The Axe And The Rose -2

 

She went along life and her daily routine as before. School, homework, home chores. She stopped going out to play with her friends. Even at school, her teachers and classmates had noticed a change in her behaviour. The girl who used to play pranks, tell jokes and make others laugh was now a stranger to everyone. The sparkle had gone from her eyes. Her smile was a façade.

And then, one day at school, he walked towards her. Her eyes lit up. A butterfly of happiness fluttered in her heart. And he said "I thought I'll let you know I have had the bridge repaired two weeks back. You can now come and meet me again." He then walked away with a smug smile. Had he stayed around he would have seen how icy cold her eyes had gone.

She went home … his words still ringing in her ears. She went to the garden shed, took the axe out and hacked away her end of the bridge till it was no longer possible for anyone to cross over. Bless the axe!

Sheetal Soni

Windows And Switches

Depression. Like a dark room. You are crying. You are confused. You are scared because you are scarred. You look for windows to open and switches to turn on. You look for anything that will bring a light in the room but the darkness is overwhelming, always winning. You sit down and start accepting the darkness, almost even start loving it.

You hear knocks at the door … the sounds of those who want to reach out to you. You are sceptical. Someone left you in this dark room and as a result you assume everyone will.

Listen. Walk towards that door and open it. The person knocking the door on the other side wants to help you show your way out, wants to show you where the windows are, wants to show you where the switches are. This is because the person has been in this room before. And you need to know about the windows and switches. Why? So that, one day you too can help people find light in their dark rooms. People who are lost in darkness. People like you.



Sheetal Soni

Karma

 

18 years back in London I was travelling in a bus and as I was about to get off I saw a bag. I picked the bag and thought of handing it over to the driver, as the thing to be done. But the driver's shift was changing and he had come out of his cab. I was getting late so I took the bag with me. When I reached home I opened the bag and found all the essential documents of an old woman. Passport, driving licence, social security book, bills, cash included. There was no number mentioned, only the address. I thought of going to the address and returning the documents to the rightful owner. I went but no one was there. The neighbour informed me that she was in hospital and will be discharged within a day. I left a short note with my number on it and put it through the mailbox. The neighbour warned me that the old woman suffered from mental health issues. I thought of going to the police if she failed to communicate within three days. However, on the third day she called me. I asked her a few questions for verification and then decided upon a meeting point that evening.

When I met her I handed over the documents to her but she looked uneasy. She said "The forty five pounds here in the bag is all that I have. I have nothing to give you as a reward". I said it was nothing really. She said "No, kindness must always be repaid so that it is encouraged and the cycle continues. But I'm afraid I have nothing for you." I thought of her words and said "Actually you can repay me back. I saw a rosary in your bag which means you pray faithfully. Please pray for me that should I ever lose anything precious of mine, it should be returned to me". She smiled and said "Amen!"

Two years back I was in Rajkot, preparing for my trip to London. I had been living in India for 12 years and had to ensure I had all the necessary documents. I had left home early in the morning, picked up my tickets, my bank and other important documents and when returning home I realised the bag was missing. I looked for it everywhere, every vegetable and fruit vendor, every shop that was en route from the last place visited by me. After 2 hours of fruitless searching I came home broken. I had to go to the police station, register a missing documents report and would then get duplicates of the originals I lost.

And the phone rang. A person asked me a few questions and then said the bag was with them. This will sound silly but I burst crying. The man patiently waited for me to calm down and explained where I could pick the documents from. And then it struck me that my number wasn't mentioned anywhere on the documents. I asked him and he said he found the bag at a vegetable vendor's cart. He picked it and meant to hand it over to the police but had to go to the bank first. He mentioned the bag and its contents to the clerk. Coincidentally, it was the same branch as mine. The clerk recognised my name and gave my number to the man. When I picked up the bag I was in tears and asked him how could I ever repay him. Suddenly it was a déjà vu moment, except I was the recipient of the kindness. He smiled and said he did what was right. I smiled and said "I pray to God that you may never lose anything precious to you and if at all you do, may it be returned to you intact immediately".

The reason I shared this incident is that when we do good we expect good from that person. But that's not necessarily how karma works. You do good to person A and later on person B will repay that good to you. To expect to be repaid in kind for kindness from the same person often leads to disenchantment. Keep doing good. And it will all come back to you one day, at the right time.

God bless you all.

~ Sheetal Soni

A wooden log or an iron rod?

When the cold winds of boredom blow, people often seek warmth in the fire of entertainment. This fire can be stoked and fuelled in many ways … one of these is to wind up people. Fill people's heads with stories, myths and ideas and instigate them enough to rouse them for a fight. The ensuing fight is then entertainment for those cold bored people. 

Some people will believe in hearsay, they will let gossip affect them and they will initiate a fight or an argument, without realising that they are harming themselves in the process. They are wooden logs that others use to fuel the fire of their own entertainment. 

