the middle of his bewildered eyes. ‘What do you see exactly from your perspective?’
‘I see something meaningless - a small black dot surrounded by a pale wood-colored octagon.’ The Doctor said, but I could see faint shadows of fear lurking deep within the Doctor’s blue eyes.
‘Exactly!’ I chuckled. ‘You see something meaningless, but I know I am holding a pencil in my hand.’ ‘Jojo is not a pencil, Tom.’ The doctor said while standing up. ‘I am afraid you have to stay with us a bit longer than I expected.
But Doctor Morrison was wrong. Jojo was real - as real as my own self. That no one else was able to see him was perhaps because of a difference in perspectives.
I first met Jojo the day the old turtle in our backyard died. I was sitting on the grass, cradling the dead turtle’s head on my lap. I was caressing his cold, mottled shell and was crying big, fat tears of loss.
‘What is wrong? Why are you crying?’ I felt the comfort of his shadow before hearing his words.
I looked up. The sun was in my eyes and I couldn’t see his face clearly. So I squinted under the palm of my right hand. Slowly and gradually, his face began making sense. A warm smile under two dark and shiny eyes. The eyes were under the umbrella of thick bushy eyebrows and unkempt hair. He was a little older than me, but dressed and looked exactly like me.
‘I am crying because the turtle doesn’t talk to me anymore.’ I explained from behind a grey mist of tears. ‘He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t laugh. There is something wrong with him, and I can’t seem to put it right, no matter how hard I try.’
‘The turtle will never walk and talk again. He will neither laugh nor smile.’ The boy said in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘But why……?’ I felt a fresh torrent of tears ready to burst forth. ‘What is wrong with him?’
‘Nothing is wrong with him. He is just dead.’ He announced.
‘What is ‘dead’?’ I asked. It was a new word in my vocabulary.
‘Dead is when a living being meets death. And death is when a living being completes one journey of life.’ He explained while sitting down on the grass beside me.
‘One journey of life?’ I was surprised. ‘Are there more than one journey?’
‘Oh yes!’ He smiled at me. ‘There are countless journeys of life - one coming after another. We live to die one day and we die to live another day.’
‘I hate death.’ I said after a while. ‘I hate it because it makes me sad.’
‘Death is not a time to be sad or cry.’ He laughed a small laugh. ‘Instead, it is to be rejoiced and celebrated.’
‘And why should I do that?’ I felt offended. ‘Death has taken away my best friend.’
‘Life doesn’t end with death. It flows on along the river of time. It flows from one being to another - to be lived and experienced and to be felt and sensed anew.’ He explained kindly.
‘And where has the turtle’s life flowed to?’ I asked with hope overcoming my sadness.
‘Perhaps it has flowed into me. Perhaps I was once the turtle.’ He placed his hand over mine, and I sensed warmth.
‘I called him Jojo.’ I pointed at the dead turtle. ‘I like this name.’ He smiled. ‘You can call me Jojo, too. I will be honored.’
‘It’s good that you no longer want to kill yourself.’ Doctor Morrison smiled at me.
‘Yes!’ I nodded my head. ‘Jojo has convinced me that my purpose has still not been fulfilled.’
‘And what is your purpose?’ The doctor asked, inscribing notes in his yellow notepad.
‘My purpose is to understand and learn the final lesson.’ I explained with a smile.
‘It is a good enough reason.’ The doctor said without looking up from his yellow notepad. ‘Is there any other reason?’
‘Yes! I am also afraid.’ I shuddered at the lingering memory of pain.
‘Afraid of what?’ He asked.
‘Pain!’ I replied.
The doctor looked up but didn’t say anything.
‘I am not afraid of the pain alone.’ I elaborated. ‘Pain comes and passes through me like wind passes through the leaves. It is chaos when the cold wind of pain blows, but when you stop focusing on the chaos, the chaos of pain becomes the order of peace.’
‘That’s indeed an interesting approach.’ The Doctor looked up at me thoughtfully.
