Philosophy of Life – A Story

bench in the garden

    The evening was perfect for the travellers who were in the Railgate city. The sun was bright, the wind was calm. The trees were gently moving to tunes of the wind. The city park was peaceful except for the laughing and giggling of the children playing around the pond in the middle. It was a weekend that every person desperately needed and it was the place to be on such an occasion. The travellers were taking photos, eating their snacks, boating in the pond and every single thing a normal person would do. But on a bench in a quiet end of the park sat a man of middle age yet he looked old in his brown overcoat. His once jet black hair started to become grey and the cute fair face that the women loved started to become wrinkled. But the subtle beard was able to compensate with the wrinkles. He wasn’t alone in the bench, a book he had been longing to read was accompanying him, taking him to places that he had never seen or meeting new people who were never real.

An inspector of the Railgate city should be on duty at this time, but he didn’t want to be on duty on such a beautiful evening. All the stress he had, all those sleepless nights, the tiring run behind an unknown person has got a hold on him. But all those could be kept aside for this evening. “The world doesn’t end tonight,” he told his assistant while coming out of his office early that day.

He wasn’t paying any attention to the surroundings but he was aware of a person walking up to him. It was a public park, there were hundreds of people around and many more would come eventually. But he was sure someone was coming straight to him. He just ignored that as he was deeply engaged in the beautiful romantic story he was reading.

“Good evening, sir,” a rough-voiced man stood beside the bench. The man was looking really old, older than the police officer. He wore an army green jacket which was muddy and looked older than him. The same colour hat was on his head, hiding his baldness.

“Can I sit here?” He asked very gently, his voice was clear and low but was holding a weight in it. Maybe of a tiring journey or of his old age, the inspector thought. He didn’t want anybody to disturb him that was why he sat at the back end of the park still an old man came straight for him and wanted to sit on that particular bench.

“Yeah, good evening. There are other benches in this park. You could sit peacefully there.” The inspector out of frustration raised his voice against him.

“Oh! I am sorry, sir. I am new to this city and I know nobody here. It was just I was scared to be left alone in this large place. You looked like a nice gentleman, so I thought I could just sit beside. So I could feel a little safe.” The old man said with his words stuttering in between.

His face looked helpless. The old man reminded him of his long lost father. For a second, he cursed himself for his misbehaviour. The old man kept smiling and turned back to move away from the bench.

“It’s all right, you could have a seat here,” The inspector smiled back at him and made room for the old man to sit. The old man’s eyes lit up, he slowly sat on the bench thanking the inspector. They both sat there for some time, nobody talked. The inspector honestly wanted to know why the old man was here in this crowded city all alone. That mystery kept him from returning to the books. But the old man was even anxious to start a conversation with the young man and he did.

“It is a lovely evening, isn’t it?” the inspector turned towards the old man. “It looks just like my village except for these cars and tall buildings.” The inspector felt very comfortable in the way the man was talking and he closed his books and thought of enjoying a real-life company.

“Oh! really, Its mostly like this in the spring season. But the summer’s could get even worse.” the inspector tried to give a good picture of how his city was but he wanted to know more about the old man’s life. “Where are you from?”

“I am from a village called Rimmerett. It is really far to the south of this city.” The old man got something to start his conversation with. “I am a farmer so was my father and his father. The village is a magnificent place to live in. Green hills and clear river valleys. You should come to visit one day.”

The inspector felt very happy for somebody calling him to visit his village, from what he said, he was able to feel the peaceful life the old man have. It must so great to be a farmer in such a place.

“Yeah! after I have finished some of my works I would definitely visit the place.” The inspector told the old man, he wouldn’t possibly visit the place but he didn’t want to tell the old man that. For some reason, he didn’t want to see the old man’s face go dull again. “Then what brings you here to this city?”

The old man’s eyes widened, his face became pale white. His forehead was sweating which he rubbed away with his wrinkled palm. Then slowly he returned to his normal state.

“Uh, I was here at the police station. I have a case filed here.” the old man stuttering throughout his words. The inspector was little amazed to see an old man far from south to have a case filed in this city. He wanted to know more, but the old man’s face left him in silence and thought of asking no more. They both sat quietly like fish in a pond searching through their minds for something they did not know. After some moments, the old man was humming to a song, it was rough and tough still it made the inspector feel happy.

