Perhaps It Is a One-Way Track

She was wearing a red saree. She was wearing her mother’s ornaments. She has a simple, ordinary face, but her eyes were like a tranquil lake, you could see all the floating emotions there. She has dark complexion yet the most beautiful look I have ever seen. All those pictures I was going through were making me home-sick. I could not attend the moment. But my mind was always there. I wanted to be present on this festive occasion too much. I had to call. “ How are you, my little child? How are you feeling?” I wanted to cheer her up. “ I miss you.” She spoke softly after a long pause. “ I am there, with you, in my prayers,” I was thinking about her face as I was telling her that. “ I do not pray. I do not believe.” She spoke again, with certain agitation. “ Why, my little one? Prayers are not for hurting you, they will free you in times of pain and sorrow. Why, ma?” I wanted to reach to her softly. “ I do not believe in goodness of prayer, after all, I know it’s a make-believe story that we only love to imagine.” She was restless. And a bit rude, perhaps. I had to stop. This little one was born, and I was only nine years old, then. When my sister allowed me to hold her, I was eagerly observing her eyes. Wide, tremendous beautiful eyes! I wanted to talk to her about mercy and love of God. But I could not get a hold of the time. I was still looking at her eyes. Through sadness, she touched a deep wound somewhere, somehow. Lord, please forgive me for everything. Please forgive my little one. I can still smell the baby fragrance of her! Perhaps it is a one-way track that is only meant for me.