The Walk Home

Day 0

Writing Prompt: Your mother

Your mother never told you to stay away from strangers. You grew up with them. She was never there to rebuke. Or was she? You look back for the last time and then walk away. The road ahead is dusty and deserted. ‘Destination does not matter, the journey does’ – those strangers always told you. And today you wonder if it is true. This lonely journey does not look promising but at least the destination is known. Or so you think. When was the first time when you had walked on this road? You don’t remember. Memories are not reliable anymore. Not with so many of them, not when you cannot distinguish memory from illusion, not when all your memories are of unfamiliar places and unknown faces. Your stomach rumbles. You squint your eyes to look at the sky. It was not noon yet but you will have to find food soon. The question is where. A distant noise lifts your spirit. May be the town is near but you are not sure. You have seen enough mirages in your life to think better. And although this is not a desert, you know that the mind has its own tricks. You walk on, lost in thoughts.

It was not difficult to wake up before the break of dawn. It was not difficult to leave all those people whom you had hardly known. Nor was it difficult to walk on an unknown journey. But it was difficult to follow the path to a destination. You feel a bounded by the knowledge. The freedom to change your course is lost.  But is that true? Were you really free before this? Bound in a journey with a group of strangers who changed every day, where was freedom? With unknown destinations, only the paths were decided. And that too, you never knew by whom. You had followed them for all your life without questioning because you had never known another way existed. Then you met her. She had changed your life, not once, not twice but time and again. Each time you started a journey, she was there to ask you “Where?” and you had no answer. Had she asked today, you would have told where. You smile. Memory or illusion, for once, you don’t really care.

You stop. The town is here. The road is not deserted any more. You can see small houses clustered together. Somewhere in those cluster is your destination. You hear a voice beside you and turn your head. A small old lady asks you if you need anything to eat. You nod and walk into a small shop. The noise drowns your thoughts and dim light hurts your eyes but it brightens your heart to be among people again. How long has it been? You have lost track of time. In the beginning you had counted the nights, making sure you rested after sundown. But then you grew impatient and walked even after nightfall and then finally you stopped caring. Food is really good and you gobble up to you heart’s fill. Once your stomach and heard had their fill, you take out your only belongings, a newspaper and an old weathered photograph and spread them out on the table. On one small corner of the newspaper was an address. You show it to the old lady and ask her if she knew where it was. She strains her eyes, tries to read, mumbles something then calls someone to help you. He reads, nods with recognition, looks at the photograph, looks at you and tells that he will take you there. You are happy and unsure all at the same time.

The town is teeming with people. All of a sudden you felt lost in crowd. Walking along the side tracks you reach a small house. Your companion stops and looks at the house. The house looks abandoned. You look questioningly at your companion. He does not answer. You look down. It was time to return to the strangers. He tells you to walk with him. You follow him to a deserted path, walking below a string of trees, you reach a graveyard. He leaves you there and walks away. You stand there staring at your new found freedom.

And then when the night came down, the old lady comes and you walk home.