LLC02: Love Letter after Decades
Creative Writing – Love Letter Contest 2013
© YourStoryClub.com
It was half past six and the last rays of sun were slowly setting welcoming the pinkish hues with fading blue, when a knock on the door startled her. Though it was early dusk it was a little uncommon for a visitor at this time. Keeping aside the partly folded clothes, she got up slowly and opened the door.
“Sorry for the late hour madam, these are some letters we accidentally came across. It seems they were sent years ago but somehow couldn’t reach the intended person. They are addressed to a certain Miss Aaliya, can you call her please.” Said the postman.
“It is me. And letters for me? Who would write to me? Anyways thank you.” Aaliya took the letters and stood at the door for a whole minute. Closing the door she headed for her bed and began inspecting the coverings, there were a million questions swarming her mind. The envelope looked rugged, the color too was fading and the ink on the cover was discolored when she caught sight of a faded name. A sudden sense of nostalgia gripped her, flickering with past memories she took the letters with trembling hands and began reading.
…
July 25th, 1940
Dear Aaliya,
Tough and tumultuous times lie ahead. And so here I am, sitting down to pen down a letter in the hope that all my love reaches you. I am not quite assured that I will have the chance to send this to you anytime soon. Yet I write to keep the faith alive in both you and I.
The sun is going down and we are surrounded with nothing but infinite stretch of gleaming water. I don’t really know where we are at the moment, maybe in the Pacific Ocean. But I don’t wish to discuss the state of affairs here nor the perils of being at war. I wish to feel loved and remain positive.
It’s been such a long time that I last saw you, the twinkle in your eyes and the innocence in your smile. Sometimes I feel I don’t belong here, I feel like coming running back to you. I liked it there, the rainy days and the messy fields. Those carefree days when we sat arm in arm under the banyan tree gazing at the serene blue sky, envisioning an independent future. There was a kind of magical silence still the calmness didn’t haunt me.
Here too, I gaze at the sky seeing it change colors from time to time. However, my dear I don’t feel the tranquility I felt then. Hours pass by in the silent night as I keep on pondering of the catastrophe awaiting. It is uncertain, even more uncertain than the rains. And then an unknown fear grips me, what will happen tomorrow? Will a bright sunshine greet me or the night cloak me forever. It is in those moments I question my decision and realization dawns, I chose this mission to protect people, to protect you.
I doubt my sweetheart I can continue anymore, I must at once leave for we’re being called upon. I will write at every chance I get, do not be uneasy for when you don’t receive my letters. I promise to post them the moment my feet touch the land.
Give my love to my father, tell him I’m safe.
Your Beloved,
Imraan
…
August 14th, 1940
Dear Aaliya,
Sometimes I stare longingly outside,
Hoping to see birds singing,
And the stars shining bright at night.
Black and white,
I yearn for love and laughter,
With color spilling from all sides.
Love, peace and harmony
I dream and hope not more,
But just glittering smiles.
Typhoon and torrents,
Rains sloshing with water and blood,
Violence and Gory is all I see.
I miss you, I miss home.
Weary,
Imraan
…
September 5th, 1940
Dear Aaliya,
It’s been a while that I had the liberty to write and though I am yet again not certain when I would post them. Rest assured I hope that you have faith in the Almighty. And I guess it is indeed your prayers that have kept me out of harm’s way.
Life at sea and that too at the peak of a war is not for the faint-hearted. It is harsh, more like a game of chess where you either live or die. It is like you haven’t got the choice, you have to fight for your existence at every hour, at every moment. And there is only one way out, eviction forever. It is exhausting mentally, physically and most importantly emotionally. One moment we are smiling talking about life back at home, families we left behind not knowing what will happen the very next moment. It could be calm like it is now or go all haywire.
They say, dark days are approaching and that we must not lose hope. Sometimes I reckon is there really anything to hope for? I dread, not for my safety but yours. Some days it feels the sea is safer than the land. But then is anything really safe, there are shadows lurking in the dim moonlight creeping to attack. You are at loss, you don’t know where the world is heading and would there truly be light.
The other day, almost a week ago the sea was calm. The ships were sailing peacefully with no sign of distress. And then in a second everything seemed like it fell apart. We were bombarded suddenly, missiles from out of no where. It was the submarines. We fought them for hours or maybe days. It all seems like a faded memory, each day a new one is made. I thought my end was near and all I kept on thinking was you, our impending marriage, our dreams and an independent future. How are the political conditions there also how is the struggle by the National Congress proceeding? Is India too affected by the war economically and are they still recruiting soldiers for the world war?
