some untold stories

To die is one thing , to fall in love is another…

To live is one thing , to be alive is another…

                                             The story teller..

The café was full , as usual . Though located in the down town , it was particularly mannered compared to its other counterparts . It was not the aroma of the freshly baked coffee beans that pulled women to this part of the town , but the young lad who used to tell stories , stories with strange endings , which sometimes would leave the audience spellbound , sometimes in rage of anger , sometimes in tears , they would promise themselves not to come to him again , not to listen to his stories again , but the promise was too hard to keep  , for they had become addicted to the drug he secretly served in his stories.

The café owner , walked up to him , held out his purse and handed him out five shriveled dollar bills . He smiled and said “ you know I don’t need these” , but before he could hand it back , the owner had turned his back towards him .

“keep them for future ,save it for the days , when I fire you “ he said with a chuckle waving a finger in the air,  and left.

The young lad had his bunk in the store of the café , and pretty much everything he needed in this world was  there.

Retiring from the day , he switched off the lamps and closed his eyes , and within no time he was in his stories , stories for the following day , stories which waited for its audience.

Following evening as usual , the café was full of beautiful Spanish women , ravishing to say the least.. so at peace , listening to the stories , that it was a sight to watch..

A woman’s silence is all , a man longs for , when she is listening to every word you say , coz you know deep inside , she is falling in love with you , how far and different you may be..

But this was not going to be the same any longer , a  young  pretty maiden walked in through the door , she looked so innocent that all other women who looked ravishingly beautiful  , now looked like a pack of wolf staring at an innocent lamb.

He raised his eyes as the ebony smell of her body hit him , for a moment he was stuck , and no one , but the damsel and him , felt the moment  , that was the moment when he realized he was smiling like a stupid .

It took him , lot of such moments to came back to life , he cleared his throat and finished the story , for the first time in his life had he felt the urge to finish a story , for he wanted to speak to the girl , he knew she would come to congratulate him.

 Unceasingly his eyes searched for the girl as he shook hands with people who came to thank him , but she never came ..

Going to sleep was particularly strange that night , he tossed himself left and right  , but couldn’t find the right comfort , yet he was smiling and found himself in a strange world , it was a long night , a dreamless night .

Following evening he didn’t 've a story to tell , for the dreamless night , he didn’t remember any of his previous ones too .

So the women had coffee and chattered in disappointment , talking and gossiping through the happenings of the day.

The night repeated itself , the days and evenings did the same ...

The storyteller was out of out of stories…the café gradually lost its ‘customers’ ,and the owner was left with no other choice , but to ask him to leave.

He packed his  bag , his small tattered bag  ,the only bag he had , which had all his worldly possessions . He headed to the market place to catch a bus , for he wanted to leave everything behind .

As he walked uneasily through the market place , the ebony smell hit him again , startled in excitement , as if a baby to the sound of its mother ,he turned  , the strange smile was back , but short-lived this time , for she was holding the hand of another man ,who could barely walk .

He noticed the pensive expressions , the paralyzed look in her eyes , he walked up to her dropped his bag on her feet , and said ," I hope its enough , I never used it , never felt the need" , he smiled  , looked in her deep eyes , he could feel the flow of tears through them .

So he left , keeping himself strong , he had realized , love was not about loving someone and expecting some in return , but its actually the inability to see someone in tears , it’s the power to witness two loving souls and to feel their pain , and feeling the happiness by seeing them smile together ,and it only grows , when you know that it was you who made them smile .

 This way it is eternal and heavenly…

Now he could sleep in peace , he could ‘ve his stories again…only , now they were about eternal and true love , and he used to tell them to people , who use to come to visit him under the tree..

Which later became a pilgrimage for all the spirits in love , for them it was a place where  they found true solace , but for him it was just another day at work..