Angels Live For Ever:



Dear Madam, Sorry, if I am turning out to be the pain in the back. But here's another story I penned this morning. So much goes on inside my restless head that I find it difficult to let go of any opportunity of writing a story. All my labour of writing this story within a matter of 35 minutes will not be wasted, if it meets with your approval. With love and regards,



Sincerely,



R.N.Bhattacharjete



Angels Live For Ever:



As the hailstorm and sleets hit the thatched rooftop, I pulled my four-year-old son closer to me and clapsed him tightly. I was running a high temperature but had no time to think about myself as my son raised his head near my face and muttered in a feeble voice: \"I'm hungry, Mama. Gimme something to eat...\" I held him even more tightly and started praying. The tears had dried up in my eyes since Avik, my husband, dumped us most unceremoniously last Friday. I heard it from my neighbours that he was last seen heading to the city. I don't know if Apsara was also with him or they simply didn't want to put the sword in my heart any further. As the vicious cyclone raged outside and the flashes of lightning glimpsed through the slits in the roof, I felt so livid against the injustice of it all. My husband left me four nights back for someone ten years my younger. Initially, I tried to make do whatever was left in the fridger but Aryan, my son, was in a growing up stage and the things didn't last for more than a day and a half. There was not even a rupee left anywhere. Avik always looked after the financial aspect of running the family. I didn't know what to do then. I thought of even begging around for alms for our survival when I realized in bed that I had a serious headache with my whole body aching. Before I could even think of going to my neighbour for any homeopathic herbs or something, the cyclone struck our neighbourhood. I have been trapped in my ramshackle hut since then. Why is God so mean to the poor always? Aryan trembled in my arms awkwardly once more before mumbling: \" Give me SOMETHING. ..\" before he became still in my arms. I knew then that all the talks and belief about God being the friend of the poor and the needy is just bullshit. I knew that if something was not done sooner, I was going to loose my son as well. Suddenly, another thunder burst the door open violently. In came the most compassionate looking man I'd ever seen in my life. His bearded face, those expressive eyes and the graceful demeanour wrought a miracle in me. What I could make out of his voice in my feverish state was that he was a next door neighbour and aware of my situation. He left a packet on the floor and went out as noiselessly as possible. It was as if he didn't want to add to my woes. That was the first and last I saw of him. He had not only brought me some dried meat and bread but there were five hundred rupees in fifty-rupee notes in a crisp envelope. After the fever and the storm had subsided, I tried to look for this man but no one could tell me anything about him from my description. It was as if he was an angel in disguise come to save me from my pathetic plight. II simply would have lost my last straw of hope on that rearful night. I didn't give up my search for him until I happened to find my way in the only 16th century church in my locality. As I was led to the altar, my shock and surprise knew no bounds. There some 6-feet above me was the same angel who rescued me from the clutches of disgrace and death. The End

First Story
Like this story?
Join World Pulse now to read more inspiring stories and connect with women speaking out across the globe!
Leave a supportive comment to encourage this author
Tell your own story
Explore more stories on topics you care about