Wiki-Tales:

Author: Divya Saksena By himself again, Browning waited for the splinters of memory to hit him anew. Reading Tennyson again, m’dear?              My favorite poet, as you well know. Ulysses “Though much is taken, much abides.” We share a common history. We share. He looked down at the now clean inscription, rescued briefly from the onslaught of dust, and bent to touch it once…twice. Then, turning, he made his way towards the gate from which he had entered. The courtyard was now dotted with knots of people, chatting and laughing as they waited for the evening service. Several curious glances and some tentative smiles came towards him as he edged around the enormous plinth that was all that remained of the magnificent monument put up by Metcalfe for his murdered friend Fraser. A polite smile fixed to his face, he let out a breath of relief as he came through the gate into the street and paused to get his bearings. en.wikipedia.org On his left, a plaintive call

Author: Divya Saksena “The sun’s almost set now. It’ll be getting dark soon and we don’t want to be late for the evening service.” observed Father Antony. “Yes!” exclaimed Preeti. “They’re going to sing me happy birthday!” Father Antony explained quickly. “A little tradition. The choir sings it and the congregation often joins in.” “Come on!” Preeti hopped up to the gravestone and stood waiting as her father lit the long taper and carefully placed it in her hand. Gripping it tightly, she reached over to light the candles, then suddenly, she turned towards Browning and held out the lit taper. “We share.” It was not a question. Wordlessly, Browning moved forward, his hand closing over the little fist. Carefully, they lit the two candles together. Father Antony, Anita and Rajan stepped back, hands folded in a gesture of respect, and watched as two tiny flames sprang up and began to glow stronger as the rays of the dying sun slid away towards the west and the shadows beg

Author: Divya Saksena Rajan added, “She was just a few days old. She was born on today’s date, 27 th June, and we fixed the ceremony for 1 st July. And that’s when it happened!” Anita took up the story again. “We were early, and brought her out here to try and keep her calm, but we were still arguing about more names. Then suddenly Rajan stopped here and pointed out the names that we could just make out. It seemed perfect.” Rajan smiled. “Not just the names, the dates seemed to fit too. As a historian, it was too much for me to ignore!” en.wikipedia.org Anita looked worried. “We just took the names for our daughter. Please don’t be offended, but there seemed nobody that we could ask.” “I’m not offended!” said Browning quickly. “She looks a great kid. I’m glad that you found something that worked for you.” Father Antony joined in. “She is indeed a great kid. And here she comes again at sixty miles per hour!” “I’m back!” Preeti huffed up importantly. “And Fa

Author: Divya Saksena “Why? Why did you clean my grave?” “Eh?” He was momentarily speechless, and Father Antony quickly intervened. “This is Mr. James Browning. The grave is…ah…his family’s.” The child’s parents exchanged swift glances, then her mother said gently, “Preeti, go and ask Father Michael for two red candles and a lighting taper. Papa and I will finish up here. Hurry or it will start getting dark.” “Okay! But why did he clean it first? We always do that on my birthday!” Wikimedia.org “Yes, we do. But you see, it was his family there first, long before us.” “Hmmm…so we share it with him?” “Yes, if he doesn’t mind sharing with us.” Before Preeti could fix him with her questioning stare again, Browning spoke up hastily, “I assure you, I don’t mind at all.” “All right then, I’m going for the candles.” As she hurtled away towards the side portico of the church, in her apparently customary headlong fashion, Browning asked a question uppermost in

Author: Divya Saksena en.wikipedia.org Browning followed the priest’s gaze across the courtyard as a small figure came hurtling across towards them, a little girl of perhaps eight or nine years, pigtails flying behind her. She flung herself at Father Antony who, laughing, fended her off from clutching his legs as she skidded to a stop beside them talking all the while “Father Antony! Here I am! Are we late? It’s not dark yet… Can I get candles now? Mummy .and Papa are just coming. You must wish me! I got presents! Who is this?” “Hold on, Peapod! Let me get a word in! Wish you a very happy birthday!” The child shook hands solemnly with the pastor, eyeing Browning as she did so. Her parents came up, a young Indian couple, both carrying a bucket of water, washcloths and sponges. “Peapod! Stop bothering Father Antony like that! Come on, let’s get to work or it will be dark soon.” The little girl hurried to the grave that Browning had been working on, then stopp

Author: Divya Saksena We stared into each other ’ s faces, oblivious of the exasperated snorts and shoves of the populace whose progress we were obstructing. Then, very slowly, he put up his hands to straighten the clasp of his cloak that had gone awry as he had pulled me off the road. He looked around us as though waking out of a stupor and then addressed me again. “ Well, if you ’ re sure you ’ ve suffered no injury, we may as well try and pick up what ’ s left of your basket and its contents, ” he observed. His voice carried the arrogance of a man clearly accustomed to having his commands obeyed and without delay. But I knew I was responding to that unconscious assumption of my compliance contained in his casual “ we. ” He bent down to retrieve the few flat loaves and olives and fruit that had not been trodden on by the impatient pedestrians pushing their way around us. His helmet had tumbled off and rolled into a recess at the foot of the small drinking fountain that gush

Author: Divya Saksena Browning rose to his feet as he smiled back, looking down first at the inscription, now almost clear of dust, then regretfully at his ruined handkerchief. “I’m Father Antony, of St James.” “James Browning.” The priest’s dark eyes darted a quick glance sideways at the gravestone then at his face. “Ah, I see! A relation?” “Mama...I mean, my mother…” en.wikipedia.org “I understand. But this is your first visit? Browning’s lips twisted. “Not really. The first time was when…” “Yes, yes, of course. May I help in any way?” “I’m almost done. It’s much cleaner than I expected. Do you maintain all the graves here? I’m impressed!” “We do what we can. Actually, you should thank your friends who come every year and clean it up.” Browning looked puzzled, as well he might. “My friends?” “Yes, indeed. A lady and her two sons. They’ve been coming every Christmas for quite a few years now. Earlier her husband used to come too, but the last couple of y

Author: Divya Saksena en.wikipedia.org Browning bent his head to his task, methodically scrubbing the gravestone with his handkerchief that he had wetted at a garden water-tap. The sun beat down, its searing rays finding their way through the spotty shade of the few trees clustered in the small churchyard of St James’ Church, Kashmere Gate. It was the first church built by the British in Delhi, and had suffered much during the War of 1857. Numerous monuments to the richer members of the British community stood crumbling among overgrown patches of dry grass. Surprisingly, compared to the other graves, this stone and the space around it was relatively clear of the weeds and thorny plants that sprang up so willingly in the humid Indian pre-monsoon weather. As each letter of the inscription emerged from the protective obscurity of dust, the splintered shards of memory began whirling through his mind.                 James, dear, come out from under that bed. Papa is not angry,