Untitled Document

Mirror Magazine

Short Story
Coming to terms...
By Punyakante Wijenaike
People think I'm crazy.
Because I don't believe in death.
I do not accept it even after I saw my beloved father laid out in a coffin.
I had walked behind my weeping mother and elder sister to the cemetery. Yellow robed monks chanted verses before they set fire to him. I watched the flames go higher and higher and higher and everyone around me was weeping. I did not weep. I just stood there and looked at the flames, holding onto my mother's hand.
After we came home I just went into my room and put away the cricket bat and ball father and I used to play with whenever he was home on leave.
I lay on my bed and listened to the confusion of the 'Mala Dane' being served to those who had come to condole.
The house was full of people.
Yet I felt all alone.
But I didn't cry.
I didn't eat.
I didn't sleep.
Amma came into my room.
'Life must go on putha,' she said. 'Your father would want you to live for him.'
So I ate.
I slept.
I even went to school, like a zombie.
I was only seven years old and already half of me was gone.
After school I lay on my bed and cried: "Thatha where are you?'
And then I heard it. His dear, familiar voice.
'I am here son, with you, I cannot leave you alone. Not until you have grown up and can stand on your own two feet.
My heart beat fast. 'Thatha WHERE are you?'
'I am WITHIN YOU son. I could not leave you alone.'
I went to the mirror and looked at myself.
'I have been reborn in your body son. You and I are one now.'
Yes, I could see father's eyes behind mine. Joy flooded me. He had not deserted me. He was me.
We began to have long talks again, just he and me in my room.
'I will guide you,' he said. 'I will wait until you are old enough to look after yourself.'
My Amma came and pulled me out of my room.
She took me to a doctor who asked whether I heard voices in my head.
I told him no. There was only one voice. Thatha's voice. He was going to be with me until I grew up.
The doctor said I needed treatment to drive the voice out.
I screamed. 'No! I want my father with me!'
When we were alone Thatha told me not to tell anyone about him after this. To tell people that the voice had left me.
He told me to lead a normal life. To go to school, to play, to laugh.
And he would be with me all the time giving quiet support. No one understands the miracle that has taken place within me. I eat well now. I sleep well, I am happy. Amma has stopped taking me to doctors . But there is a look of bewilderment on her face.
I still talk with father, we laugh, we play, not cricket, but card games in my room. His ashes were thrown into flowing water.
But he is living within me.
He will never go to war again.
Life with father continues, unbroken.
There is no death.
Only the continuation of life after life...

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