I am here

That was the last time I got hit by him. When I told him about the angel.

“What does he keep talking about, this boy?” he said, dragging me to my mother.

“But he told me”, I cried.

That remark invited even more rage from him.

“He is a young boy, let him be” said my mother, helplessly. But he hit her too, when she said so.

He was like that, my father. That was just how he was made. Anytime we mentioned something he did not like, he would beat us up.

And, every time he would hit me, I would run out of the house to my friend. My only friend. He owned a small tea stall in the neighbourhood, and with little footfall in his tiny shop, he always had the time to reassure me.

“You must believe in your angel”, he said. “It is there with you every minute, even when you can’t see it. Especially when you can’t see it. It is protecting you every moment of your life.”

I had no idea what to make of it, but the words did reassure me. Even if I felt, that at that moment, he, himself, was my angel.

I had never told my father about what my friend said before that day. But that day, I just blurted it out when we were having breakfast.

“My friend told me about my angel”.

“Which friend? You have none.” He said. “And what is this angel? Since when have you started believing in such things?”.

“He told me.” I said. Which is when I got hit.

I had got hit earlier too, but that day it was out of control. I was trembling in pain by the time he stopped. My friend would always tell me to try and understand my father and be a good son. But I couldn’t see what I had done wrong today.

“He is a responsible man, trying to make a living for his family and he is just under stress.. he means you no harm”, he said.

But today I was very scared. I ran out of the house to my friend, but he was not there.

I was lost, and did not know where to go. I roamed around lost in the streets, till I hit upon the door. It was a small wooden door, with a big stone fence around it. It was closed, and I couldn’t see behind it.

Hesitantly, I opened the door, into a lovely garden. Full of all varieties of plants and blooms, the garden was the most beautiful I had ever seen.

And there it was, almost part of the greenery - my translucent green angel. It was a tall, lovely angel, with strong glittering wings. It was holding its hand out at me.

***

My father has gone into a shell now. He barely talks. My mother sits by herself at the window all day. Sometimes I visit her, sometimes she is happy and talks to me. But at other times, she can’t see me, I think. When she tells my father about my visits, he no longer raises his hand. He simply walks away.

They never did really find me after that day, I hear. But I am here.