The memory that never erased

When I was only eight. She came to our locality with her family. She is Kanna and that time she was only five. Among her brother and sister she was the smallest and prettiest. We grew up in the same environment where  my and her siblings also grew up. I could remember those days when we shared almost every things. From green mangoes, candies, guavas to pens and books even also punishments which were given by our parents. Swimming in a village pond was our favourite fun as well as the strongest cause of punishment to our parents. She couldn't swim well and became the funniest character of  ridicule at the pond. But she was a great fighter, and now, I can confess now that she knocked me down quite a  good numbers of time. My mother loved her a lot and supported her also even her nuisance. It backed  her up every now and then. She was a good singer and a painter too. Her crying and nagging irritating personality were unbearable to me. Everybody used to trust her even knowing that she was wrong. It hurt me like anything. But she could not live a day without watching me for a while.

Meanwhile plenty of water was flowing down from mountain to river and river to sea. Soviets became Russia, Iraq invade d Kuwait, United alliance combated Iraq, Princess Diana became heavenly princess Diana, India became modern and stronger nation.

Kanna grew then a beautiful young lady and well mannered lady too who was quiet shy, sweet looking and ever smiling. That  was the time I looked forward to my future.

One day her father came to our house with an invitation card for Kanna`s weeding ceremony and invited our family. Everybody was so pleased except my mother who pretended to be happy. On the very day I gave her a bouquet of pink rose what she liked most. At that time I noticed a beautiful floor-painting. I asked her 'who painted it?' She replied, 'its me' I exulted her painting and said 'you are really a good girl to marry by a fortunate.'

She answered 'it is my truly poor luck that you never tried to  discover ME with my painting'.
Her eyes were filled with tears , a few drops of that drooped on me like a rolling cascade which compelled me to run away.......

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Women of Christabel and La Belle Dame Sans Merci ......

The story of my experiments with truth...................M. K. Gandhi.

Sophocles the great dramatist...