Time is a strange thing, it passes away in a wink when in pleasure but it lingers slowly when in pain. Travelling to unknown horizons, your memories are my only companion. Your sparkling black almond shaped eyes and the blush on your cheeks light me up in a somber mood.
Dream of me tonight, of us running in the green fields basking in the pleasant sunlight. Hold me close when I fall and have faith in the Almighty that I will return. Do wait’s end? I have faith they do. And soon my dear we will be together, safe in our small haven. My time has come to resume back my duty and so I must take leave.
Love with all my heart,
Imraan
…
October 1st, 1940
Dear Aaliya,
I’m extremely sorry, my sincere apologies. Why? You make ask. A week ago we were anchored in one of the ports somewhere Europe for refilling our tanks, food supplies and taking the injured to the hospital. It was quite a commotion but in all this I carried my letters to post you. My bad luck, I was turned down. The international deliveries were halted in the fear that secret messages not be passed. It seems like it will take a while when I will be able to post them. I wish I could.
Today I don’t wish to talk about the camp life here on a crammed ship. I long to talk to you, to see you. It is too lonesome here, your picture is the only happiness I have in these gloomy days. The cheery smile coupled with the demure look is entirely deceptive. I made two new friends here, Peter and Raghuram. Peter is British, poverty and mutual age was our bonding factor. Raghuram is an Indian like us, but at twenty-two he is three years older. We stay in the same bunker trapped for days and nights at end. Talking about the world, the economy and the political unrest. Be it war or peace, only the lower ranks are affected the most. Why this discrimination?
I promised you, I won’t be disappointed nor lose hope. It is your faith in me that gives me courage and strength to hold on. I believe, I’m indebted to you forever. How is your nurse training going on? Are there too many injured? I’m sure there might be, don’t know what I expect to hear as a reply. Look at the sky above, the clouds filled with rains carry my love to you across the seas. Keep safe.
Yours Lovingly,
Imraan
…
December 12th, 1940
Dear Aaliya,
I miss the laughter in your smile, the twinkle of your eyes. Seven months, but it feels like seven long years have elapsed. I miss you, I miss you so much!
Staring at the silent star filled night, the memories engulf me and I’m lost in the moment of the passed time. Do you remember the small brook with crystal clear water, where we lay down for hours at a stretch. Remember the time when you splashed water all over me and I chased you, encircling you in my arms and drenching you? Those days of merry, those days of delightful sighs.
It was late November of 1938, when the leaves lay scattered on the ground and winter started settling in. You were an angel of mere fourteen, when you stepped in my life. I still remember the day, you were wearing a pink dress with a flimsy shawl covering your face. It were those gleaming black eyes that caught my sight, my whole world it seemed like it had abruptly halted. Gradually we progressed from friends to more. We started weaving dreams, a hope of a future together and found order in chaos. Looking back now I realize the day I met you, is the day I knew love.
Don’t leave me, wait for me my dear. I promise to return soon and build our sweet paradise. I need you, need you now more than anymore.
Waiting with a hope,
Imraan
…
January 21st, 1941
Dear Aaliya,
There is not much time, the war it seems is at its peak. Sounds of continuous bombings and blood shed is all I see. Over the months, the sound doesn’t trouble me anymore. I’m used to it, sometimes it feels like the only lullaby to my ears. It croons me to sleep and wakes me up too. Awful, isn’t it?
Yesterday, I suffered a small gash on my left upper arm. The pain is there but it is nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The pain of losing a friend, a companion. Raghuram couldn’t make it. He too had written letters to his wife and child back home, made me the sole guardian to post them if need arise. How do I tell them, that he is no more that he died saving me? It is like a heavy stone resting on my heart and though I want to grieve, I cannot. I cannot risk to become weak. We were taught on our first day of training, even in the hour of great misery to not lose hope and fight till our last breath. I’m doing my duty mechanically, internally my soul grieves.
I do not know, if I will ever be able to post these letters. Or if, I too might suffer the same fate like that of Raghuram. Sometimes I feel it’s good to die on the battlefield at least you don’t have scars and fears that haunt you every waking second of your life. But then, I think of you waiting across seven seas and I think I need to live, live for the ones waiting for me. Even if, I die sweetheart the letters will reach you. They will send them home with me and my belongings.
