Short Story
Life is never Complete |
PRASANNA K BARUAH, 3rd Year,B. A. |
"I will be strained dead, mother, I cannot stand your chasing any longer"—I often did reply to her advice imposed upon me, being utterly irritated. Her advice turned to be a kind of chasing to me as I used to consume it in a dilated measure. There was no escape, no way out ; sitting alone, I thought and thought of the matter troubling me so much so that even a word of it uttered by my mother, proved too disgusting, nonsensical ; sometimes I intimidated her, having put forward my deliberate idea of leaving her for good, if she ever continue to insist on what I so disliked. But she stood annuled; no amount of apprehension could deviate her; every attempt to persuade her came as a stalemate, So I became a horror to her, she to me.
My mind was befogged, I could not deliver myself out of the riddle I was in.
* * * *
A pretty number of years had intervened since she lost her husband, my father. As she told me, I was a mere child about two years of age, when he died. She brought me up with great care and now I was a full- grown youth, aged over 23-the only disobliging and disobedient son of her, her hope, her dream.
We, two, got on well, all alone in life. Wants we had little, and even if she had and thought she had, I valued it not at all, and as for my part, wants were absolutely dead.
My friends used to have good time with me, they chatted hours together, dispersed with smile and gay as they found me quite jolly, happy and associable. Indeed, I did feel I was happy. Vicissitudes of life left a memorable repercussion on me, my mind-to be happy with