‘I am only afraid of the pain that comes along, holding the hand of fear. Fear is what stops chaos from turning into order.’ I emphasized. The doctor didn’t respond to my comment, so I looked outside the window of his office. The bright sun reminded me of a summer afternoon from somewhere far away in my past.
‘You are crying again?’ Jojo asked me kindly.
That particular summer afternoon, I was Tarzan of the Apes and was trying to climb the mango tree in our backyard. The climb was going quite well, actually. It would have been perfect had I not tried to stand on a branch and yelled like Tarzan. It was in the middle of that jubilant yell that the branch snapped, and I fell onto hard ground, some six feet below.
‘Yes!’ I said, holding my bleeding knee. ‘Can’t you see I am bleeding?’
‘Yes, you are bleeding.’ He peered closely at my wound. ‘Does it hurt much?’
‘No! It does not.’ I retorted. ‘It feels like a fairy has kissed me.’
‘Haha!’ Jojo threw back his hairy head and laughed.
‘Don’t laugh, please.’ I requested him while snorting away my angry tears.
‘Okay! I won’t.’ He grew serious. ‘But why don’t you tell me how it all happened?’
‘I was trying to be Tarzan………………’ I started and told him all about my burning desire to climb the tree, the intoxicating thrill when I was standing on the branch and yelling, and finally, my hurtful fall.
‘Hmm! Did you like being Tarzan?’ He asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
‘Oh yes!’ I nodded in excitement. ‘I loved it.’
Then we both looked at each other and laughed our heads off at the hilarity of the circumstances.
‘Does it hurt now?’ He asked after a while.
‘Huh?’ I checked the wound. It had stopped bleeding. ‘Not as much, I guess.’
‘Do you know why your pain has faded away?’ Jojo asked.
‘No, I do not know.’ I was bewildered. ‘You tell me.’ ‘It doesn’t hurt anymore because you stopped focusing on the pain.’ He held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. ‘Once you ignore the pain and once you refuse to become the playground of pain, it moves away.’
‘I think there is no longer any need to keep you locked up.’ Doctor Morrison smiled at me. ‘We have a wonderful room available and will be shifting you there today.’
‘And will we be………?’ I hesitatingly asked. ‘Will we be able to walk in the garden?’
‘Oh of course yes, Tom. You will be able to walk as much and for as long as you want to.’ The Doctor acted as if he didn’t notice my using the word ‘we’.
The new room was perfect. There was even a large window providing a lovey view of the lush green, hospital grounds outside. It was heavily barred of course, but it didn’t matter. Me and Jojo, we both loved it.
Life was settling into a routine once again. But this time the door wasn’t locked from the outside and there was no cold silence. Instead, the nurses’ duty station was just down the hall and I could often hear them playing music.
Ah sweet music! It reminded me of the times gone by and all that was once beautiful. It reminded me of the people that I once loved and those whom I had lost.
Then one day I met Barbara. She was a very old and sweet woman who lived next door and kept on smiling constantly. But when her demons came visiting, she transformed into a wretch, afraid of even her own image in the mirror.
Her frail body writhed in agony while the nursing staff forcefully held her down and injected her with strong sedatives. The visit of the demons took its toll and she stayed on bed for the next few days.
‘What is wrong with her?’ I once asked Timi, the kindest and most communicative of all the nurses. ‘Schizophrenia!’ She whispered back. ‘Just like yours but far more intense and darker.’
One rainy night I was jolted out of my medicine-induced sleep.
‘Wake up Tom!’ Jojo grabbed my shoulders and shook me. ‘Wake up for God’s sake!’
‘What….?’ I sat up bewildered and disoriented. ‘What is wrong?’
‘There is something wrong with Barbara.’ He motioned towards the next room. I tried to focus and could hear loud sobs.
‘Let’s go help her.’ Jojo was being very assertive.
I dragged my body out of the comfort of my bed and started looking for my slippers.
We found Barbara sitting on her bed – sobbing, while her body shook like an autumn leaf.
‘What is wrong?’ I patted her shoulder kindly. ‘Should I call the nurse?’
She didn’t answer for a while and kept on looking at me. Then she looked around the room like she was expecting someone else to appear out of thin air. She looked afraid – so very afraid. Then she stood up and went to the mirror.
