The Believer

By Pooja Pasricha

Musty, the smell of sadness and old age.

Somehow, her home always hosted this odour.

The structure itself seemed to sag.

Burdened with its own weight.

Forlorn and desolate.

It almost looked hunched over and tired.

The insides pristine white.

The walls painted in purity.

She couldn't overcome the overwhelming feeling of it being painted in sorrow.

She only saw a dull ochre, the colour sadness would embody if it took form.

The dank, dark smell of illness and ill luck

always seemed to be lurking, biding it's time.

Alert to the slightest hint of happiness, the woes would seep in, sly and sneaky, wafting in like a light breeze but heavy as lead once settled in.

Stubborn and clingy.

There was always a sense of an unfinished business as if the house was edgy with a lingering sense of frustration.

The first time she heard the muted whimpering, she dismissed it as a figment of her fertile imagination, much endorsed by her mother.

Her ability to communicate with creatures of species other than her own was interpreted as a manifestation of loneliness brought on by her being a single child.

Unbeknownst to her parents, Karen continued to be deeply involved with the animal kingdom, almost like a mentor.

The next time, the whimpering was distinct, almost demanding her attention.

The mild snivelling took the form of loud sobs.

They were the cries of a woman in deep distress. The entire room echoed with the piteous weeping. Completely befuddled she tried frantically to seek out the source, calling out, cajoling.

She desperately wanted to help.

It then took on a frenzied form with the cries changing from moaning to bawling, to angry outbursts, to anguished mewling.

Then as abruptly as it had begun it simply stopped.

Her room became airless.

Silent like a tomb.

A chilly gust whooshed past her ,whispering in her ear, a wish, a secret.

Karen, instantly saw the dog as she approached the dishevelled ,unkempt area with overgrown grass. The house behind, a picture of complete abandonment.

Once an architectural delight, it was derilict, dilapidated, a building without a soul.

The dog lay still as in death.

His fur scraggly and flea infested, his body a bag of bones.

But miraculously he was alive.

His breathing was shallow, laboured and he struggled to take in air.

He seemed to have no will to live.

When Karen gently lifted his head and placed it on her lap, the dog knew.

Tears streaming down her face, she whispered softly in his ears , his eyes flickered briefly and he howled with unimaginable pain and hurt.

Gently Karen gathered his frail form and took him home.

As she painstakingly nursed him, each day, her house began to breathe, almost heaving a sigh of relief.

It seemed to stand taller.

It glowed with sunshine.

The insides blossomed with a rainbow of colours. The walls shone with pride.

A chaste white.

The first spring brought on a riot of flowers around. Fresh green leaves glistening in the sunlight.

Teal skies full of hope.

The first rain washed away all the hopelessness.

The house smelt of sunshine and the oceans.

Happiness had a scent.

The redolence of joy.

The odour of life.

By Pooja Pasricha