Unusual Short Story – The Rising Spirit!
Unusual Short Story – The Rising Spirit!
I always loved reading. Reading stories of broken friendships, desperation in lives, failures in games, solitude around- all reminded me about my solemnity. I was never found in a loud screaming peer groups sharing sports biz, tree-shade romances and all what guys of my age speak of. I was always in front of a book, thinking more specifically dreaming of what was inside the letters on those white pages. My sunken attitude always kept me alone- in school, at canteens, in functions and what else even in my dining table. I was literally alone and unaccompanied…
I was a regular visitor of our school library. The librarian was friendly to me; maybe because she was relieved by the fact that at least one guy in that big school loved those old piles of (untouched) books and book shelves. And so, she always permitted me to sit for hours together to read and refer books.
The green chair near the HISTORY bookshelf was my usual seat, my favourite one. It was a dim place and the darkness beyond the chair was teaching me daily how distant I was from the mainstream brightness. That day, as usual I was there in the chair. I noticed that the place was darker than usual, but for my help I found a table lamp pouring yellow light. I took from the table THE FALLEN SPIRIT, a book I have been reading since a month (I never read that book more than 10 pages per day because I relish the emotions it transfuse in me and the very same tempts me to read it daily).
I did not know what, but in that darkness, my eyes found a red figure nearing me- more or less it was that of a human. Once it reached me, I identified it as a woman with long hair, blue eyes, red lips wearing a red sari. I was frantically in doubt, IS SHE A TEACHER? No, I’ve never seen her before in the campus… IS SHE A LIB’ STAFF GONNA FIRE ME FOR SITTING THIS LONG? Never, the librarian has already permitted me to do so…
Breaking the silence, she opened her lips and started speaking in the most enchanting voice I’ve ever heard
“What are you reading, my friend?”
I mumbled for a while and then told her the name of the book I was holding in my left hand. The fallen spirit. She laughed heavily at which my eye brows curved as a question mark. The enchanted voice answered to my inaudible question,
“I never knew you possessed a fallen spirit, kid.”
I sighed. How can she know the depth to which my spirit has fallen in the vastness of loneliness? I did not speak a word. She said,
“I’ll suggest you one book, read it. You’ll definitely like it and it will”..
She broke but continued sooner,
“Will you??”
I nodded yes – all that was what I could do.
“Go to the second rack of the AMERICAN LITERATURE shelf and search for the middle row, find this book THE RISING SPIRIT. Read it now itself and tell me how you feel. Go, fetch it fast. I’ll wait near the canteen.”
Soon she disappeared into the darkness leaving not even a shadow for me to trace. I ran as fast as I could wondering why the HISTORY shelf had such a long distance to AMERICAN LITERATUTE shelf. I found the 2nd rack, the middle row and the book. I read its name THE RISING SPIRIT. I held it in my right hand and I looked at my left, THE FALLEN SPIRIT. I was wondered at the oxymoron occurred in the pair of my hands!
I opened the book. It had no book number, no school seal, and not even a borrower’s page. I felt a bit odd at this but I did not bother much. The book seemed to be very old, with its binds almost torn. The same was the condition with the first few pages and so I couldn’t find the author’s name. I looked the back side and found at its right corner the name AUGUST JANE in red blocks. I have never heard this name before. Nevertheless, without wasting time, I started reading the book as fast as I could. I wanted to tell the review to the red ‘woman’ (Oops! I forgot to enquire who or what she is! ) I started reading the book.
I breathed heavily when I reached the fifth page where I read my own name as the character’s name. This guy in the story was almost myself- all alone and desperate, spending hours in the school library. He was as aloof as me, who found pleasure merely on books. My heart was beating faster then, when I read about the friendly librarian, the green chair, and the darkness beyond it. Finally the story told me that he reads a book THE FALLEN SPIRIT.
The story also told me about the red woman (her description exactly suiting the figure I saw few minutes before) suggesting the guy the same book which the red woman suggested me and the same book which I am reading currently THE RISING SPIRIT. I couldn’t breathe more. The book fell off my hand. A tear of fear dropped down my cheek. In fact, I was sweating a lot. My conscience, I didn’t know why, tempted me to take the book back in hand and continue reading. I could just obey it and do nothing else. With shaken hands and disturbed thoughts I continued reading – reading what happened after finishing the book – indeed my future.
The bell rang and the librarian stood in my front. I immediately returned the book THE FALLEN SPIRIT to her and asked her if I can lend THE RISING SPIRIT instead. She gave me a confused look. I repeated the name. Sorry, I don’t guess there is a book in that title. Just for a clarification, she typed the letters T-H-E-R-I-S-I-N-G-S-P-I-R-I-T in the keyboard but the monitor said BOOK NOT FOUND! I was exclaimed and told her that I just read it now. She frowned and asked me where I found and placed it back. I told the AMERICAN LITERATURE shelf, its second rack and the middle row. She came with me and searched.
To my surprise, I discovered that it was even brighter there than an hour before. Even after searching the entire shelf, she couldn’t find the book nor could I. I couldn’t understand what miracle it was, to place a book few minutes before at a place, but being unable to find the same book at the same place. In vain, she asked me the author’s name. AUGUST JANE, I said and she laughed heavily. Her book will be in the HISTORY shelf, my kid. She said and looked the adjacent shelf. Holy God! I found the HISTORY bookshelf not more than 5inches from the AMERICAN LITERATURE shelf.
After a minute of avid search, she patted my shoulder and said You must be wrong. August Jane was the former English teacher of this school, said the librarian and handed over a book to me, She died 7 years ago. We just preserve a biography of that great woman. She has never written a book as you said. She was not just a teacher, but was someone even greater…The librarian continued speaking but my mind was not there. I looked at the cover page. It showed an old woman’s photograph. I assumed it might be the same old AUGUST JANE. Though her face was wrinkled, I was very familiar with that face – the red woman’s face.
With no halt, I ran towards the canteen. I knew that she was waiting for me, waiting for a RISING SPIRIT- no longer a FALLEN SPIRIT…
__END__