If, you’re reading this it either means I’m dead or I’ve finally delivered the letters to you. God forbid if something happens to me, promise me that you won’t stop living your life. And live your life happily, marry someone decent, have a family and remember me. Remember me as the young youthful boy, who died serving his fellow mates. Promise to honor my wishes. Thanking you Aaliya for loving me and being my guiding light, the Noor of my life.
Love, Now and Forever.
Yours truly,
Imraan
…
February 2nd, 1946
Dear Aaliya,
Five long years that I finally write to you again. And six months since the war ended. I’m struggling, I’m struggling to find words to put to paper. So much has happened, so much has changed but the memories float through my mind like it was just yesterday. One moment everything was smooth and the very next instant life fell apart. I don’t remember much, there was a sudden clutter missiles crackling and lightening up the ocean, bodies strewn across the deck. There was bloodshed, there was fire and then everything stilled. I fell with a thud, with blood oozing out of my thighs like a stream of water. The last I remember is slowly succumbing to the lullaby of shots being fired.
I woke up in a shabby, stiff hospital bed. The nurse spoke in English though she had a heavy french accent and I realized I’m in a far off nation. I tried to look around but only stark blackness and inability to sit greeted me. The doctors soon informed me that though my blindness was partial and temporary, I was paralyzed from waist down, the chance of recovery uncertain. My whole world fell apart when the news fully struck.
I lost track of time and space, for days I probed in the dark trying to remember what happened and why me. On further inquiry, I came to know Peter too couldn’t make it. There have been days when all I wished was to die but death didn’t come. I wish I hadn’t survived, that I too had an instant death just like Raghuram and Peter did, partial living is worse than death. I couldn’t write to you, there was no one to pen down a letter for me.
Today, five years later I’m finally able to see. The world is blurry but hope has started returning. I do not know, how you are or where you are. Nor do I know if you’re married or not. I feel you must be married and maybe you are a mother two. It pains me sometimes to know I couldn’t have the future I dreamed with you. But you being happy is what I always wished for. I have hoped for your happiness then and I hope for it now too.
Write back to me. Tell me the stories of back home, give my father my love. Don’t tell him of my condition, he will die. Tell him I have found work here and they like me so much they are not ready to let me go. Tell him how much I love him and that one day I will return, return home.
Waiting for you, like always. Love you.
Forever yours,
Imraan
…
The letters had finished, there were no more letters anymore. There was a slight chill in the warm April air, it felt like time had stilled and tears were streaming down her face. Aaliya stared at the full moon in the dark night sky, her heart convoluted with a million emotions shuffling through it.
‘Twenty-one years’, she thought. She wanted to say so much but only the empty house with colorful walls greeted her back. Eventually the tug between her heart and mind receded. Rummaging through a drawer, she took out a crisp white paper and began penning down a reply.
April 19th, 1961
Dear Imraan,
Words are not my ally anymore, they have deserted me. After all these years, when I had no hope, no faith of your return anymore. Life gave me a surprise, a very beautiful surprise. I finally received them. Too late, isn’t it? But maybe they were lost, my theory is in the fight for Independence they were misplaced. I’ve always had theories, you remember don’t you?
In a time when I should be writing mature words, I’m writing like a teenager. What to do, you still make my heart flutter like you did then. I don’t think I can continue anymore, tears of joy and separation are still flowing.
Reply back to me, tell me where you are. I don’t think I can wait another twenty-one years, I will be too old then to even travel. I still fail at humor but I hope this letter gets delivered to you.
Waiting and loving like always.
Your beloved now a nurse,
Aaliya
…
Time flew by, everything was the same but there was something magical today. The rains had arrived earlier than expected and yet nothing was disrupted. The sun was going down and wind was blowing with a fervor scattering the leaves. There was a knock on the door. Time stood still like a sea with no ripples. It seemed fate was repeating itself; with Aaliya at the door and the postman on the other end.
Taking the letter and closing the door behind, Aaliya read the letter, releasing a sigh she embraced it finally before laying it down on the table.
June 3rd, 1961
Dear Aaliya,
The first time I ever saw you, I knew love. Today I fell in love all over again. You were special then, you are special even now.
Flip the letter and you will know your destination.
Still a cripple but now a hopeful one.
Waiting for you,
Imraan
__END__
