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Memories of the Loss
Muneer reached for her tender hands… the soft wrinkled hands that had nurtured him for the seven years of his life; since his parents had died in a gruesome accident. He was the sole survivor of the accident; of course he had no recollection of the horrible incident - he wasn't even a year old. But the picture had been etched in his memory for life. The old woman on the cot next to him had always taunted him by blaming him for the accident. She said that it was he who had brought the bad luck into the family. Him - all because of him. He was a "murderer" and she would never let him forget that, not even for a minute. Not when she locked him in the dark attic, the rats nibbling at his toes. Not when she beat him with a curtain rod and sent him to bed without dinner. Not when she inflicted physical torture upon him, with those hands, but firmly set mouth, now opening into a painful agonized moan.
"Water," she pleaded out for the glass on the side table. Her fingers almost managed to touch it, but not quite. "Muneer," she mumbled, "please… help me… someone" - her words were an inaudible mumble.
She coughed and writhed in pain, the single drop of blood tricked in a thin stream down her mouth and onto her chin. Muneer looked at his wrist, scarred by scratches and burn marks and smiled sadly. He remembered the time when…
His thoughts were shattered by a shrill shriek that escaped from the old woman's mouth. "Muneer," she shrieked. He gazed at her, distant, cool and happy in his 8-year-old world.
"Water," she wheezed, "I need…" one last spasm, a silent jerk, and her eyes shut at last. The tender wrinkled hands fell lifeless to one side.
The little boy picked up his kite with a satisfied grin on his face. He skipped out into the sun singing, "Roses are red; remember me when I am dead," to himself softly.
Sadhvi Khanna
XI - B
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There can be miracles
I couldn't believe my ears. Had my best friend just told me that she had brain tumor?
It was a Sunday morning. I had gone for a visit to my grandparents' house as my 'pupha' (Bua's husband) had come from Allahbad. After a small chat with him, my sister and I decided to watch a repeat telecast of 'Survivors'- on my dad's huge television while we waited for our food to be served.
During the program, my Bua called me out into the balcony. She first made me promise not to tell my mom and dad, and I got a feeling it wasn't going to be good.
"I have brain tumor and the doctor has given me 6 months to live," she said.
I sat there not knowing what to do. Here was the woman who had played with me when I was little and, as she said she did not have children of her own, was like a second mother to me. I couldn't believe it.
I broke down and started sobbing into my Bua's arms. She told me not to cry and to pray and believe.
I want you all to help me and pray for her. Those who believe in miracles, pray for one that will make my most loved one alright, and those who do not, please pray to God to take good care of her if she goes up there.
This is a true story. I have not written my name because I do not want people to pity me. Please pray because there can be miracles when you believe.
Anonymous
This article is written by a student of class 6-B and was left in the newsletter folder. Normally we do not publish anonymous articles, but we felt that we owed it to this student. ~Editor
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