“That is nice, do you sing?” the inspector asked the old man. The man blushed, nobody has told him that before, except for his lovely wife. He smiled and kept shaking his head agreeing but still not wholly agreeing.

“I used to sing while I was a child, but my wife writes poetry and I sing them for her,” He told the inspector.

“Oh! that is great. Then why don’t you sing one of her poems,” The inspector was trying to make the old man feel very free to talk. At first, the old man tried to get away from the subject but the inspector kept on asking him and finally, he agreed.

Long away, from the sea,
I could see you on the tree.
The west wind brought your cry,
leaving the seas to dry.
The seas raging and sore,
my mind diving to its core.
It’s taking longer than I thought,
but I will get there soon and soon.

Be with my child,
and take care of my heart.

For soon shall I come and 
make a home again.
Take care of your own,
but none shall hurt you,
I can’t bear to see,
my home left all alone.

Stay strong my child,
Stay with my wife,
I will fly as fast,
as fast as wings could take.
I will bleed to death than
see your broken heart.
Make nicer songs,
for your father to sing.

I will reach soon and soon,
but no sooner than I thought.
There is war before noon
and I’ll fight with the rose I brought.

The old man’s eyes filled with tears as he finished the song. The inspector felt the pain in the song although he never liked poetry. But something in him just kept gnawing him.

“I am sorry, It is not that good, my wife, you know just writes the poems for me. So, it won’t be as good as the real poems you people read.” The old man was trying to make the situation lighter.

“Well, if this is not what they call poetry, then I am not going to read their books anymore,” the inspector and the old man smiled each other.

“My wife, she says it is about a father bird who goes far away to find a new home for his family which was destroyed by the attack some foul creatures. But you know, I think it suits perfectly for a man who is in the army, fighting a war, where he writes a letter to his family far away.”

The inspector smiled at how the old man had interests in his wife’s writings, “Its a poem, there are hidden meanings in it. Everyone would have different views on it.” The old man shook his head and looked at the sky which was now slowly getting dark. “So, why didn’t your wife join you here?”

The old man was not paying attention to the inspector anymore he kept staring at the sky for a long time and the inspector left him in his thoughts. Slowly he spoke in his stuttering voice.

“My wife has written thirty-seven poems so far. She never went to a college or got a good education. But she had a good heart which could give her the power to write good poems.” The old man looked at the inspector, with a face full of joy in it.

“I am sure she does have a great kind heart.” the inspector agreed with the old man.

“There was one occasion where she sang one of her poems at a wedding function in our village, there were so many people who loved to hear her songs. She was really nervous and kept asking me to join her on the stage and I did sing with her. Everyone stood up and applauded her when we finished.” The old man had a big smile on his face, his black eyes were glowing like the sun, he stuttered no more. The inspector listened to him very enthusiastically.

“Two days after the function, I was going to the market a little far from my home to sell the vegetables we farmed. She was writing a new poem which she promised would sing at another wedding which was a week later. It was raining and I had to take my brothers truck to the market. I could still see her standing at the doorways waving her hands at me.” The old man stopped, but he was looking at a tree far away like he was looking at his wife in his village. Then he continued.

“It took me some time to get the things sold and the rain was strong and roads were muddy and difficult to drive. I got home almost before lunch. But my home didn’t look the same as it used to be. The doors were wide opened and our garden in front was burned. I paced into my home looking for my wife. But all I saw was a motionless, cold white figure. The redshirt she was wearing was torn apart and I could see finger marks on her cheeks. She was strangled to death as the autopsy report said. She held a piece of paper in her hand which had a poem written on it. The one I sang to you now.” The old man started crying, he rubbed his eyes with his kerchief. The inspector was startled to hear the change of events, he was a police officer he wanted to know more about it.

“What happened? Who did that?” The inspector curiously asked the old man. It took a little while for the old man to respond to the question.

“The police said it was an attempted robbery, they believe there must be three or four people. My wife was a bold woman, she may have stopped her, and they have punished for what she did in the most brutal way.” The old man was crying again. The inspector moved towards him and put his hands over his shoulder and tried to comfort him.

“Did the police find them?” the inspector asked him just to find something to ease the pain out of his mind. The old man shook his head.

“No! they said they might have got into this city and I filed a case here three years ago and still nobody has found anything.” It was getting somewhat familiar for the inspector now, he remembers a case filed three years ago on a murder of a fifty-six-year-old woman at Rimmerett. He felt sorry for the old man, he couldn’t help him find justice.

