Papa is gone

This is a short story i wrote for my Creative writing assignment in class.

       The rooster crows. It’s 5.30 in the morning and the sun is yet to rise. I look out of my window to see the far-stretched mountains half-hidden by clouds. It is the same beautiful view I see every morning. But nothing is the same today. Papa is gone. If he were here, he would have come straight to my bed, woke me up and wished me a good morning. But Papa is gone.

      It’s a cold morning and it feels good to snuggle up in my warm blanket but I am feeling lonely. I just cannot bear to stay in my room any longer. I arranged my bed like Papa had always told me and headed straight to the kitchen. Mama and Ayo are already up and preparing breakfast. There is silence except for the crackling sound of the freshly burned wood, which is supposed to be welcoming on such a cold morning but it isn’t today. Papa is gone. If he were here, he would have sat by the fireplace and read the paper out loud for the whole family to hear but Papa is gone.

       I can see Mama’s swollen eyes but she is trying to force a smile. Ayo has a blank empty look. But no one says a word. The silence is suffocating. I am eight years old and I do not know so many things but I know the silence is not going to help us. Both Mama and Ayo thinks I cannot really comprehend death. Maybe that’s why they are silent. But I want to tell Mama that I understand Papa is dead and I know he is never coming back.

    Mama hands me a cup of tea. I take a sip and wait for her to say something. She sits right beside me on the wooden chair that Papa had specially made for her. She’s looking at me with that forced smile. She must have found it strange that I didn’t cry at Papa’s funeral yesterday.

      Yesterday. Yesterday is still so clear in my mind. I had woken up the same way I did today. Arranged my bed, had breakfast in the kitchen with Papa reading out the paper to all of us. I hurriedly got ready for school. It was our school’s sports day and we get to play a lot of games. I couldn’t wait to reach school. My friends would be waiting for me at the bus stand. I ran out of the house without looking back. Papa was standing at the gate waving at me with a loving smile. And that was the last time I saw him smile.

       At school, we had played lots of games and I had even got the second position in the running race. It was almost afternoon. I was relishing the orange Rasna juice our teachers had given us when my uncle came up and said I needed to come home. I didn’t want to go. We still had lots of games to play and I might get the chance to win again. They were giving out small trophies for all winners. I wanted to take some home and show it off to Papa and Mama. Uncle grabbed my hand and I was a bit annoyed. I couldn’t understand why he wanted me home. He wasn’t smiling and he said something had happened to Papa.

      When we reached home, i noticed that there were lots of cars parked outside our house and I could hear wailings. Someone took me to our living room. The room was full. Everybody was wearing black. I was in my school uniform. A coffin was placed in the middle with wreaths and bouquets of flowers placed on the sides. All the wailings in the room was sickening me. I made my way towards the coffin. Mama and Ayo were sitting right beside the coffin and crying out loud. I had never seen them that way.

   In the coffin lied my Papa. His eyes closed as if he was sleeping peacefully. I touched his cheeks. It was cold and stiff. Touching his cold lifeless body with my warm hands, somehow I thought I could bring life to him again if only I could warm up his body. Uncle had said something had happened to Papa. Papa was dead.

     I sat there. I didn’t cry. I could not cry. My tears won’t come out. All I felt was numbness. No, Papa can’t be dead, Papa can’t be dead. He had waved me goodbye this morning. He had promised to take me out if I won any of the games. Christmas was coming soon. Papa had bought all the lights, the Christmas tree and the star. We were supposed to decorate it when I come back home from school. No, Papa can’t be dead.

     I stared at Papa’s lifeless body. I touched his face again. Still cold and stiff. Mama held me in her arms. She was still crying. She touched Papa’s face and said, “Look your son has come. How can you leave us? Please wake up, your son is here, your son is here.....” I did not cry.

   The Pastor had arrived. Someone had told me that he would be holding the funeral service soon and after that Papa would be buried at the cemetery. The service was short. My uncle sang a song for Papa. It was a hymn, “On Jordan’s stormy bank”, Papa’s and my favourite song. We had sung the song the previous night too. After dinner, Papa had brought out his guitar and we had sung together. Papa kept on singing even when I was falling asleep. “Sickness and sorrows, pain and death are felt and fear no more. When shall I reach that happy place and be forever blest….” I heard him humming softly as I fell asleep on his lap. At the funeral, as Uncle sang he had broken down in the middle of the song.

  A few people stood up and talked about how good Papa was. They said Papa was a humble and loving man. By the time we reach the cemetery where Papa was to be buried, the sun was setting. Some men had dug up a deep pit. They tied the coffin with ropes and carefully laid it down in the deep pit. Slowly they put the soil back with their shovels. Mama had turned her back but I kept on staring at the coffin as the men slowly dump the brown soil on the coffin. I looked at it without blinking my eyes until it was no longer visible. Papa was now six feet under in the beautifully draped coffin with his favourite books and clothes. As we walked away from the cemetery, some of them were singing another hymn, “When we all get to Heaven”. Still I did not cry…….

       But this morning I want to cry my heart out. Papa is gone. If he were here, he would take me in his lap, caress my hair and let my tears soak his shirt. But Papa is gone.

        Say something Mama. Talk, Ayo. But no one says a word.

     In moments like this, all I want to do is cry and not say a word. But this morning a silent cry is not the solution.

“Mama, I know Papa is not coming back. I know what death is. It’s when people go away and never come back. I don’t know why he died. And I miss him. I know he is not coming back. And I know he won’t be there to wake me up in the morning. He won’t be there to read me the newspaper. “ In between my tears I try to manage the words I wanted to say.

      Mama finally holds me in her arms, “Yes, Papa is gone, Papa is gone”…..I can feel her wet tears in my shirt.