Rags of Love

[Deepshikha]

P class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2The stench, no longer made him feel like throwing up as it did when he was only five. He cannot remember when the garbage dumps in the city had become his mother. They fed him. They clothed him. They took care of him. And the stench was like the mother’s body smell, which he never knew, had over the years become an inseparable part of his life. /FONTP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comfficeffice" /oFONT face=Arial size=2/FONT/oP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2Every day he crawled all over the rotting heaps of leftover food, tattered clothes, broken furniture, and remnants of other people’s lives. They became his life. He became a part of the trash. In his threadbare loose gray overcoat that decidedly had once belonged to a much larger man, a dirty muffler, a torn beret and a pair of moldy boots he was indistinguishable from the mound of rubbish. He did not even have a name. They called him Rags. /FONTP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"oFONT face=Arial size=2/FONT/oP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2He had found his shelter in the nearby graveyard among the tombstones. No one disturbed him here. The dead had quietly accepted him, a living soul among them. A piece of vinyl from an advertising hoarding that had come crashing down one stormy night was now the roof over his head. The vinyl diffused the stars as he lay down at night as he lay among the dead looked up at the sky. It kept the rain away and when it became cold he crept into the wooden crate he had stolen from the nearby inn. It was his royal bedchamber where he slept as soundly as if it had been a bed of down./FONTP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"oFONT face=Arial size=2/FONT/oP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2It had reeked of fish when he had first got it. He quite liked it and even dreamt of a steamy plate of salmon. He had pressed his grubby face against the glass window of the inn and had seen it being served to customers. He even imagined how it would taste. The crate also smelt of the salt of the sea. He had seen the sea and had wanted to sail away in a boat. /FONTP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"oFONT face=Arial size=2/FONT/oP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2The trashcan outside the inn was his favorite. They always had plenty of leftovers. Enough for him to quench his growing hunger. But he had fight off the packs of stray dogs to rummage for his share. He had always had to fight or work hard for his share, as he never knew a gift. He had seen mothers buy their children bright boxes tied with colorful ribbons and he had seen men and women, girls and boys give each pretty packages wrapped in love. The nicely dressed people in warm clothes, who had enough to eat, called them gifts. You did not have to work to get it, is how he understood it. /FONTP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"oFONT face=Arial size=2/FONT/oP class=MsoBodyText style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; LINE-HEIGHT: normal; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"FONT face=Arial size=2He found it one day. It was in a soggy frayed leather pouch that had seen much better days. It had felt a little heavier than usual. He was a master at sifting garbage. He could feel any packet in his grimy palms and could guess what it contained. He ripped it open. A shiny new coin stared at him. Five dollars. Is this what people called a gift?SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes" [/color]For some time he just stood there and looked at the coin. He turned it in his palms and felt the cold metal.SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Just a piece of round metal. It could buy him a lot of things. How about a steamy plate of salmon with leavened bread? In spite of his dirt and tattered clothing there was something about Rags that was attractive. It was easy to see that if he had been clean and well dressed he would have been decidedly good-looking. Some of his companions were sly, and their faces inspired distrust; but he had a frank, straight-forward manner and if you looked closely enough his eyes were those of a dreamer. But then who would care to look closely at him.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"For a long time he stood outside the inn. He had never in his life set foot on a carpet. He knew his filthy boots would soil it. What if they threw him out. The smell of warm food wafted into his nostrils. Food, which he could at last buy and not pick from the litter can. The sight of warm food was too tempting to linger outside for long. He felt the cold coin in his palms and a quiet surge of confidence rushed through his blood. He had money. Money somehow made you feel powerful and strong.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"His feet sunk on the soft carpet. It was so different from the flagstones he feet trudged every day of his 17-year old life. It was soft, softer than even the grass in the graveyard. All the noise had stopped as if by magic. Eyes were riveted on him. A tattered overcoat, dirty muffler, torn beret and moldy boots. Rags had done the impossible. He had stepped into a happy people’s world. People whose pockets jingled with coins like the one he held in his palms.SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes" [/color]He was them.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"It just took a few minutes for the frozen silence to splinter like breaking glass. They were on him like a pack of dogs he fought off every day. He was being led to the door. Pushed hard. He could never be them. He was an trespasser. Just as he had thought. He did not even feel bad. And then she stood there in front of him. He had money, but they did not believe him.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"The eyes dark and sad, the silky hair cascading around her oval face and falling softly on her shoulder, the arms long and slender. She raised her arms.SPAN style="mso-spacerun: yes" [/color]The world around him stopped. All he wanted was a plate of salmon and a loaf of bread. Sit, she said and gave him a chair. She went and brought him the food and laid it out in front of him, on the nice white tablecloth.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"All his life he wanted it. The plate was before him now. His life’s dream was about to be fulfilled, but now he could not eat. Why was she crying? The tears had streaked her soft cheeks, like a shadow of dried river running through a meadow. Eat, she said. Why are you crying? He forgot his food. No one had wanted to know why she cried.