“I am sorry, they will find the people behind it. Please don’t worry.” The inspector comforted the old man and he nodded and rubbed his tears with his kerchief.

Time past by, nobody talked to each other. It was getting dark, people were clearing the park and getting back to their burrows and nests. The old man broke the silence.

“You see, I and my wife were together for forty years and never had she ever complained me for anything. She always told me that God would take care of us. I was a practical man, God was just another word in the dictionary. But she prayed to God for me too. She always prayed for my good health, for my better future. But never had she prayed for herself. She knew, If I were alive and healthy I could take care of her. And her prayers were answered, God left me alive, healthy and strong, and for what. What is the purpose of this life if there is no one for me to live for? Sometimes I wish that she could have often prayed for herself than for me, then we both would have been alive and together. It is the philosophy of life, You can’t have everything in your life at once.”

“Everything happens for a purpose, we can’t change what happened. Sometimes the fate is cruel.” Said the inspector.

“It is getting dark. I have to get back to my village before morning. There is a lot of work to finish.” the old man slowly stood up from the bench and stretched his back and adjusted his hat. “You are right, inspector Sekar. Everything happens for a purpose.” The inspector was confused he never told the old man his name or he was an inspector, he was not even wearing the uniforms.

“Don’t worry, I know you are the inspector of this city, I have come to you several times. But you never had time to listen to me.” The old man smiled at the inspector. “I know why the Gods left me alive so that I could find the people who took away my wife from me. Let me tell you a secret, you need not have to look for the killers anymore, their business has been settled. I killed all of them just like they killed my wife. Actually, it was fun, watching the life squeezed out of their body. It made me feel like God. The same God my wife used to pray to.”

“I could arrest you right now. You know that, right.” said the inspector to the old man who turned out to be not the same guy he was talking to. The old man smiled.

“Yes, you could, inspector. you could. I really came here to kill you. I needed to confess everything to someone and I thought you would be the right person for that. Well, as I am finished I guess its time for you to join my wife.” The old man picked out a gun from his pocket. The inspector was really familiar with the gun, it was his. He had had it strapped to his belt. He searched the belt and the gun was missing. “How did it happen?” he thought to himself. And he found out that when he was trying to comfort the old man while he was crying he might have taken it from him.

“You are a clever old man.” the inspector frowned at him.

“My wife used to say that. But I still believe I am young. In my mind, I am still the young cool guy who used to roam around the villages with my friends. Well, you see I am really tempted to kill you, but I am going to leave you. Just because you liked my wife’s poem.”

The inspector laughed, he knew the old man was not as foolish as he thinks. “And you think you could escape?”

“I don’t think before doing. I just do things.” He took out a piece of paper and gave it to the inspector. That’s my address, I’ll be there when you wake up. You could come and catch me if you can. Remember, it is the philosophy of life”

“Wake up?” the inspector asked and suddenly his head banged into the bench and it all went black.

He was sweating, the heat was immense and his head ached. He slowly opened his eyes to see the bright sun and a number of joggers in the park. His senses returned to him and he stood up. Something was clenched in his wrist and he looked into it. That was a paper the old man gave him, it was written,

Melhert ville,
1125 road,
East Remmerett village,
Nortier

I will be waiting. I will not surrender. Come with your force to catch me.

The inspector smiled at the old man’s message. He could have gone after him. But deep inside his mind, he knew there was nothing wrong in what the old man did, he did what the police couldn’t and let the Gods decide what will become of him. It is the philosophy of life after all. He tore the paper and left it for the wind to play with.

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To The Sun And Glory – A story

15492617_1798368837068878_4013302870783024467_n ©copyrights to picture belongs to Nikhil Achu.

  The day was on its way to reach its peak. The glittering Sun hiding and peeping through the white old clouds who were moving swiftly through the open sky. Trees and grass were green shining in the light, allure in the wonderful morning. A huge mansion almost being able to touch the old clouds stood upright, grey and shining with happiness. Indeed the bright Sun spread its merry all over. 

 An old man opened the door of the mansion, warm light left his face beaming. 

“Wonderful morning it is.” He told himself. His short white beard shined in the sunlight. Pale skin became paler with the light. He smiled very pleasantly, as he did it every morning. But now he had to get back to his work. The old man went back into his mansion seeking his room. The large wooden furnished room glimmered in the morning, offering a warm welcome.  He walked into the room smiling and with a mind full of happiness.

