WOODEN LINE: A VERY UNUSUAL LOVE STORY

To tell my story from the beginning is sort of confusing, but I will try.

Everyone is born into this world for a purpose. I was born to be used. The carpenter who was my creator hammered ten careless nails on some nameless wood pieces and I came into being. I often heard him complaining to his customers that I was not for sale as I was ugly. I hated it when he spread his stinky tools all over me. My life was miserable, dull and lifeless until that day. 

I witnessed a miracle when this lady walked towards me and touched my edges with her soft gentle hands. I felt awake, I felt alive; it was love at first sight, at that very moment I honoured her with the name ‘My Queen’. She was the most beautiful creation of a great artist whom you call God. Wait she was leaving, she walked away, I did not want her to leave. Anyway, no matter how pure my feeling were I possibility could have never told her how I felt. She had blood in her veins and I had nothing, at least not blood. She turned back and shouted, ‘Uncle, I want this table in my room.’ My heart was beating, in fact, it was racing. All I wanted to hear from the carpenter was ‘Yes, my child. You can have it.’ And when he said what I wanted him to say I heard unicorns, butterflies, fairies and mermaids singing for me.

I travelled to My Queen’s house in a dusty truck when I reached her home; two helpers took me in a dark room and wrapped me with a white piece of cloth. I was locked for nights, nobody cared about me, and nobody even bothered to know that I was scared of darkness and silence. In such loneliness, I missed the carpenter’s shop, at least the lousy yells kept me alert and annoyed. I was left with only hope, the hope to see My Queen someday. I was angry at her for ignoring me but every time I wanted to curse, the sweet smile of hers stopped me from doing so. One fine day, I heard her screaming, ‘Where is the table? I told you to bring it up in my study.’ So, all these while it was the ignorance of the helpers that kept me away from her.

My Queen threw her books, clothes and CDs everywhere, she was a messy creature. Over the weeks I noticed she had some kind of disorder when she was happy she was extremely happy, she would dance around, but when she was angry she was furious, she broke things, and when she was sad, she was sadder than a dark cloud. I do not have any background in psychology so I did not categorise it. Nevertheless, my infatuation for her continued, but, much to my heartbreak, she had a boyfriend. Her boyfriend made her cry twice a week. Her tears could fall on my brown face, she would bang her fist on me and would yell, ‘Why, why, bastard why?’ So technically I assumed she had a boyfriend who was bastard not literally but figuratively.

Sometimes in lust, I wished she undressed in front of me, but that was next to impossible as I was not kept in her bedroom. However, the decency in me did not allow me to indulge in any thoughts even if she wore extreme shorts and spread her legs between me. One day, she sat over me, she was wearing a beautiful floral skirt, damn, she was looking gorgeous, but suddenly, god knows from where, she took out a paper knife and started piercing me, she inflicted so much of pain on me, I wanted to shout out all the derogatory term in the world. Nevertheless, my infatuation for her continued.

She was the only child of her parents; I never heard anything that would make me assume she had siblings. She lied a lot to her parents; she smoked standing near the window cigarettes after cigarettes and when her parents inquired about the smell, she could pretend as if she did not know what cigarette smelt like. She read adult magazines beneath her textbooks night after night. One day, she left the magazine on my top, the cleavage of the porn star looking straight at me. Her mother caught hold of her secret hobby, she escaped by lying, ‘It belongs to one of my friends; I never read any of these even if they persuade me.’ Nevertheless, my infatuation for her continued.

One night, I got cardiac arrest when her parents were out of the station and she called her boyfriend home. They started kissing in front of me, I have not seen any boy as ugly as hers but in no time they were making love on top of me. It was agony to see her sharing her body with someone, but the worse was when she asked, ‘You are not going to ditch me after all these no?’ I do not know about that rascal, but I would have never left her even if she did not give herself to me. That night I decided not to call her ‘My Queen’, but for your information, my infatuation for her continued.

Months passed by she never came to study. I longed for her. One evening she entered the room with a big tummy. She was eighteen and pregnant. I knew who the father was. That rascal too entered the room, he hugged her and said, ‘My bride everything is going to be alright.’ Meaning they were married. I cried the entire night, does anyone care?

The rascal lived with his in-laws, which means I had to see him every day. He was hopeless, insensitive, love stealer, in short, I did not like him. He came up with most usual of plans. My dislike for him reached the zenith when he said, ‘The baby will be arriving shortly, why do spend money in a cradle? Let us just break this table and recast it into a cradle.’ Seriously, who does that? I wanted him to hear these words, ‘Rascal, why don’t you chop your body and recast into a Mercedes.’

She had a son; I wanted her to have a daughter. Her son cried at strange hours. Her husband the great rascal slept the whole day. I do not know what personal enmity he had towards me, he always came up with plans to transform me into something or the other. One day, he took me out in the courtyard to make a kennel for his usually ugly puppy. Just then it rained, he ran inside like his coward puppy leaving me behind. I got wet like the ground. I stood there all alone. For the second time, I missed the carpenter’s shop which gave me shelter from unceasing rains. Suddenly, she came towards me; her eyes were all red and swollen. I could see it clearly even if the raindrops tried to hide her pain from me. I wanted to know what was ailing her, what was making her cry; my entire conclusion ended blaming the rascal.

