‘‘How long can we visit for today father?’
Mr Aahil Farah is one of those men who owns a laugh so full and rich that its sound physically warms you, in the narrow shadowy passage where he and his son travel its affection is clear. ‘Ah Salil, how long is a length of string, how high is each blade of grass?’ said Mr Farah. ‘I do not know those answers, or the answer to what you ask. But I know one thing.’
Mr Farah lent very close to Salil, serious for once, the gravity of his message heavy in his eyes. ‘If you don’t hurry, I shall be the one who steals The First Kiss from the beautiful Princess of the tower.’
Salil gasped as his father hurried past him. ‘The First Kiss! Father will get there first and steal it!’
‘No!’ yelled Salil, jumping forward and dodging his father’s blocking arms.
The door was there, wooden and blue. Salil ran on, he was smaller yes, but quicker. His small bare feet padded speedily on the ground, so close to the door, nearer and nearer. Bashing through the door he felt the heat of the oil lamps; their glow lighting the room. He was there!
But strong arms grasped him around the middle and lifted him high, high into the air and away from the solid ground which could have carried him to the Princess.
‘No! Let me down!’ Salil wriggled and squirmed in his father’s arms even as the man laughed, laughed like he had won great treasures that no other man may hope to possess.
Softly a woman came into the small room, smiling at the two of them grappling with one another. ‘Ah me, It must be 4pm on a Wednesday if you two have come crashing in here, letting all the warm air out.’
Despite being only 5 and quite small Salil wriggled and wriggled and somehow found himself right way up on the ground. ‘I must have won the fight then’, he thought. But he puzzled at the wink his father gave the Princess even as he ran to her lovely scented embrace to receive his prize. The First Kiss, delivered on his cheek with a mother’s tender loving hug.
Once Salil had been installed in his mother’s reading chair with some biscuits and water he put his attention to the details of the room to see if anything had changed since his last visit to his mother’s tower.
The needlework pattern was still only half done, the tigers and peacocks still lacking half their fur and feathers, on the table were open books, thick and clearly boring as Salil could see no pictures on their pages.
There was a new instalment on the wall however. The picture he had brought his mother, showing her as the Princess she was, locked in the tower, safe, well-cared for, loved, but nevertheless, locked up. Salil wasn’t sure about giving it to her at first, but his father said it would warm her heart and his to know that he, Salil, was thinking of his mother even when he couldn’t see her.
‘Chanda,’ said Mr Farah in a softer voice than his usual one, ‘I understand the how detestable and impracticable the suggestion is, but I see no other way that this can be resolved’.
Princess Chanda shook her head sharply, normally she had a gentle demeanour but clearly her husband’s words were deeply offending to her, ‘No Aahil, there is no honour in what you propose and would be greatly wounded if you carried out the plans,’ she said. ‘Find another way or carry out your original orders as you were instructed to do so many years ago.’
‘I can’t, I doubt I would ever find the will in me to do that.’
‘Then find another way, leave the poor woman alone. She is not at fault here.’
Salil slipped off the chair, empty cup and plate stacked neatly on the table to make it easier for the Princess’ servants to find. ‘What are you talking about,’ he asked, ‘Can I help?’
His parents looked over to him and for a second seemed like all the fun had gone out of them
completely. But then his father smiled again and it was obvious to Salil that he had imagined it. His parents were always fun and happy.
‘Be gone with you, trouble maker and brave young hero,’ said Princess Chanda laughing at them. ‘Till next Wednesday, and remember, there will only ever be one who can have The First Kiss of the day.’ And though struggling to free his head to try and get The Last Kiss, Salil knew that it was no good, his father always got The Last Kiss, just before Princess Chandra shut the tower door and Salil had to wait a whole week before he could try and get The First Kiss again.
But walking back down the passageway with his father holding onto his hand Salil wasn’t too upset about missing out on The Last Kiss. His mother was a very beautiful Princess after all and his father was very lucky that she loved him.
‘I wish other people could see how pretty the Princess is father,’ said Salil, ‘I don’t think they would believe me if I simply told them.’
Mr Farah stopped and knelt as he gently tugged his son round to face him, ‘Salil, you know you can never speak about your mother to anyone, I’ve told you this many times.’
‘I know, but-’ Salil started.
‘No ‘’buts’’ Salil, this is serious business,’ Mr Farah urged. ‘There are men who would hurt her if she were ever to be found, bad things would happen, you must understand the importance of keeping this a secret.’
And Salil did know, he had been told many times before of these terrible men and the terrible things that they might do if they ever found the Princess Chanda. So pretty or no, his mother had to be hidden away from sight, the whole kingdom deprived of her beauty and kindness. All except Salil and his father.
‘Yes father,’ Salil nodded.
‘Good boy Salil,’ said Mr Farah, looking much more like himself now Salil had reassured him. Standing Mr
Farah stretched his back and took Salil’s hand again so they could continue down the narrow passageway back to the house where they lived.
The other door, back to the house, was in sight now. Green paint flaking, and not nearly so inviting as the blue door down the other end of the passage.
‘Hey Salil,’ whispered Mr Farah.
‘Yes Father?’ Salil replied.
‘I think your mother insulted you as we left, she called you a trouble-maker, and me a young hero.’
Salil looked up at his father’s cheeky warming grin, the laughter lines around his eyes.
‘But you’re far too old to be the young hero.’ noted Salil, deeply confused.
Mr Aahil Farah is one of those men who owns a laugh so full and rich that its sound physically warms you, in the narrow shadowy passage where he and his son travel its affection is clear. ‘Ah Salil, how long is a length of string, how high is each blade of grass?’ said Mr Farah. ‘I do not know those answers, or the answer to what you ask. But I know one thing.’