But all those happiness went down when he saw something was missing. His face went dull, his smile faded. Fear filled his eyes. He kept looking on his desk, searched under the table, the chair, inside his drawers. There was nothing. He knew that was not the place he kept it. Still, he had to look everywhere. 

“Where is it?” He shouted out loud. His face became red as an apple and a volcano about to rupture. The voice almost shook the mansion, a lady of late forties suddenly appeared at the door side. 

“Is there a problem, sir?” asked the lady with a little hesitation. 

He barely heard her voice under his temper. The very fine morning was now darkening. The lady moved towards the old man. In the middle, she was stunned by another image to the right side of the room. Her pupils dilated and were gasping for breath. 

“Oh!” She walked even faster to the scene. Still in shock. Looking towards a broken cupboard, and peeped over her shoulder to look at the old man then she called out in a trembling voice

“Mr. Sarvan!!” then a shrieking sound came out of Mr. Sarvan’s mouth out of fear that could not be expressed. The lady now was dialing someone on her phone, her hands shivered as she placed the phone to her left ear.

“Police station!!.” She spoke out loud.

It took some time for the police to reach the lonely mansion that was way far from the city. They were sure of the address as there were no other residents on this part of the State. And the name of the mansion suited its location “Lonely Mansion”.  The car stopped at its doorstep and a stout man came out followed by another tough looking man, both were in uniforms. They knocked on the door even though the door was open. The lady walked towards them.

“Are you the one who called us?” Chief of the policemen asked just to make sure. The lady was afraid to see two policemen at front door even though she was the one who called them. 

“Yes,” she answered them after a short moment “come on, this way” through the living room they climbed up the stairs to a large room that smelt like a library. 

“Is this your house ma’am?” asked the policeman.

“No, this is Mr. Jaron Sarvan’s home, I am his housekeeper,” she told them as they walked into the room. 

“There,” she pointed towards the right corner of the room, where there was a brown cupboard broke open.  The policemen walked towards the cupboard and investigated it. They kept looking around, observing the scene, searching for shreds of evidence.

“When did the break-in happen?” asked one of the policemen. 

“I didn’t hear anything, it was perfect yesterday. I saw it when Mr.Sarvan called out today morning.” She was not sure but still managed to give an answer.

“Is there anything missing?” they kept questioning.

“Yes, 50,000 Rs. It was kept safe in here,” she answered.

“Anything else,” they asked.

“Yes, My Pen!” the old man who had a drooping face filled with pain and despair, leaned on to the table with his hands on it supporting his body. He looked at them. The policemen walked towards the old man.

“Good morning, Mr. Sarvan” greeted the chief policeman.

The old man frowned at the chief.“Not a very “good” morning it seems. I lost my Pen.”

“Oh! actually, sir, I asked if something else of value was stolen.” responded the policeman scratching his head, who now thought the old man was trying to be sarcastic.

“That’s what I said. I lost my pen. It was very much valuable to me. You know nothing about it. I left it on my table yesterday night and this morning it is missing.” He felt annoyed by the Chief’s words.

The policemen were not ready to continue questioning him, they doubted his sanity. But they had no other way, there indeed had been a break-in that too on one of the most important people in this Country and a huge amount was missing and of course a pen!.

“Okay, so what kind of a pen is it?” the policeman asked him for further details.

“It is a fountain pen, black in color. It looks old and weighs more than a usual fountain pen.” His eyes glowed with such power and kept on saying every single detail of the pen until the policemen stopped him. They had everything written down and went to investigate around the mansion. The old man went back to the chair near the table. 

Several minutes past, the policemen returned. They didn’t look like they found anything. Still, they loitered around the room. Questioning both of them.

“Well we didn’t find much to support your grievance, anyway we’ll report to you if we find something.” said the policemen and went away in their car. The lady walked them out and after they were gone she went to Mr.Jaron Sarvan. He was a popular fiction writer, very popular and a former Member of Parliament. One of the most influential people of this Nation. She didn’t know why he was so depressed about losing a pen. Anyway, that was not her matter to run into. 

“Sir, don’t worry. I am sure they will find what was lost” She spoke out to comfort him but he was not in a mood to hear sympathetic speeches.