She leant on me and started crying, she whispered in my ears, ‘Why is this world so bad? Why are people so bad? Day and night my heart hurts. If it continues I am going to die for sure. I wish I am a table, a lifeless table.’ Although she was insensitive to call me lifeless but I forgave her, I just wanted to hug her and tell her that she was not alone in judging the badness of this world. But, how could I make her understand, I neither spoke her language nor she could understand my body language. That day I realised I was in love with her.

When the rain stopped, I was taken to the kitchen. I became a kitchen table; I could feel the dining table mocking me. The grumpy voluptuous maid could chop onions, chillies and tomatoes on my body. She hardly cleaned it. I could sense some lovely tensions between her and the milkman. They flirted too much. One day, they kissed in front of me, yeah; I was born to witness lovers sharing passionate kisses. Just then the milk from the jar spilt on me, a wild cat jumped from the window and licked me. The maid got kissed and I got licked. Weeks later, the milkman broke her heart, basically, he was married and wanted only to have good quality time with her. The chicken stew could have tasted super salty with her tears falling on the pot. She would have felt better if only she knew how lucky she was to have got a kiss though the love was momentary.

Meanwhile, there was a funeral in the house, the master of the house passed away, when I heard the news, for a moment I thought it was the rascal, but nope it was my ‘could not be’ father-in-law. On the funeral day, I prayed that the rascal won’t come looking for me. Who knows he might have made me a part of the coffin. Two days after the burial, the rascal and his wife aka my beloved stormed into the kitchen fighting not for water or salt but for the property. Her mom too entered the kitchen. All three of them fought like crazy. At the end madam senior got a cardiac arrest and was rushed to the hospital. She died. Two days after her burial, the rascal and his wife aka my beloved stormed into the kitchen again fighting for I do not know what but lots of ‘divorce’ term was used. I was excited, I really wanted her to push him out from the house, from her life, but nope it did not happen. After ten months, they had another child. It was again a son.

The rascal and his wife were making plans to leave this small town and go to a big city. The plan was executed, they left the house. I did not know about the rascal but I knew she would come back. So I waited and waited.

The maid was the only one who took care of the house which had already turned into a museum. She always complimented me by saying, ‘Boy, you are still young and handsome. What kind of termite resistant wood you are made of?’ That made me happy; otherwise, every season was bitter cold for me.

Whosoever has said, ‘Never lose hope,’ should be saluted. After ten years of immense longing from my side, she returned to her old house. Her kids had grown bigger, she was still beautiful.The rascal was now looking like a fully fledged criminal and his ugly dog was dead. After weeks of her arrival, I got the attention I deserved; I was taken to her bathroom. She kept her diary and some books on my shoulder.

Her kids slept in the adjacent room, the criminal was nowhere seen her at night, she slept alone crying. The criminal beat her occasionally. She pretended that everything was fine in her life, no, it was not. I do not know what perfect life was, but it was nothing like what she was dealing with. One day, she brought a pistol, god knows from where? And stood near the mirror trying to shoot herself. I knew she was contemplating on pulling the trigger; I did not want her to do so. She did not kill herself that day.

Her kids were spoiled and highly demanding. They liked breaking stuff; they screamed a lot and did things which were not adorable. The worse was,they coloured me with cheap smelling rotten paints. A pastel coloured cloth came to my rescue.

As you know, my town being a small town was facing a lot of load shedding so candles and lamp became a must household product. My beloved had a funny habit of keeping her windows open as a result of which the edges of the cloth over me could try to kiss the candle, I was happy for his unsuccessful attempt; if he was successful then it meant fire and a fire could burn me down into ashes after all I was made of wood.

On the first week of the spring, the criminal threw a big candlelit party in the house. When the guest had started arriving they indulged in a big fight. The criminal wanted a divorce, most probably he found someone younger, prettier, taller and richer. My beloved was begging him to stay; I wondered where her self-respect was? He slapped her; she fell down on the floor crying. Minutes later, she got up, went near her dressing drawer and pull out the pistol. I knew what was going to happen next. She was going to shoot herself. I did not want her to die, at least not in front of me. I did not want her to die without knowing that I love her and had loved her for years. I had to divert her attention.

I have not shared a secret with you, when I was born, the carpenter blessed me with a magical power which I could use only once in a lifetime. And that night I was ready to use it, by the way, no matter how great the magical power was it could have never transformed me into a man. So, I told the left edge of the cloth to kiss the candle, he was successful, then there was a fire. I thought the fire might catch her attention. Yes, it did. My beloved looked at me and walked out of the room with the pistol in her hands. The fire had started burning the books above me. My limbs were burning, I was feeling suffocated, I knew in no time I could turn into ashes. I heard a gunshot, then another gunshot, all together it was four gunshots. My beloved shot the criminal down, while the fire was burning me down. She came to the room. I was near to dead, I could not see her properly but I know there was not a sign of remorse on her face.

She stood near me, her presence glowing in fire; she threw the pistol out of the window and said out loud, ‘Finally, it feels so good.’ As I died, we shared the same feeling, I mean, ‘Finally, it felt so good.’

                                                                      *************

Minutes later, the maid comes in to inform the lady about the arrival of police. She is shocked to see the ashes of the burned table. She exclaimed, ‘Madam!’

The lady replied, ‘This table could have made a better lover, he annihilated himself for me.’

The maid remarked, ‘Yes, lovers can come in different forms, however, what matters is there should be love, immense, one of its kind love.’

                                                                

-The End -