‘It is inside me.’ She announced in a small voice. And then she screamed, ‘It is inside me and eating me up.’
‘Who is inside you?’ I went up to her and stood behind her, holding her frail shoulders for comfort.
‘The demon………the demons……all of them……the legion is inside me and is burning me up.’ She sobbed hysterically.
‘It’s alright.’ I turned her around and hugged her tight. ‘I am here for you.’
‘It is so very painful, Tom.’ She whimpered into the comfort of my shoulder. ‘It hurts so bad.’
‘Don’t focus on the pain Barbara.’ I rocked her gently.
‘I can’t Tom…..I can’t.’ I felt her frustrated tears soaking up my cotton shirt.
‘Tell me…..’ I was desperately thinking of saying something to distract her from pain. ‘Tell me, why do the demons visit you? Why do they hurt you?’
‘Because I have sinned.’ Her body grew tense for a moment. ‘Oh I have so grievously sinned.’
‘We are all sinners Barbara.’ I gently patted her bony back. ‘We are all terrible and pathetic sinners. But no one here is judging you for your sins and no one has the right to.’
‘The demons judge me.’ She whispered back. ‘They judge me and mock me and torment me.’
‘Do not listen to them. The demons are not………’ I so wanted to tell her that her demons were not real. But then I looked at Jojo. He was calmly sitting on the bed and looking at me with understanding and affection.
‘The demons are not what?’ Barbara detached herself from my embrace and looked at me with suspicion flashing in her cloudy blue eyes.
‘The demons are not worth listening to Barbara. Ignore them and they will go away.’
She didn’t answer me for a while and kept on searching for something else in my eyes.
‘You are a good man Tom. You are a very kind man.’ She had probably found what she was looking for. ‘Let me confess my sin to you and then maybe the demons will leave.’
I just nodded my head and softly pulled her back into my arms.
‘It was a winter evening in 1923.’ Barbara started whispering and I concentrated. ‘I was a teenaged girl and a single mother. And my daughter was so beautiful. She was just like a porcelain doll with flawless complexion, all golden curls and deep blue eyes. But I could never appreciate her beauty or the charm of her loving smile, which appeared on her face each time she looked at me.’
‘Ahan!’ I prodded her on.
‘You know why? Do you know why I couldn’t appreciate all that?’ Her voice grew into a harsh whisper.
‘No! I do not know but you can tell me why.’ I caressed her silver hair. ‘You can tell me everything.’
‘I could not see her beauty because I was addicted to morphine. I don’t remember how the habit started. Probably some client injected me and I didn’t object. Once the warmth flowed through my veins and oblivion came thereafter, I was hooked forever. I didn’t like doing it Tom…..I swear I didn’t like it. But I found relief in it. It took me away from all the pain and all the suffering. The world is a tough place Tom, and I so wanted to escape it in any way that I could.’
‘Yes the world is a tough place and life is difficult.’ I said kindly, our bodies rocking gently to the sad music of regret. ‘Please go on.’
‘That night…..’ Barbara’s voice welled up with tears again. ‘That night she was crying. My daughter was crying because she was hungry. There was no milk in my breasts. You know Tom, men don’t like their hookers with dripping breasts. My milk had all dried up and it had been snowing for the last three days. There were no clients to be found. I even tried begging but failed. There was hardly anyone in the streets. But my daughter didn’t know that. She kept on crying and finally I had to leave her alone and go out to search for food. I didn’t want to go Tom. I didn’t want to leave her alone. But I had to.’
‘I understand.’ I could feel my voice choking up too. ‘I completely understand the reasons.’
‘I went out and I found a client almost immediately.’ Barbara continued. ‘It was a miracle. I finally had something in my pocket to buy the milk for my daughter. I started walking towards my apartment building and then I came across my morphine dealer. He was a cruel man – the devil himself in flesh and blood. He sensed I had some dough on me. And then he made me an offer. I have to go home, I said. My hungry daughter is waiting for milk, I begged him. But he kept smiling. Yes go on, he said. But before you go, get some warmth in your blood. Come on….he lured me and I couldn’t ……..I simply couldn’t resist.’ Her voice broke up and she started crying again.