“Miss Farana, you may go home. Take a leave. I will call if anything is needed.” He spoke in a low desperate voice, that was only a step above a whisper. The man was helpless, she could not leave him in such a situation. That would be cruel. 

“What? I can’t leave you in this way, sir!” she was weeping “What if it happens again?” she tried to make Sarvan let her stay there. But he could not. It was not that he didn’t like her, She had been with him for the past 9 years. But now it was time for her to go.

“There is not much to take away from me,” he told her with a pale and cold face, his eyes were red with sorrow, his hands shivering. He slowly walked away from the room. Late that day after making the breakfast and lunch Miss Farana ended her relationship with the Lonely mansion. It broke her heart to leave him like that. But if he insisted, she must obey it.

Months passed by,  the old man stayed home. Nobody has seen him out in the city. Even his friends had rarely seen him after the event.

One day the Lonely mansion’s doorbell rang. Its sound echoed through the lifeless walls. It took a long time for someone to answer the door. Then the old man came to open the door. His face was paler than before, all wrinkled and his beard long and snow white.

“I am from the police department,” the man introduced himself to the old man. “you must be Mr.Jaron Sarvan. I am here to take you to the station.”

“Why?” the old man was puzzled by the policeman’s words.

“We have found the burglar that broke into your house,”  The policeman replied.

The old man’s eyes glittered like gold. His mouth, helpless to utter a single sound. For a moment it felt the old man was no longer old. Like his younger days stood before him.

“If you could come with me now” asked the policeman to the old man.

“Yes, yes,” the old man, at last, found his sense to speak something. He walked out with the police officer in the dress he was in, not even bothering to change.

“The door, aren’t you going to lock it?” The officer was confused about the old man’s doing. The inspector has told him that the old man may act unusual so to be nice to him. And he did. He went in closed the door and locked it. Keeping the key with him. The old man had already got into the car waiting for the officer. 

“Let’s go” he shouted out loud to the officer like a kid waiting to go out for a vacation. The officer had serious doubt on the man’s sanity. Anyway, he got into the car and drove off to the police station.

It took some time to get to the police station, he could see that the old man was restless in the back seat. Smiling and talking to himself. He looked happy and lively. It only took less than a minute for the old man to get to the inspector’s office once they arrived at the police station. The inspector was sitting in his chair reading something while the old man rushed into his office. He was surprised to see the man of that age in such an excitement.

“Oh! You’ve come. I thought you never went out of your mansion” said the inspector mocking the old man.

“Did you find it?” asked Mr.Sarvan not at all bothering about the inspector’s sarcasm.

“Yes, we did.” He asked his assistant to bring in the culprit. The assistant went into a room and returned with a lean and tall man of early thirties. His face was sweating and shabby hair fell over his forehead. The assistant handed a package to the inspector. He opened it and showed the old man the money the tall man had stolen.

“I am sorry, we can’t hand over the money to you now.” Said the inspector. The old man’s face fell, he was very disappointed now.

“Is that all?” asked the old man, not at all impressed on the inspector. “Didn’t you find my pen?”

“No there was no pen, but found all the money he took,” said the inspector with honor.

“I don’t want the money, where is my pen?” he asked the inspector. He stood still, not responding to the inspector. Then the old man turned towards the burglar.

“Where is my pen?”

The burglar looked helpless, he was already exhausted, his body was weak. His mind, all broken down.

“I didn’t take any pen.” He managed to speak.

“Don’t lie,” the old man now became uneasy. “WHERE IS MY PEN?”

The old man flew over to the burglar’s side. With his clenched fist, he punched the burglar right under his left eye with all the power he got. He fell down almost unconscious. The inspector and his assistant held back Mr.Sarvan. First, he tried to resist the officers, but he was old and weary his young days were far behind. They bought him to another room and made him sit there.

“My pen, My pen” the old man repeated to himself his grief. He was crying like a baby. His body was shivering, hands falling down with the loss of energy. The inspector felt so sad for the man. He went out and called the old man’s son, who was now a Member of Parliament.

An hour passed and there came a young, tall and a fair guy with black hair and a cleanly shaven face. His dress shouted out his position. He walked into the office and sat on the chair even before the inspector asked him to.

“Good morning sir,” the inspector greeted the young man. The inspector explained everything to him, everything from the beginning. The young man was patient enough to hear it all even though he didn’t like it.