Some people will keep a calm, steady head and won't jump to conclusions or actions when gossip is brought to them. They use their own brains to assess a situation rather than accept it in the way it is presented to them. They are iron rods that refuse to be used as fuel for the fire of other's entertainment. 

So, what are you? A wooden log or an iron rod? 

~ Sheetal Soni

The Axe and The Rose - 1

“Well, how is this?” she asked him and flaunted the painting again in front of him as they were walking back from the school. Though today she walked with a slight limp. She had tripped and hurt her ankle.

He looked at it cursorily and smiled. He knew that she painted for him, of him. He also knew exactly what irritated her. He knew her too well. “Oh it is just like anything regular. Nothing special.”

She stopped walking. Her headache, her sprained ankle and now his words. She ripped the painting and with tears in her eyes said “You don't deserve to be painted for. You don't deserve my friendship. I don't want to see you again.” And before he could say anything she started crossing the little wooden bridge that was over the little stream that ran between their houses. She reached home, fell on the bed and cried. A storm was brewing. And so was a fever inside her. For three days she was almost bedridden. By the fifth day her old spirit had returned. She wondered as to why he hadn't come to check on her because he used to do so before. She had a bath, put on her prettiest frock and went to her garden. She plucked out a lovely red rose and crossed over the bridge to walk to his home. She knocked at his door though the door was open. He was busy doing his project. She went inside and offered him the rose. He ignored her and carried on with his project. She sensed that he was angry. So she put the rose on his table and sat on a chair beside him. “I'm sorry I misbehaved. I wasn't well.”

He still didn't look up. She was fighting back her tears because she knew he hated that. “I know you are angry but please try and understand.” And then she sat in silence while he carried on with his project. After an hour she got up to leave. “I'll be back tomorrow. I have to go and get lessons from Mary as I was unable to go to school.” He didn't look up. She left with a heavy heart. That evening she kept herself busy copying the lessons. The school was closed for two weeks for term holidays. She was glad as she could catch up with the missed lessons.

Next day she did the same. Had a bath, had her breakfast, went to the garden and plucked out a rose, crossed over the little bridge and went to see him. He had obviously made much progress on his project. “That is so good! Your work is so neat!” She said as she offered him the rose. He didn't look up. She left the rose on the table and as was her habit, she told him about everything that went on in the day. Not once did he acknowledge her presence. She sat for an hour and then left. This went on for a week. Till one day …

She had a bath, had her breakfast, went to the garden, plucked a rose and was walking on the bridge when she froze … He was chopping off with an axe the part of the bridge at his end. When he ensured that it was now no longer possible for anyone to leap that long enough, he stopped hacking and went home with his axe.

She walked back slowly towards her home. She then went in the garden shed, got her father's axe out and chopped off the rose bush. She then got a bottle of acid and poured on the stump of the chopped rose bush. All this without tears in her eyes.

For she knew, she will now no longer be able to give roses to anyone nor will she be able to be friends with anyone … else.

Nobody

Wish I was the sunlight

Gently kissing your face

Full of fresh morning grace.

Wish I was the breeze

Touching you, hugging you,

Brushing past you.

Wish I was the water

Running over your body,

Quenching your thirst.

Wish I was the night

To whom you would surrender

Your weariness, your worries.

Wish I was the thought

That dwells on your mind,

That throbs in your heart.

Wish I was the reason

That made you smile

That made you say

“It's a beautiful life!”

But I'm just me.

A nobody.

Waited.

She looked at the straw hut.

Two years. It had been two years when she was sitting under the tree and crying when Sagar came along. He stopped, bent towards her and asked if she was ok. She quickly wiped off her tears. Tears were too personal to be shared with a stranger. He sat beside her and offered her his handkerchief. She just looked away and said “I'm fine”. He sat nevertheless. And that is how it began.

Sagar would meet her everyday under this tree. And then came autumn. The tree shed its leaves … once family, now strangers. So Sagar built a straw hut with her help. They met, they talked, they shared cosy moments. A few months later he started becoming distant and aloof. The daily meetings were reduced to weekly and then fortnightly. She waited. She craved his presence, the intimacy. She asked him if he had “moved on”. He laughed and said he never leaves or moves on. But he never explained his absences to her. She waited. Everyday she would go to the straw hut and wait. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, how much those moments meant to her. But he was always in a hurry. She waited. She sensed that he was under stress. She asked him and he said he will tell about it later as he was in a hurry now. She waited. She wanted to tell him that she had got an offer from a city far away, wanted to ask him if she should leave or stay. He said he'll think and let her know later. She waited. And then one day she went to the straw hut.

She looked at the straw hut. Looked at it for quite a few minutes. She then took out a box of matchsticks, lit many and kept them in the hut. Slowly, a fire started raging and eating the hut. She smiled, turned away and walked towards home. Waiting, no more.