Timeless - Collection of Indian Short Stories

LAJJO

Hello Everyone! This short story is a part of the 'Short Story Anthology' on Wattpad Anthologies. Hope you enjoy reading my story. Kindly let me know your views in the comments!

The first rays of pure sunlight hit her. She turned around to block the harsh rays from settling on any part of her face. She didn't like them. She would fall asleep again. Soon. Wasn't she Grandpa's little Kumbhi, the sleeping princess?

Grandpa. She closed her eyes to think of him. She need not think for long to feel his soft hair through her fingers, though now they had turned fully silver. She felt his bristled cheek. She loved everything about him. He was the only thing that ever belonged to her. Neeta had told her that she was not of Grandpa's blood, but she did not believe.

The place was serene and exquisite. Not many people lived nearby. Neeta, the house help, often grumbled of a dearth of accomplices. Grandpa was however tired of the bustling cities and happy to live in this peaceful land. It also helped him cope better with her memories. Lajjo was happy of not having to share grandpa with anyone.

Grandpa's land was set in the most beautiful hill of Kumaon. A small but beautiful cottage was built over it. Here the clouds loomed so low, Lajjo could stretch her hand and reach out to them. Flowers bloomed all year round, some looked happy even in the frosty winter nights.

Lajjo and grandpa were both lonely in their own ways. Lajjo had never seen her creators. Maybe, some angel had just dropped her on grandpa's doorstep to take care of him. Grandpa, too, missed the kids he never had. Lajjo had filled the void completely. How he hoped that she had been there to share this treasure. He loved Lajjo a lot. It was seldom that he went to sleep without putting her to bed himself.

They were always happy together. They played a game everyday. Sometimes, Lajjo would invent her own games, make her own rules and change them quite suddenly, whenever she was about to lose.

Some days, Grandpa seemed distant and aloof. Lajjo wondered why. Maybe because his hair were growing all white and rough. Nobody liked to live with white hair. But his hair wasn't white, it was closer to silver. They didn't look bad, and wouldn't dare look if he coloured them with the black polish that she had seen at Neeta's place. Neeta often applied them to her hair but wouldn't let her touch them. She explained this to grandpa once. He was so amused that he wanted to try it out soon. He ordered a fresh new pack of the sticky paint the very next day and applied it everywhere, even on his moustache and eyebrows.

Grandma was a mystery. Sometimes, Grandpa would clutch old albums. He never let anyone see them, but she knew it was her in there, somewhere, may be just a glimpse, but she was there. Grandma was very precious, and he was the sole proprietor. Some nights he slept early, no one dared disturb him then.

Lajjo felt a strong urge to see her. But she never mustered enough courage. To face the one thing that grandpa loved most in the world, maybe even more than her.

Then one day, grandpa fell very ill.

He was nearing 80. He looked so frail. So weak and vulnerable. The doctors stopped visiting. Neeta, started religiously attending the daily sermon. Only Lajjo seemed oblivious. Grandpa would live. At least for her.

Day after day, she would go to his bedside, and sit. He couldn't consume of his own. He wouldn't sleep on his own. He could only stare with penetrating eyes. Eyes that prayed to be let gone. Grandpa was breathing just for Lajjo. Waiting impatiently when she'd let him go.

Then one day he asked her, "Am I to be in this bondage forever?"

That night, Lajjo didn't sleep. She sat listening to the cicadas in her backyard. Usually, they lulled her to sleep, but not today.

Didn't Grandpa want to be with her and Neeta? Did he not like the mountains that touched the sky, the birds that flew far? She closed her eyes. His pained face was building in her memory. Pleading. Beseeching. She tried desperately to make herself believe that he wanted to stay.

Finally, she ran to his room. He awoke when she entered. She put her hand on his forehead. It was ablaze with fever. She kissed his smoldering cheek. Peering in his eyes, deeper than ever before, she whispered,"Grandpa, I want you to go to her."

She felt his eyes moistening and wiped them.

He felt happy. Proud. Lajjo was evidently his own. He felt free. He put his arms over her head and kissed her cheek. She looked in his eyes. He smiled, then closed them. She too closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep beside him.

In the morning, Neeta went to search for Lajjo. She saw her sleeping on grandpa's bed. Thinking she was disturbing him again, she went to wake her up. And then she created an uproar. The other servants came without delay.

Grandpa lay motionless on his bed.

That evening grandpa was cremated. Everyone assembled. He was loved by all. Neeta feared Lajjo's reaction. But surprisingly, she took it well. Neeta did not want her to attend the funeral. But she was persistent. She prayed for him there.

Lajjo opened her eyes. She was twenty-six years old now. Having graduated from Delhi, she had married a loving classmate. For their honeymoon everyone had someplace grand in mind. But she had quietly asked her groom if they could go to a small hill station in Kumaon. He had been surprised, but took her there none the less.

Here she was standing again. Outside the same cottage. Other people occupied it now, she had heard. But it was the same. The same oak trees enveloped it. The same flowerbeds. She wondered what had happened to Neeta. She closed her eyes. Felt the fresh air. Someone tugged her on the elbow. She jolted back to reality. It was Neeta. Older. Wrinkled. But yes it was her. She leaped with joy. Neeta handed her a letter. Lajjo opened it. It was grandpa's writing. It had the same feel. The same warmth. The same papers lined with red at the top. She began to read.

Dearest Lajjo,

I've missed you all my life. Waited to join you there, from where none return. But I shall not have to wait anymore.

Yours' lovingly

She couldn't read it anymore. She was stunned. It was a letter to her grandma after all. So she had been named after her. The most precious to grandpa. She broke down. Began to weep. And then a silent smile crossed her face as the Laajwanti flowers spread their fragrance around the whole of Kumaon.