Short Story: Isar- The Dry Fruit Vendor
Exuberance donned my verandah, sitting on the bench in the backyard of my garden, I felt nostalgic thinking about the first day I had set foot in this city. Life has never been easy for anyone. My journey too had been a very bumpy ride throughout, and today when I gather to reminisce and reflect, I can pay nothing but gratitude to life’s toughest lessons, to all those hardships that had made me the strong man I was today
Life’s little treasures were a lot to cherish for, and amongst them all was Asha, my only daughter. Today Asha was getting married, I smiled when I thought about how Asha was just a young little girl when I brought her here. The place was pretty remote then and in a span of few years so much had changed. Asha had grown up and was off to her new home. I was overwhelmed with emotions, my heart sunk, tears welled up my eyes to imagine the pangs I would face to no longer see my little girl dancing in and about the house.
Engrossed in my thoughts I suddenly noticed a frail, week, man with a relatively bent stature approaching the threshold. Old age had got hold of me, but it took me only a moment to recognize who he was. I ran to hug him. Isar was Asha’s childhood friend, a dry fruit vendor from Afghan. Immediately I was driven to a flashback when I had met Isar for the first time. I had often seen Isar visiting out neighbourhood. Asha, then a five year old would dash unto him and discretely take something in her fist
One day, in a fit of rage, I behaved very sternly with Isar. I forbade him to see my daughter again, as I sensed something suspicious every single time I found them together. I still cannot understand if it was my insecurity or my over possessive concern for my daughter. Isar did not utter a single word, and went away silently never to be seen again. For many days I looked around for him, asked the people around of his where about, but no one knew anything.
Seeing Isar after so many years had flashed back not only the memories but also the guilt I had buried deep in my heart for so long. I wanted to say so much to him, but before I could, Isar confessed that he had a daughter back home in his village who was Asha’s age. It is only in her memory he used to come to meet Asha. I couldn’t help, but gulp down mixed tears of remorse and pain. Sometimes we as humans fail to understand the sentiments behind actions. We fail to show empathy towards people who are battling silent wars within themselves. Isar would have been an ordinary dry fruit vendor, to me he had opened up a new window of understanding and self evaluation.