“Where is he?” The young man asked after a long wait. The inspector asked his assistant to get the old man. He returned swiftly with the man. The young man had a grim look on his face. He was really unhappy to hear all these nonsense.

“I’ll take him,” he said and walked towards his father and held his hand. “And drop all the charges against him and the burglar.” The inspector was bewildered by his superior’s orders. But he had to obey it.

“All right,” The inspector replied. The Young man and his father walked out of the police station to a very expensive car that had a Red beacon light on top.

It was a silent ride. The old man still in the thought of his lost pen and his son who was displeased of his father’s nuisance. Anyhow he tried to keep his patience till he reached his home. They went to the Lonely Mansion.

The car stopped and they both got out. The old man didn’t bother minding his son, walked to the door. It was locked, he searched for the key but there wasn’t. The man searched everywhere for the key. There was nothing.

“What? You lost the key too?” asked his son. “What is wrong with you, huh?” He was longing for this conversation, now his patience ran out.

“There is nothing wrong with me” replied the old man not even turning back to his son. 
The young man was angry now, he didn’t come all the way just to hear nothing.

“I had to leave the meeting today to release you,” said his son who was blaming his father for creating inconvenience and for abandoning the Parliament meeting.

“I didn’t ask anybody to release me, I was not the prisoner,” the old man replied calmly and not turning back. His son walked up to him and grabbed over his shoulder and turned him over. 

“Look at me,  I am getting married next month. I don’t want the world to know that my father is insane and had lost his mind,” argued his son.

The clouds were darkening, the sun was no longer bright and young. The old man’s face darkened, his wrinkles were likes waves in the ocean. His eyes were red of pain and sorrow. He now understood that he was no longer needed for his son. That he turned out to be a burden. But above all, he knew that his pen will never be found.

“I am sorry for what I did, I never thought what it would do to you or your career.” He cried. His son felt sorry for him. He held his father’s hands in guilt. 

“No, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” They both looked each other for a moment. “Come stay with me, father.”

The old man thought about it for a second. He already knew the answer and told him no. They didn’t argue anymore. Then a police officer came with the key, the same officer who came to call Mr.Sarvan from the Lonely Mansion, as he locked the door and kept the key with him. Later, his son went back to his world leaving the old man to his own world. He insisted on calling back Miss Farana but Mr.Sarvan refused him. And the old man lived there alone for the rest of the days.

Many moons passed by the Lonely Mansion, one day the old man came out of the mansion. Dressed all fairly, like he did in his younger days. He went straight to the police station. The inspector was startled to see the old man in such a dress. He had all the pride and honor that he owned while he was the MP. The old man asked the inspector about the burglar. The inspector first refused to give away the details, but Mr.Sarvan kept to asking him at least his address. The inspector gave it to him. He thanked the inspector for his nobility and loyalty. Then he left. They knew where he would be going. The inspector called Mr.Sarvan’s son.

It was a long ride for the old man to get to the burglar’s place. Yet he enjoyed it. He seldom went for long trips at this old age, but this time the matter was pressing him. At last, he reached a local market that was near the place where the burglar lived. He went to a shopkeeper who was now a little more energetic by seeing a rich man in their market. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” the shopkeeper asked Mr. Sarvan very kindly.

“Have you seen this man?” Mr. Sarvan showed the picture of the burglar to the shopkeeper. The man’s eyes gleamed. He knew who it was.

“Yes, Komen. He was here just now.” His eyes searched around the store. “There he is” pointing to the shop opposite to him. Mr. Sarvan saw a tall man with long black hair and a beard, almost like his own but only blacker with a little boy in his hand.

“Thank you.” He told the shopkeeper and gave him 100 Rs. The shopkeeper was delighted and wished for the old man to come again later and ask for some other man. Mr.Sarvan walked towards the burglar. When he reached near the man, he patted on his shoulder.

“Komen?” asked Mr.Sarvan. The Burglar turned back and he was shocked, his eyes filled with guilt and there was a wound under his left eye, that the old man gave him at the police station.

“Yes,” he told suspiciously, he didn’t know why the old man followed him here. Anyway, he knew it was not good. Mr. Sarvan smiled. 

“Do you remember me?” asked Mr.Sarvan with a pleasant smile. “I know you do”

“Yes,” Komen felt free when the old man smiled. “Is this your boy?” asked Mr.Sarvan bending towards the child in his arms. A beautiful boy that looked exactly like his father. Towards him, a young woman came who was beautiful, wore a nice and subtle dress. It was his wife. 

