The Burned Cloth
The Burned Cloth:
In the green caresses of Assam, there stood an old wooden house, gazing solemnly towards the vast tea plantations. Any outsider would’ve thought that it had long been abandoned, but the villagers of Chirang knew otherwise! It was common knowledge that an elderly woman lived there alone, spending her last days caged inside her house- for the trauma had been too much for her. That house hadn’t always been so lonely. Years ago, when the world was still young, there wasn’t a single day spent without small, caring gestures between the woman and her husband.
Every morning, when she woke up to the rising sun, she would find a beautiful rose, along with a spoon of honey (her favorite) placed beside a vase on her windowsill. In return, her husband would enjoy lovely, little notes inside his lunchbox. It would rock back and forth throughout the day, like a pendulum swinging elegantly to the tunes of love and joy. Their love never faltered even after the curtailments of elderness.
It was on one such unfortunate day that a fire broke out in the house opposite of the couple’s. Being the kind hearted people they were, the woman and her husband rushed outside, doing all they could to stop the destructive flames. The woman stayed outside for medical aid, while the man swifted through the fire to rescue others. It so happened that the neighbor’s little boy had been trapped beneath a piece of metal, suffocating from the bizarre smoke that had formed in the deepest room of the house. The man, with a sense of humanity, rushed inside without a thought, while the woman could do nothing but watch. In a heartstopping moment, amidst her rising tension, she saw something emerge through the fire, and a relieved smile broke through her face.
It was unfortunate, the villagers thought, that on the day when the house burned, only the little boy made it out safely- the man had been lost, giving his life to another. The woman’s smile had turned into heartbreaking tears. Ever since that day, she had locked herself in her house, guilt and pain crushing her every single second, as she gazed at the green fields her husband had loved to wander through. The villagers took her as their own responsibility, forever indebted to their kind actions and heroicness. They would knock on her door every morning, asking “How do you do?”, unsuccessfully trying to bring her cheerful self back.
It was on one unusually stormy night that the old woman heard her doorbell ring. With shaky steps, she walked towards the door, feeling a familiar dread seep into her skin. Flicking on the light, she opened her door hesitantly, to find a man standing there, staring at her with slightly red eyes. Lightning thundered through the sky and gave light to his rogue form, with messy hair and muddy clothes. He asked her in a deep voice, “The storm is large and my house is too far. Will you please give me a room to stay in tonight? I’m a villager and I live in the furthest end of the village.”
The old woman clearly doubted that he was a villager. He could be a thief, wanting to use her elderness as an advantage. ‘But what do I have to lose?”, the woman thought. With these things in her mind, the woman forced a smile and allowed the man to come inside. He took off his shoes, freshened up, and returned to the living room, to find a hot bowl of delicious soup ready on the table. The old woman said, “Have this. My husband wouldn’t have liked it if a guest stayed without dinner.” The stranger muttered a ‘thank you’ and sat opposite the woman, sipping on his soup. “You don’t talk much, do you?”. The woman said, trying to figure out the man’s intentions. The stranger remained silent. He suddenly noticed a piece of torn cloth lying on the table. Thinking it was trash, he picked it up, only to hear the old woman say, “Please keep it back. It was the last thing I found in my husband's hand, a torn cloth of the sweet, little boy my husband died saving.” The stranger nodded, kept it back, and after a while said, “Why don’t you try to get back in life? After all, most villagers have tried endlessly for you to return.”
The woman sadly looked down and replied, “These are my last days. Until the time to meet my loved one comes, I won’t bother to live my life…it just isn’t as beautiful as before.”.
“But the villagers regard you like their mother.” The villager said in a questioning tone, “Is it fair to keep your happiness from yourself? Would your husband have wanted this?”.
There was no reply. Then the two acknowledged the night and retired to their beds. It was at this time, that the old woman saw a glint of silver, and red beneath his robes. A red so...red, that it looked as though it could be blood. Would the villagers even come if she asked for help? After all, she hadn't been the kindest to them, in the younger days, when she would spend hours crying over her pain and misery. She chuckled and shook her head. The world wasn't going to end is she got killed. Also, it would perhaps, be a quicker way to meet her lovely husband again.
In the night, while pretending to sleep on her bed, the woman heard the stranger rummage around the living room, his footsteps thudding, probably to find valuables. A lone tear slipped through her eye, followed by another. The conversation had uncovered painful memories, and she slept with a hint of fear and nostalgia.
The next day, she was awoken by the rising sun, and she urgently stepped down the stairs, sure to find some missing money. It seemed that the stranger had left during the night, a cowardly act after thieving from an old woman. She was hurt by the way he had used her one weakness, the one topic she hated to talk about, to undo her mental barriers and strength. She suddenly heard the familiar hustle of villagers outside the door. Could it be? Had the villagers actually come to help her? She hoped that they had...though the chances were quite slim. With a bit of hesitation, the old woman opened the door, prepared to be hit with a fresh wave of disappointment.
To her surprise, she was met with the most unexpected sight ever! The smiling faces of villagers, each holding flavorful delicacies, stood before her. They had prepared enough meals to host an entire royal feast! One villager cheerfully said, “We made these food items out of pure honey- your favorite, as your nephew told us last night.” The woman stood shocked. In all the 83 years of her life, she had never known she had a nephew! She backed away and hesitantly went back into her room, wanting to see if her rising suspicions were true. Her heart banged against her ribs with every step. There was a glimmer of hope in her heart, the first time in many years. The old woman peeked through the door at her windowsill.
There it was, beside her vase- a beautiful red rose and a spoon of honey, so bright it looked like melting gold. Along with it was a small, handwritten note. It read in elegant letters, “There is no greater pain than a life gone, and no greater joy than a life saved. Your husband’s last words were - “Tell her I’m always with you. I’ve saved a life today, and there is no greater pride than that. I will love you forever, always remember that, and I want you to enjoy your life with the same joyous smile that everyone loved.” Ever since that, I couldn’t build up the courage to tell you, to bring your happiness back to you. However, last night’s storm brewed this opportunity, and the moment finally came. Will you grace the village with your joy again?”
The woman held back a happy sob and wiped her tears, the merriness making her feel a hundred years younger. That's when she noticed something dark and crippled, peeping out from beneath. With a bright and utterly curious smile, she lifted the note, her heart thundering wildly against her chest. One look at the object, and she let out a vibrant chuckle, allowing the sound to rejuvenate her heart. Underneath the beautiful handwritten letters, was a piece of a torn, burned-out cloth, radiating the flames of love and joy.
- Indrani A. Deo
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