She counted on her tiny fingers, tracing the paths she had just taken in the villa. It was the most spacious thing she had come across in all her 10 years of life. The rooms were like cities, wide, alarming and drool worthy in all its architectural status. She called the big villa as her castle.
“Twelve, it is” she reassured herself and said it aloud, biting her lips, crossing her fingers and anticipating a broad smile from her new teacher.
“Are you sure, young lady? For If you must be wrong then you need to write 21 horses and their talks a hundred times.”
An old man with the receding hairline and graying beard eyed her with a hidden smile.
“Yes Teacher, it is 12, 2 in the hallway, 4 on the way to the biggest rooms in the castle and one each in all the six rooms” She had to be right. She shuddered at the thought of the 100 times she was to write the 18th-century poem.
Mr. Goving Aarya rose up, towering the tiny girl. With his glazing brown supporting stick and a well-tailored suit, he tried to look young but none of them did the charm except the pride that was now dancing on his face.
He had caught her.
“There are thirteen turquoise blue Italian jars dear, you forgot the one in this very room, there on the highest shelf” He held her towards the expensive jars and found her face drop in a second.
” A hundred times it is” She sighed.
“A hundred times it is, dear” He smiled.
Heaving a sigh of relief and studying the retreating shadow of the girl, made his face glow with a shine, a kind of shine one gets to see when someone knows their bright future.
He was preparing a gem for the literature world.
Having published 20 books and a few accolades in his name. His skills had only sharpened as he had outlived his peers. A divorcee at 30 and kids in far away lands, none had inherited is writing skills. And deep down he knew he was the reason for it all.
His fame had him under its spell and that is why commitment was just a fun word back then.
But the raging time promised him the graying hairs, weakened knees, shivering lips, trembling fingers and sleepless nights.
He would barely write now, with creativity at bay, he longed for his family but it was too late. That was when he met her.
The girl on the streets, begging, trying to read articles out of scrapped papers, stolen glances to the textbooks of the wealthy school going kids. Govind had noticed her on his way to the park for his morning walk, intrigued by her commitment and interest. He once took her to the library and her sparkle in the eyes assured him of the hidden potential in her.
From then onwards, there was no turning back. He adopted the orphan, fed her with literature, put her to sleep singing Shakespeare and triggered the writer in her. He was on a mission., to carve out the best diamond from the nugget.
“She would remember me for this or maybe she will forget me one day like my kids but my heart is finally at peace.”
He retired to his cane chair, lost in thoughts while the future writer crooned on the long chair writing the poem a hundred times, savoring the intelligence of each line, lost in a world that her young mind imagined!
“I will always remember you for this punishment teacher” She yawned…
She just didn’t realize how her lucky star had brought her to her bright future, YET!