“Yes, his name is Shegar” replied Komen. Mr.Sarvan kept on talking to three of them very pleasantly. After some time he asked Komen.

“Can I have a minute with you?” Komen nodded agreeing. He gave the child to his wife and walked with the old man towards the bus stop where there were benches to sit. They sat there for a long time silently. Then Komen broke the silence.

“I am sorry. I didn’t want to steal from your house. But I needed money. It was very urgent.” Komen confessed himself. Mr.Sarvan smiled at Komen.

“It’s all right. Everyone steals, I have done it too when I was young.” He went back to his younger days when it was all survival of the fittest. He was born in a very poor family, his father and mother left him when he was a child. Grew up with the kids in the slums. Robbed and did some dangerous things in life to survive the cruel world. The Old man kept on saying things.

“One day I pickpocketed a college professor while on a bus. He caught me red-handed but he didn’t tell anyone on the bus or to the police. He took me to a restaurant nearby and bought me food that I had never ever seen in my life. I was sure he did that because I looked empty.” Mr.Sarvan wiped off the tears that flow over his cheeks.

He gave me a pen that was in his shirt pocket and told me “You have many choices. Everyone does. Either you can stab a man with this pen, as you can see it is really strong or sell it to someone, it is really expensive or use it for what it was meant to be used for.” I didn’t utter a word. He went away after paying the bill. Several days passed and I gave serious thoughts about it and came to decision, I was going to use it for what it was meant to be used for.” He paused for a second and continued.

“I went to a local school, completed my high school education and got an admission at One of the best colleges in the country. And started to write in a newspaper, published many books, and became the MP. All with the pen he gave me.” Mr.Sarvan stopped when he was out of breath and went back to see all of his achievements. Komen interrupted his thoughts, he didn’t want to, but he needed to.

“I am sorry, It was my mistake you lost the pen.” He held the old man’s hand and wept like a baby. Mr. Sarvan comforted him, they went on talking for a long time then a car stopped right in front of him and Mr.Sarvan’s son looked out through the window. 

“Are you coming?” asked the son to his father, like his father used to do when his son was waiting for the bus when he was in college.

“yes! yes!” He was delighted to see his son there. Mr. Sarvan turned to Komen and said:

“I came to tell sorry to you, I never should have hit you. That was not my way. Please forgive me.”

“No! it was my fault. You should not apologize for my mistake.” Komen stopped him from saying anything more. “Listen up, I will find you your pen. I swear.” The old man smiled and nodded.

He told goodbyes to the Burglar and went away with his son. 

  Many a Sun shined over the Lonely Mansion, one day a letter came in search of the old man, it was from Komen. He opened it immediately and there was a letter with a pen tied to it. His eyes were shining like the sun. His young age returned. Excitement and happiness groped him. The letter said: 

“I found it”  

He felt really happy that could not be expressed to others. 

Years went on like that and one day a police officer appeared at Komen’s home. Komen was frightened to see an officer at his doorstep, you know he was a burglar and was caught once. The officer didn’t say much just gave him a big packet. It was too small for a package. He opened it and found a letter from Mr.Jaron Sarvan’s lawyer. It said:

Letter sent on behalf of Mr.Jaron Sarvan(late)

  I am unfortunate to inform you that Mr.Jaron Sarvan died four months ago. His will was read two days before the letter was sent. He asked me specially to write this letter to you along with the part of share that was left for you. If any unclear, write to me in the address provided in the envelope.

PS: The part of the share is in the packet.

Komen was dreadful to hear such a news on a fine morning. Still, he was puzzled for what he was left to. He opened the packet and there was another letter, he opened it and a pen fell to his hand. The same pen he had taken, and returned to the rightful owner, was now in his hand. The letter inside was the same letter Komen sent to the old man. Only there was something added to it.

“I found it”

yes, you have, now it is yours. Remember everyone has a choice. Use it wisely.

Komen’s eyes filled with tears he pressed the letter and the pen to his heart and cried. His son walked to him and asked why was he crying. Komen kneeled before his son and embraced him and cried. He was happy but sad. He felt despair first, now a light shone on him. A new world stood before him. He kissed his son and told him:

“I found my choice, son”. He smiled.