Sometimes, distance is what keeps the love alive.

On a cold winter morning, she lay in her bed not wanting to get up.

She could hear parents talking in their room. The fact that the noise was reaching her ears meant they were not really talking but fighting.

To merely avoid the attention of her angry father, she chose to pretend to be asleep.

Her father was a loving man. Down to earth and a very modest person. She knew her father loved her. He was the one who taught her how to ride a bike, get back up whenever she fell, cleaned her wounds and nurtured her courage. He was the one who had given her some of the best advises about friends, boys and life in general. He loved her with all his heart and she knew it.

                                                 

But there was something about his anger that scared her to death. She feared for herself and her mother. More than that, she feared for her father's health. But a human cannot think about anyone else but him when he's in trouble. In rage, he would sometimes hit her. It was acceptable when she was young. 

Only now, she wasn't a young girl anymore. She was a grown up and with every hit she took, she felt her dignity being hurt.

Laying in the bed, she closed her eyes and found herself sitting on the beach. There was serene silence and the only noise was of waves crashing against the rocks. In the background, birds chirped their lovely song. This was her (imaginary) mountain top.

She did this often, imagining herself far away from house where she couldn't hear her father shout or fear his beating. She dreamed of finishing her education and running off to someplace else. She had vowed to not take up a job in the same city for it would mean she'd still be living at her parent's house.

Don't get her wrong. She loved her parents and the idea of leaving them hurt her inside. Her life with them was smooth, where she was pampered and they had their good moments where everyone sat together and laughed. They joked about random things and made fun of television characters. She was happy. But then there were moments that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get them out of her head. 

Those occasional happy moments, no matter how much she wished, were not good enough for her to bear the pain.

She loved her father, more than anyone in this world. And only to keep that love alive, she had convinced herself that she will get out of there the first chance she got.

After all, sometimes you'd rather maintain your distance than lose the love.

The Banyan Tree

Everyday, every few hours, I heard a new story – a story of love, sorrow, deception, hatred, life, marriage, divorce, lust, etc. Mostly, they were the sad ones, by people who had the violent urge to narrate their stories, their feelings, and their expectations. It gave me immense happiness, to know I was offering to them more than I had to offer. They took shelter in me, in my silence to utter their own words.

Their stories shouted, with grave silence, narrations of the sufferings they had gone through. Their tears washed away with them the pain their little heart beheld. And I heard with patience.

They would sit down in front of me, peacefully and carry on with their work – eating, resting, and other petty things to do and narrate their tales. They touched the roots of my heart, their tales.

Sad ones were many, mostly rather. People loved to grieve, I used to wonder. Until, one day, I heard a tale of a young girl. She told the story with such innocence that I doubt she understood the immensity of love her story possessed.

She came towards me, walking with slow steps, looking at the ground and sat beside me. After being quiet and playing with the mud for sometime, she broke the silence. She said, “But why? Why should father do that? Maybe I shouldn’t complain so much. He has too much to do and worry about already. Hmm. Oh, I can ask big brother to get it for me. But only father can provide the money. But it’s sad. I want it. It was so beautiful and everyone in class will have it soon. I want it before they do. But again, father stays so tense all the time. He scolds me too, for no reason sometimes. You know Bannu, I cry in nights because father shouts at me. He even hits me at times. But I know he does that only because he’s upset and my acts hurt him more. He stays worried; the frown lines are always visible on his forehead. He has a lot of work to do and a lot many things to take care of. I am also a kid though, I too get hurt. Its okay, I guess. I know father loves me the most, more than big brother too.”

She started playing with her hair.

After few minutes, she continued again, “or, I can ask Reena aunt to give me some work and in return, I’ll ask her to buy that beautiful Barbie doll to me. That way, papa won’t have to spend a lot of money on me and he wouldn’t have to worry. He works so hard and if I get the Barbie myself, he’ll be happy. And in the next grade, 5^th , I’ll have the best one with me.”

She got up, smiled cheerfully and hugged me. And went back happily jumping on her toes.

The purity in her eyes and her love for her father, made me realize that in this world of sorrows where people only like to share their pain, there are innocent ones like her who unknowingly spread happiness around.

Who am I? I am Bannu, the Banyan Tree.