On one early morning of 1942 , I sit in my room reading the recent novel that dada bought me. Books have a way of moving me into a world of fantasy.
My summer afternoon, was made from a glance around my big narrow attic room, a book in hand and a reflection of fantasy and horror from the movie posters on my wall.
Mama thinks I am too spoiled for a young guy, missing the sporty environment boys should be in, just for the words written in pages. Very strikingly ignoring, how an imaginary life could give birth to a wider arena of experiences.
Because of my love for what’s beyond, I have a way of seeing the world from a philosopher’s perspective.
Itโs so soothing isnโt it , seeing stories weaved in between nature in itself. Its rather enthralling to be a part of it as well. I wonder whether every place on this planet has the same greenery as my garden. Do the mango trees whisper to every one alike about the sad ghosts floating along?
All I guess I want is an escape and a refuge in my mindful games and plays. Itโs tiring you see at times living in pain and fear; forever waiting for a letter.
I sometimes wonder how my little letterbox by the road handles such grave responsibilities and messages that decide the course of future. I have seen millions of people weeping by or else smiling holding a letter in hand. Just like me, and my unending wait for my big brotherโs postal.
Yes, he is fighting in the war with big guns and bombs as dada says. I have heard them broadcasting on radio how the allies and axis are raging a war against each other. Ashes of smoke and sound of airplanes make up for the broken pieces of an uncertain fate .
I have heard mama sob when she goes up to Karl’s room; scavenging through his pictures trying to hold on to his innocent little self. I miss him too you know, when I go about swinging from the branches of my favourite tree, Karl had made that for me. He said on the morning of 17th March, 1939
โLittle brother here take your swing of tires. Now go and ride it with glory.โ
โGlory Karl? Itโs a dirty tire. My friends will laugh at me.โ
โOh stupid boy, look come here. Sit down and look up โ
โWhat ?โ
โHave you ever seen a more bluer sky ? Itโs deep and bright. What does it remind you of my boy?โ
โThe seas brother! The seas !โ
โ And what did we make there ?โ
โOur first sand castle. Mine and yours. You said it might break but it will never vanish from its marks .โ
โYes my boy, yes ! Thatโs our home ! Mine and yours ! So when you sit here on this tire, you will find us together at home always! Enjoying our summer as usual!โ
โOur summer Karl ! I have decided that from now on our pen names would be Summer , because that is ours! โ
โOkay, okay my brother, from now on we are each otherโs summer !โ
And just two years later you left for this unknown war in a strange new uniform promising me that now you will see the beauty of the world and tell me all about it . But you havenโt written a letter yet.
Everyday I sit by my porch and wait for the postboy to arrive. His name is Walter. He was my senior in school and a good pal until he left it to help as a postboy for his father . The war has lead to a lot of exchanges through letters and fax; communication is the most important necessity second to food .
We went to the nearby street park few days back .
” Stefan how is school going?
“Okay Walter! How are you? “
(bang, screams) We both turn around and see a huge truck forcing some people in to it , beating them, thrashing them.
Walter pushes and tells me to run home. He says not to worry but just to go home. I run home and cry in my study all day long unable to understand why some of my neighbours are taken away and why mama tells me they are no more our friends?
Anyway this has happened a lot of times now, it seems normal.
“Hey Stefan boy, waiting here again? “
“Walter any letter from him? ”
“No boy I don’t think so. I am sorry, it will come don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
I sit back alienated for the rest of the day. It been months now and not a single post. Dada worries that something is wrong, he tells me brother might never come back. But I won’t believe them, Karl promised me! He can’t..
The evening lights glow up the street and I sit along on the porch waiting. My hope seemed lost for the day but yet I knew it will a better morning tomorrow.
“Stefan, wait! “
“Walter? What? “
“I forgot this letter, it was just stuck underneath. Here take it’s from Karl . Be happy boy.”
My happiness had no bounds and I thanked Walter as if he was a angel who saved me.
I ran up to my room and opened the letter. With tears in my eyes I could hear him read those words out for me :
๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ,
๐๐ฆ๐บ ๐ญ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฃ๐ด๐ฐ๐ญ๐ถ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฌ๐ข๐บ! ๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ด๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐บ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ. ๐๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ด๐บ ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ.
๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ธ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ . ๐๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ง๐ช๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ง๐ช๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐จ๐ถ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ. ๐๐ต ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ด ๐ข๐ด ๐ช๐ง ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ข๐ต๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ’๐ด ๐จ๐ถ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ๐ช๐ข๐ฏ๐ด ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ช๐ค๐ด!
๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ, ๐ ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ข๐ด๐ต๐ฆ ๐ช๐ต. ๐๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ฆ๐น๐ฒ๐ถ๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ต๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ง๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐จ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ต ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ง๐ด ๐ด๐ฆ๐ณ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ถ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ข๐ถ๐ต๐ช๐ง๐ถ๐ญ ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ด!
๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ฏ’๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ข๐ถ๐ต๐บ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ ๐ข๐ฎ ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐บ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ช๐ฏ : ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ถ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฌ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ค๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ข๐ด.. ๐๐ต ๐ซ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐ต๐ฆ๐ง๐ข๐ฏ, ๐ช๐ต’๐ด ๐ข๐ฃ๐ด๐ฐ๐ญ๐ถ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต!
๐ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ด ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐บ! ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ’๐ต ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐บ ๐ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ, ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฎ๐ข ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ฑ๐ข ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฏ! ๐ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ!
๐๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐บ ๐ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ข ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ถ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฌ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ด๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ. ๐๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ญ๐ธ๐ข๐บ๐ด. ๐ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ!
๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ
( Somewhere in a war stricken land)
“Karl! Karl! “
” Get up the troop is attacking! We have to get ready! “
” Yes, ready sir! “
Karl gets up in his blood dripped clothes with cuts everywhere, a stale bread in hand as his final food before the war. He looks up to smoke filled skies and yet sees the dazzling blue one more time.
” Oh my Summer, boy! I yet see the skies again to be a guardian one more time ( he smiles) “
Written by Annwesha Ghosh