‘It’s okay………’ I held her close, feeling each beat of her guilty heart. ‘Go on, tell me all.’
Hearing these words, Jojo gave me an approving glance.
‘It was morning when I woke up. I was in my dealer’s bed – naked. After a few moments of recollection I suddenly thought of my daughter. I tried to find my clothes but couldn’t. I hurriedly wrapped my naked body in a blanket and ran towards home. I was crying and slipping in the freezing sludge. My knees were badly scratched and were bleeding but I kept on running. I kept on running and I kept on slipping. I thought I could hear her crying. But when I reached home she was………….’ She completely broke down and kneeled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
‘She was already dead……wasn’t she?’ I asked coldly.
‘Yes!’ She was sobbing, each sob shaking her entire body as if trying to break it into small pieces.
I felt a sudden wave of coldness overcoming my entire being. I felt revulsion and hatred towards that miserable woman. But then I looked at Jojo. He was looking at me and smiling a kind but sad smile.
‘What?’ I asked Jojo confusedly.
‘Remember what all you have learnt so far.’ He raised his hand. ‘Try to feel your own pains. Recall your own sins and your own guilt and regret. Remember every experience that you have had and only then decide if you want to be another demon and judge this poor woman. Or if you want to be a fellow human being and understand her.’
I didn’t answer Jojo. Instead, I turned around and looked at my image in the mirror. I saw an old man whose heart was filled with regrets. I looked at my face closely. There were shadows of guilt everywhere. I could see faces reflected in those shadows – faces of all those whom I had hurt and betrayed. There were so many of them and they all contorted in agony. I looked at those contorted faces and saw my own shame being reflected back.
‘What do I do?’ I looked back at Jojo. ‘What is to be understood here?’
‘There is only a single lesson which needs to be understood.’ He said. ‘There has always been a single lesson and there will always be a single lesson. And this lesson encompasses the purpose of our lives.’
‘And what is that lesson?’ I asked.
‘Kindness….Tom!’ He got up and smiled at me. ‘The only lesson this universe and our lives teach us is kindness. Do not judge but understand and be kind.’
‘And don’t forget that the old turtle was there in your life and I am here because you wanted someone to understand you and treat you with kindness. You never wanted to be harshly judged. Now please show her the same courtesy.’
‘Is this the final lesson?’ I asked him.
‘Yes!’ He nodded. ‘I do think this is the final lesson.’
I smiled back at Jojo and then looked at Barbara. She was still kneeling on the floor, her body shaking with sobs.
‘Come on child!’ I went to her and gently pulled her up. ‘You have confessed all. Let the demons go. Their job is done.’
‘But I am so very tired Tom.’ She hugged me tightly. ‘The demons are already leaving but I also want to go now.’ ‘I understand.’ I whispered in her ear and felt her body relaxing. ‘I will help you move on.’
I am back in room 106. It is still soft-padded, has pale green walls and a white ceiling. There are neither windows nor ventilators – only a single door, which is always locked from the outside. A single fluorescent light, right in the middle of the ceiling, keeps on blinking at all times.
They accused me of killing Barbara. I haven’t denied their accusations. Jojo has also left my side, but I don’t care. Rather, I am happy because I have learnt the final lesson. And I am willing to teach you all the lessons if only you can spare some time.
After a full day of rain in Africa, the sun goes down, hiding behind the majestic purple clouds. The clouds, in turn, gradually disperse to reveal a bluish-black and velvet night sky. It is adorned with small glittering sequins - stars both big and small and stars both near and far.
Whenever it rains in Africa and the night grows dark, the elders sit around the crackling fire, and the children and young people gather around. If the elders are kind and in a good mood, they tell stories of the days gone by and the days that are still far away in the future. Myth and history make love under the night sky, and stories are born - stories of magic and wisdom and stories of love and longing. On one such magical night, the story of the elephants’ graveyard breathed its first.
Shehryar khawar 