After 15 years I was back to my country. I was feeling like I was back to my home but actually I was standing at the airport and waiting for my granny to come and receive me.
I do still remember the story that she told me. I even have the blur memories of my childhood in India. “Isha….Ishaaa”. I came out of my dream. I turned and smiled. “Granny….So glad to see you”. She took me to the car. We were on the way to home where she told me about the family…about friends…about my funny childhood memories. She received a call from her CA and got busy. I saw some books kept there. They looked quite interesting.
The titles of the stories were all the same! I got confused why all books seemed similar? By then granny had put her phone down. I asked, “Why all the books are same here?” She said “Not same. All are different editions of the same one”.
“Who has written all this?” I asked. She said, “The writer is still unknown”.
I felt she was hiding something. God knows why she was so tensed! We went home and I forgot about the story….about the writer…..but God wished something else.
One day I was just searching a book to read and accidentally met with those books again. I took them with me to my room and started reading. The struggle shown in the life of the protagonist was something I felt I heard before. It was a pleasure read but the book was incomplete as the last edition was missing. I went back to the mini library of our home but the book wasn’t there. I dashed to the library near my home where I enquired about the book but I was told, it was an incomplete version.
“There were some problems in the writer’s life and I don’t know much. In fact if you find the writer please tell that person that we all are waiting for last edition of his story”. The librarian smiled. I sadly started back for home. But I was too desperate to know the conclusion of that melodrama. As I was in India only for 10 days, I wished to find the conclusion soon. I googled about the writer so I could request him to complete the story but still I was unable to find the writer. Then my mind ringed up to see the year when the last story was published. I saw on the cover, the last edition of the story was published on the very same year of my birth. I was 25 and it indicated that last version was as old as me!
I went to the publisher’s office where I was astonished to hear the name of the author. She was none other but my granny. I was happy and went back home. Granny was busy. I went to her and requested her to complete it. She said, keeping her hand on my hand, “What to complete dear?” She took her hands back and sighed. “No. When you were born, I decided that I will never write again in future”.
“But why?” I asked. She told me about actual struggle of her life with a filled heart. “I was very happy at that time when I came to know you were born. The very same day your Granna was returning after his successful meeting in Dubai. Your father was at office. I was writing the conclusion of this story in the temple of our old Haveli. I was praying for a girl to bless the lap of my child and it happened the same but all my happiness shattered when I came to know, your granna died in a plane crash. I and your father had to bear a great loss. Your mother’s life was endangered because of lack of haemoglobin. I was thinking where to go first, to your grana or your mother! I thought if someone is dead we cannot get him back but the one who is suffering in life, I must stand by her. I rushed to the hospital and brought you home. I gave her my blood as she could come out of danger.
Do you know, when you came home everyone was calling you unlucky! They whispered among each other, this girl is evil and will bring more harm to the family. I heard them all and clutched on to you even more. One by one they left me. My writing spirit went away with them.
“You are the strongest lady I have seen in this world.” I said with tears in my eyes. “But you must write again.”
“No,” she said firmly.
I went to my room in a helplessly, wondering what can bring her back to the writing table.
She took me to our old haveli which we left after granna’s death. She showed around, telling me about a very minute incident that happened at every corner. Now we were at the place where my granny use to write. The door of room was closed. Granny gave me the key to open it. In front of the Saraswati idol there was a desk where she used to write, but now things were different. That idol was dusty, the desk was unkempt, the papers were all shuffled, the ink was spread all over…..
Granny was visibly very emotional. The room had remained locked since so many years. She rearranged those papers and handed over a bunch for me to read.
“Read and let go of these.” She instructed.
Without a word, I carried those pages back with me.
It was my last day in India when I was sitting with granny and she received a phone call. “Hello!”? Her eyes grew big with each word she heard. Finally she kept the phone and looked at me. “You did that?”
I knew what she meant but innocently asked, “What I did?”
“Who gave the pages to the publisher?” She charged. I looked away.
I thought she would get angry but she smiled. “It’s Ok but you should have told me once. They have loved the end of the story and are publishing it.”
The publishers had announced that the end of the story, for which readers waited for 25 years, have finally been found. Granny received many calls throughout the day, congratulating her for revealing finally, the name of the secret author of the book. I took my bag and returned to England. I was so happy while returning. I too had created a story for the one who always helped me to accomplish my dreams.