‘What?’ said Salil.
Mr Farah lent very close to Salil, serious for once, the gravity of his message heavy in his eyes. ‘If you don’t hurry, I shall be the one who steals The First Kiss from the beautiful Princess of the tower.’
Salil gasped as his father hurried past him. ‘The First Kiss! Father will get there first and steal it!’
‘No!’ yelled Salil, jumping forward and dodging his father’s blocking arms.
The passage way was not large, nor long, but Salil saw it stretch for miles ahead with the lofty ceiling above resonating with the hasty beats of his and his father’s footsteps. So often Salil felt his father just behind him, ‘too close! He’ll catch me and prevent me from getting The Kiss!’
The door was there, wooden and blue. Salil ran on, he was smaller yes, but quicker. His small bare feet padded speedily on the ground, so close to the door, nearer and nearer. Bashing through the door he felt the heat of the oil lamps; their glow lighting the room. He was there!
But strong arms grasped him around the middle and lifted him high, high into the air and away from the solid ground which could have carried him to the Princess.
‘No! Let me down!’ Salil wriggled and squirmed in his father’s arms even as the man laughed, laughed like he had won great treasures that no other man may hope to possess.
Softly a woman came into the small room, smiling at the two of them grappling with one another. ‘Ah me, It must be 4pm on a Wednesday if you two have come crashing in here, letting all the warm air out.’
Despite being only 5 and quite small Salil wriggled and wriggled and somehow found himself right way up on the ground. ‘I must have won the fight then’, he thought. But he puzzled at the wink his father gave the Princess even as he ran to her lovely scented embrace to receive his prize. The First Kiss, delivered on his cheek with a mother’s tender loving hug.
Once Salil had been installed in his mother’s reading chair with some biscuits and water he put his attention to the details of the room to see if anything had changed since his last visit to his mother’s tower.
The needlework pattern was still only half done, the tigers and peacocks still lacking half their fur and feathers, on the table were open books, thick and clearly boring as Salil could see no pictures on their pages.
There was a new instalment on the wall however. The picture he had brought his mother, showing her as the Princess she was, locked in the tower, safe, well-cared for, loved, but nevertheless, locked up. Salil wasn’t sure about giving it to her at first, but his father said it would warm her heart and his to know that he, Salil, was thinking of his mother even when he couldn’t see her.
‘Chanda,’ said Mr Farah in a softer voice than his usual one, ‘I understand the how detestable and impracticable the suggestion is, but I see no other way that this can be resolved’.
Princess Chanda shook her head sharply, normally she had a gentle demeanour but clearly her husband’s words were deeply offending to her, ‘No Aahil, there is no honour in what you propose and would be greatly wounded if you carried out the plans,’ she said. ‘Find another way or carry out your original orders as you were instructed to do so many years ago.’
‘I can’t, I doubt I would ever find the will in me to do that.’
‘Then find another way, leave the poor woman alone. She is not at fault here.’
Salil slipped off the chair, empty cup and plate stacked neatly on the table to make it easier for the Princess’ servants to find. ‘What are you talking about,’ he asked, ‘Can I help?’
His parents looked over to him and for a second seemed like all the fun had gone out of them
completely. But then his father smiled again and it was obvious to Salil that he had imagined it. His parents were always fun and happy.
‘Salil!’ his father boomed, ‘If I had a man in my employ half so ready to leap to the frey as you, well, by now I would be King of all the Land.’ And before he could blink Salil found himself in a breath-taking grip, with his father rubbing knuckles over his head as if he were trying to polish Salil’s hair to a mirror shine.
‘Be gone with you, trouble maker and brave young hero,’ said Princess Chanda laughing at them. ‘Till next Wednesday, and remember, there will only ever be one who can have The First Kiss of the day.’ And though struggling to free his head to try and get The Last Kiss, Salil knew that it was no good, his father always got The Last Kiss, just before Princess Chandra shut the tower door and Salil had to wait a whole week before he could try and get The First Kiss again.
But walking back down the passageway with his father holding onto his hand Salil wasn’t too upset about missing out on The Last Kiss. His mother was a very beautiful Princess after all and his father was very lucky that she loved him.
‘I wish other people could see how pretty the Princess is father,’ said Salil, ‘I don’t think they would believe me if I simply told them.’
Mr Farah stopped and knelt as he gently tugged his son round to face him, ‘Salil, you know you can never speak about your mother to anyone, I’ve told you this many times.’
‘I know, but-’ Salil started.
‘No ‘’buts’’ Salil, this is serious business,’ Mr Farah urged. ‘There are men who would hurt her if she were ever to be found, bad things would happen, you must understand the importance of keeping this a secret.’
And Salil did know, he had been told many times before of these terrible men and the terrible things that they might do if they ever found the Princess Chanda. So pretty or no, his mother had to be hidden away from sight, the whole kingdom deprived of her beauty and kindness. All except Salil and his father.
‘Yes father,’ Salil nodded.
‘Good boy Salil,’ said Mr Farah, looking much more like himself now Salil had reassured him. Standing Mr
Farah stretched his back and took Salil’s hand again so they could continue down the narrow passageway back to the house where they lived.
The other door, back to the house, was in sight now. Green paint flaking, and not nearly so inviting as the blue door down the other end of the passage.
‘Hey Salil,’ whispered Mr Farah.
‘Yes Father?’ Salil replied.
‘I think your mother insulted you as we left, she called you a trouble-maker, and me a young hero.’
Salil looked up at his father’s cheeky warming grin, the laughter lines around his eyes.
‘But you’re far too old to be the young hero.’ noted Salil, deeply confused.
No comments:
Post a Comment