This story was written while I was reading "The Brothers Karamzov"by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I have to admit.. part 1 of the story is almost an exact copy of a small part of the novel. Even the names and dialogues have been retained. But the reason why I wrote a story with a borrowed idea was because the image of the mother and the elder in the novel did not leave my mind. In the novel, the mother leaves after listening to the advice of the elder. But somehow I felt this mysterious impusle to extrapolate the story. When I started writing the story I did not have an end in mind. But as I wrote the end became clear. You can say that I was brainwashed by the tragic nature of Dostoevsky's stories although all his stories are not tragedies. But nevertheless FD's stories have a certain quality..they take one to a realm of gloom which kind of grows on you to such an extent that you begin to like the gloom.
Ha.. I sound like when I was 18 years old..
anyways .. read the story,.. But mind you ... it's not really an entertaining story!!
BTW stories from the past - 1 can be read HERE.
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Way of the cross
1
The women waited outside the elder’s house.
The elder was an old man and his stooped posture and long beard gave him the appearance of a medieval saint. He was a holy man and his mere presence induced reverence among many. And now, the women waited, patiently, to pour out their heart’s sorrows and receive blessings from the reverend elder.
The elder came soon enough. He walked to the women and then with much difficulty sat in an old fashioned worn out chair. He spoke immediately.
“What is it, my child, what is it?”
The woman who was nearest looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen.
The other women looked at her with much curiosity. She was obviously a stranger.
“O father, I don’t want to live anymore.”
The elder crossed himself and said a silent prayer. He didn’t utter a word.
After a long pause interrupted only by the sobbing of the frail woman, the elder spoke.
“It’s alright my child. The lord has plans.”
“O father, I buried three of my sons, and I accepted it as the lord’s wish. But I cannot forget my fourth, father, I cannot. He keeps coming to me in my dreams.
And to think, how much I loved him. O father, I cannot forget him - my little Aloysha. He keeps coming back to me so often that it has driven me mad. I have run away from home father, run away from my husband. My husband is a good man, father, and yet I cannot bear to see the pain on his face while bearing my own.
Four children , father, four children. And to think, my little Aloysha had to be taken away too. I don’t know what to do anymore, father. My soul is burning and now I’m filled with guilt for leaving my husband. He cannot live without me father. But my home burns me alive with memories of my little Aloysha. O father, only if I could see him, even from afar, just a glimpse of him walking on his tiny foot, calling to me ‘mama’, will my soul be redeemed. Just a glimpse father or his innocent voice, that’s all I wish for.”
“Your child is with you, mother; oh yes he is. Don’t you know that little children plead the strongest in front of the lord? The lord cannot ignore them as their voices are the purest. And so he turns them into angels, o mother, messengers of his word.
Oh yes, little Aloysha is now an angel and I’m sure of that. Isn’t that a matter to rejoice, mother?"
“You speak like his father, O reverend. He tells me the same, but I cannot be comforted. I have his little belt with me father……”
And saying this she took out a tiny golden leather belt. She began sobbing hysterically.
“….and to think that I’ll never see him, never see him again….”
“Do not be comforted, mother, you should not be comforted. But weep and when you weep remember that your son is an angel in heaven and that he rejoices in your tears and points them to the Lord”
“And Oh yes, he is with you even as you speak, happy that you weep for him. But won’t he weep when he sees that you are not with his father. Won’t he weep when he sees that you have forsaken his father? So why make his blessedness cry? Go home to your husband, mother. Make him happy whilst he lives. And though invisible, your son will be with you. He will come silently in your dreams and your dreams will not torture you as they do now. Go home, mother; go home to your husband and your child.”
And saying this he turned to the next woman.
The woman bowed with respect and retreated.
2
The elder was right, she thought to herself. Although she would still be sad for her child, she wouldn’t be guilty anymore. She had forsaken the man she loved most, when he wanted her the most. She had been cruel to her husband, cruel to herself.
And yes, her little Aloysha would rejoice from heaven, when he sees that she is with his father. This thought gave her a new hope and she trod her steps with a new life.
She was going home to her husband, going home to her little Aloysha.
She would be happy.
3
“Fyodor, where are you?”
The woman called out as she reached her home. Her face was glowing with hope. She entered the house and looked around. Everything remained as she had left them. Suddenly she felt a strange sense of loneliness in the house.
Had her husband left the house, tired of waiting for her?
“Fyodor, where are you? “
Her voice now echoed desperation. Once again, she seemed to be on the verge of tears. She entered the bedroom. And there on the bed, her husband lay, his arms outstretched. His eyes were wide open and saliva was dripping from his mouth.
Slowly, she walked to him. Her eyes were fixed at his body and her motion was mechanical. She reached for his hand.
His hand was still warm.
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