Life Arts

My Diary: Life, is in my definition, has been an extremely insufficient.

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The following is an excerpt from my diary.

After all life can't be only to live. The beautiful scene seen through the southward-faced window, flowers,  the wide and square road, which is seen up to the distance - these are also the synonyms of mine to live. But today, it is being felt that these all have added more pain. It is close to five o'clock in the evening. Had it been winter, it would have been night already, but for still it has not ended spring, there has not been sunset yet in the outside.  

'Kishor of below house' my heart had been depressed and stunned with this incomplete sentence of brother before the telephone ring and without I have time to speak. 'What trouble has occurred to him?' to answer my question brother spoke without taking a breath 'he died', brother did not complete his sentence and my heart though stopped still. 'What happened?' I asked but my brother did not give any reply about my curiosity and he put down the phone receiver instantly.  

I remember, in the past while going to sow maize grain seed on a terraced field to grow crops after being finished the grain seed, mother had asked for the help of Kishor. He was an energetic and a handsome young man. He was famous at the village and everyone would respect him. Now, still I'm recalling that how he had managed to bring the maize-grain seed for mother within thirty-five minutes that normally takes two hours, from the district headquarters' village. 

The past events are giving pain like dream. 'I got married the last month. I couldn't invite you.' In one Saturday morning on the month of July, he had come at our house bringing his wife. 

'You know Kamala, I'm going to get very good jewelry. Heart has been delighted with happiness, she said. My mother and Kishor were talking inside the room while we were preparing tea and bread in the kitchen. In the time of November, it was so good to have grain and milk tea.  
 
I can't even imagine what might have happened to her after he has left this earth. My heart is burning as the fire. Heart is aching and I have lost energy completely. Frequently, heart is not accepting the death of him. I still remember, after the third year of their marriage while they had come to our home to show their second-born son. She was really not a woman with an ordinary heart, she was a brave woman.    

"Why he died?"   The last year in the month of March, they had come to visit my mother. 'I believe I can raise my children with  my salary, can't I, mother?' He had talked with mother with the same cheerful manner. 'When we were born we came with empty hands and we will go with the same empty hands. Therefore, it is not good to die for wealth.' His wife added to the satisfaction in that evening. 'The short life is to laugh only'; I also added talk on the talk.   

Oh, how pleasant that evening was! In the shining moon of the evening children were playing on the yard, green trees in the distance, the sounds of birds; moreover the whole village was swinging with the wedding. The whole village had been full of music. His wife began to cook in the kitchen; whenever she would come at home she always would cook herself. Though, they were none of any relation, they were more than blood relation.   'I'm a lucky man, for I married with her. It might be the result of the past life's deed to get a wife who supports in happiness and in trouble.' he had spoken looking from the corner of his eyes to his wife. 'Since I married with you to live and die together, it is not possible not to give support in the time of need,' his wife had responded. 
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What was the fault of Kishor?  Neither his salary was enough for living nor he could send his children to a good school.   I put cross-question to myself but I don't have the answer because there is no one who understands the value of the death of him. 

The number-one humorous and helpful Kishor at the village, the beloved Kishor who would treat equally to the poor or rich and big or small. No one could be satisfied without coming at his house to talk every day from children to the bedridden old ones. 

'It is harmful to become sad recalling the past incidents, therefore we should live cheerfully in this short life.' My friend Jyoti , who had come to meet me after a long time,  began to convince me. Jyoti was trying to wipe away the tears and remove my pain. 'If you can send some money to his wife for their children's education that would be the real tribute to Kishor.' Jyoti began to convince me in a sentimental way.   

It is already darkened to night and the morning would be only a hope.  Today, I'm  analyzing the difference between living in a happy moment and in a sad moment.  This moment, happiness has disappeared on the face of me. The picture of Kishor and his wife taken on the day of my departure is hung on the wall in the room.   

Now, my eyes have stilled on the picture. 
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Journalist and Story Writer Kamala B. Sarup is an editor for mediaforfreedom.com. Kamala Sarup was a regular contributor to UPI- Asia News. She is specialising in in-depth reporting and writing on democracy, freedom, anti terrorism, Women's (more...)
 

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