INK FROM THE HEART (Memoir series – Story 15)

A Son’s Journey through a Torn Letter

A letter for me?

Really?! My heart races with excitement when a friend informs me and quickly rushes off.

My friend John looks as surprised as I am. We have never received any letters by post before.

All of us are in a hurry to get ready for the NCC (National Cadet Corps) parade practice march for the upcoming Independence Day.

We dash downstairs wondering who could have sent me this letter. Finally, I spot it—a blue inland letter with my name and address neatly written on it.

I wait in anticipation as the warden opens the glass shutter of the notice board displaying the letters. He smiles as he places the letter in my hands.

It’s from Mummy, and I want to tear it open right away, but John says there’s no time to read it now.

So we rush back to our dormitory, aware that we have only a few precious minutes to get ready for the parade. As I dress in my khaki uniform, I can’t help staring at Mummy’s handwriting on the letter.

What could Mummy have written? Is she doing okay? Is she coming back soon? Did Daddy tell her about the dog meat and the buttermilk mugs?

I am full of questions and anxiety as I join the other boys on the school grounds.

Excitement fills the air as boys from different classes gather in three lines, waiting for the commanding officer’s signal to begin our march. The sound of drums echoes through the atmosphere, setting the rhythm for our synchronized movements. With each beat, our feet hit the ground in perfect harmony.

Everything is beating in rhythm except my heart.

I feel restless and uneasy with Mummy’s letter in my pocket.

We reach the parade ground and I can’t wait any longer. Maybe, just maybe, I can steal a few moments to read Mummy’s words. After all, with so many cadets around, who would notice?

I excitedly slip my finger into the gap of the letter while looking around cautiously.

As I open the letter, there is something odd about it.

The letter is torn into four uneven pieces. Oh my! I have cut it open in the wrong place. What a mess!

John grips my trembling hand as I panic to salvage the muddled pieces.

And just then, our commanding officer calls out to resume the march.

So, I carefully place the torn remnants of the letter into my pocket.

The weight of my mistake is pressing upon me, and I want to scream out loud in frustration.

Back in school, I read the incomplete sentences in the pieces of the letter and struggle with the burden of guilt. How did I end up tearing up the letter like this?

At that moment, John becomes my lifeline, extending a hand of compassion to rescue me from the depths of despair.

Together, we painstakingly gather the jumbled pieces, like delicate petals of a broken flower. Each piece represents my mother’s love, her unwavering strength in the face of illness. With every correct alignment, our hope turns into reality.

In her delicate handwriting, I sense a shiver, a vulnerable tremor. Mummy’s handwriting had always been neat and perfect.

It strikes me deeply, for it’s a testament to her battle against a formidable foe. She fights not just for herself but for me, her cherished child. The letter unfolds her journey, her struggles, and her unwavering determination to heal.

Amidst her suffering, Mummy asks about my well-being, health, and studies. Her concern wraps around me like a warm embrace, momentarily easing the ache of her absence.

In those brief moments, I hold dear the special connection between Mummy and me, even when forced apart by situations we can’t change.

Within the lines of her letter, a beam of light shines upon my friend John. Mummy recognizes the significance of his presence in my life, expressing gratitude for the friendship we share. It’s as if my friend’s spirit dances blissfully within the inked words, his importance affirmed by a mother’s tender acknowledgment.

I carefully fold the letter and hold it close to my chest. The emotions within me are too overwhelming to contain. And tears stream down my cheeks.

I yearn to be by my mother’s side, providing comfort and happiness. Yet all I possess are her cherished words, engraved in my heart with ink as serene as the sky-blue hue of an inland letter.

My heart is heavy but my hope is strong. I must persist in my struggle to escape from my present misery into the warmth of Mummy’s embrace.