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"She was crying since bidding adieu to her soldier man at the railway station that morning. He was going off to a distant land to fight someone else’s battle. They would have been married in a week’s time. But the train took him away to a foreign land to fight another man’s war. The ring was bright and shining, like her eyes brimming with tears.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Do not cry my lady. Your prince will be back to walk you down the aisle in the church. He will bring you a nice box tied with red ribbons from a distant land and you will be happy. You are a good man. Your smile makes me happy. Your words comfort me. He took the food and came away.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Rags stood outside the inn for a long time. Once again the cold asphalt under his feet gave him a familiar feel of comfort. He suddenly wanted to make her happy. He felt that his happiness was in making her happy. He did not want anything in return. Night had fallen. The shops around him were downing their shutters. Rags trudged back to his graveyard with the food, now cold, in the hands.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"The solitary old man in the corner who sold newspapers and raffle tickets was cold and hungry. Business had been bleak. Rags smiled at him and offered his box of food. Eat it, father for I am no longer hungry. Their eyes met. The gnarled hands stretched out to take the food. Sit next to me, let us share what we have. Hunger had found a new friend. Rags was no longer alone.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"They smiled once again as the salmon vanished soon. Will you take a small gift? A gift? Rags was silent. The old man took out a raffle ticket from an envelope and pushed it into Rags palms. It isn’t much , no one would buy it for the game will be over soon. Please take it. Rags folded the ticket in his dirty pocket and walked back to his graveyard and gazed at the stars through the vinyl roof.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Dawn broke like any other dawn of his life. Hungry once again. Poker in hand, he returned to the garbage heap outside the inn to his life. She was there today and waved at him. He did not trust his eyes. He stood there rooted to his place and couldn’t even wave back. She waved again and this time he broke his trance and waved back.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Rags , screamed the old newspaper man. Rags he shouted. Rags, fairy tales happen. Rags where is the ticket. What ticket? The ticket Rags quickly. The ticket I gave you last night. Where did you keep it? It’s in my pocket. Rags fairy tales happen , they do indeed. This ticket is a million dollars. You’ve won.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"The world raced past him. Everything was a blur. These things could not happen to people like him. Rags lived and died in the garbage heap of humanity. They always thrived on leftovers. The plate was full for others. Rags wake up you’ve really got a million dollars, the old man continued to scream like a crazy man. If I have then you keep half, Rags mumbled.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"She did not recognize him that evening in his new clothes and shiny boots. He now had nice clothes like those happy people and today no one was pushing him to the door. He quietly walked up to her. Lady, here is your two dollars for the meal you gave me last evening. Who are you? I pick the garbage outside your inn, I am Rags.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"She smiled through the tears and saw the honest open face gaze back at her. Do not cry for he will be back soon with a new ring for you. He would even bring you a diamond necklace with a crystal locket. You are a good man come have your meal at my table. It may be the last meal for very soon, they will come to take away the inn as I cannot pay them back the loan.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Rags walked back past the graveyard to his new house with red tiles on the roof. The inn was full the next day and every day after that with new customers eating to their hearts’ content. The cash register could not stop tinkling as the new coins and dollars bills bulged from the drawers. They could not take her inn away and Rags watched silently as the smile came back to her face. But the tears did not stop as she listened to the radio, which talked about the war that engulfed country after country. She read her soldier’s letters to Rags who sat patiently and listened with a smile on his face. He would be back by Christmas he said. And she smiled back.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"That day she had climbed the ladder to string the fairy lights on the roof of her inn. Christmas was days away and her soldier would come home. Rags ran as she fell. She lay quietly on the cruel asphalt as he knelt beside her. He gathered her tenderly in his arms.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"The doctors were kind. They took good care of him. But she stared back blankly at Rags. The eyes strangely looking and yet not seeing anything. Her soldier was back with a bouquet of flowers, which he laid at her bedside. Would she ever walk and smile? One in a million chance. He went back to the station to take the train to another town. There were no bouquets next to her bed any longer.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Rags walked past the graveyard to his new house. He wheeled her into her new room. It was brightly colored and had lots of flowers. She still looked without seeing. Rags wiped the food from her lips and tucked her into her warm bed.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Summers melted into autumn and autumn slipped into winter. She gazed sightlessly as Rags unwrapped the nice boxes of gifts. It was Christmas once again.[/color]SPAN style="FONT-FAMILY: Arial"Rags wheeled her outside the house, which was now her home. He placed the rickety ladder next to the wall and climbed the roof to string the fairy lights. She shrieked as he fell and lay quietly on the flagstones. His head on her laps as he smiled and closed eyes in a final sleep. Her tears mingled with his. He will now retrun to his home in the graveyard and he had his new shiny boots on. They found a diamond necklace with a crystal locket in his pocket.[/color]/FONT

[Deepshikha]

Come Fall in love again