Dust ravels around the letter box. Paint of the metal begins to rust. Letters peeping out through the box- watching, waiting for a human touch. Screaming their pain with silence. Wind blows a kiss on the letters once in a while, which stays there unread.

Every Monday the postman riding on his old rusty bicycle drops one or two letters in the letter box. “It must be from Sashi,” his mother with eyes full of tears said.

Selina Prachi

Sashi had left his mother in the old abandoned village in search of work and money just like his father, who never returned. With a heavy heart Ma had sent Sashi for his dream to come true and believed in Sashi of coming back.

Every single day lonely, sad “Ma” would hear the doors open and close but as soon as she peeped out the window, the postman would have already left. He surely left the letters with the warmth of feeling representing her son Ma would arrange the letters on the nightstand and stare at them for hours, untouched, unopened, unread. She would pick each letter, turn them around, look at each corner of the envelope but never dare to open any. This phase went on for weeks, months and for many years. Every time poor mother would blame herself of not being educated to read the words of his son’s letters. “If only I was able to read them, if only I was educated!” Ma would cry out loud in pain, sorrow and agitation. The letters had taken the place of her son. Each time the letter arrived, she pretended as if it was her son. The unread letters remain under the light of hope. She believed someday somebody would read the letters and help her get out from the darkness of silence. Slowly with the passing years, letters stopped arriving. A pile of unread letters kept on at the nightstand for years. The letters would speak up to her consoling her, smiling at her. She waited and waited and waited. But one day even Ma had to leave this world, house, the unread letters and the hope of seeing her son. The last thing she wished was a warm hug from her son. Spending her last moments holding the letters in her hand as tightly as she could with all the memories flashing in front of her, Ma took her last breath.

The unread letters had an untold story. Sashi was in the hospital in the last stage of cancer and the letters were sent from the hospital in a hope that he would meet his mother for the last time. Only if the letters were opened, only if the words were spoken, only if there was a different story of the unread letters!

The faith of the letter was to hide its story, maybe it was its destiny to be unopened, unfolded, unread. The fall of the moon and the rays of the sun, the letters have seen everything except the reader of their words. Maybe the universe wishes to keep it as an untold, intriguing story.

selinaprachi022@gmail.com