The Dividing Line

It was caning day at school. We stood in neat rows in the school hall awaiting our turn. My report card carried the red mark. I was sure to be a victim of assault. The principal stood there flourishing the cane in her hand like a banner in a protest march. Trembling from head to foot, we walked one by one up to the stage. Panic seized me as the dreaded moment arrived. It rained down on me like strokes of lightening from a darkened sky. As the blows came down I vowed that a day would come ……… I met her thirty years later and was surprised to see that she had not relinquished her cane. She still held it in her hand, but a thicker one this time. Delicately balancing her whole body on it she moved towards me. She stared at me as if into nowhere…not recognizing, not realizing. I stood there for a moment,…. then walked away slowly…I turned back to have one last glimpse of her…She stood unmoving holding her walking stick irresolutely in her frail hand, looking beyond me into the emptiness

I have raced through life, always walking forward but thinking backward of the day, when I came into a world which was made up of trees with lavender blossoms, orange trees which shed their fruit, the glowing redness of the apples and the plums in their luxurious ripeness, the blue valleys with the cool breeze blowing on my face and the pleasant sunshine. I stood near the window looking out into the garden with pride. I was safe inside a shell, blissfully unaware that it would break open any moment. Life has changed over the years .The shell broke open leaving me cold and exposed in a world that threatened my very existence. I crawled out of my shell but the predators were all around-hovering at a distance. Sensing the danger I decided to crawl back into the safety of my shell. But soon realized that the shell was no more. Now it is freezing. I search for warmth that I may never find.

My dearest child. There is none in this world whom I love as much as you. For you are not of this world. My precious gift. . . . I treasure you in my heart. Your joys were mine while we lived through it. Now your sorrows are mine too…. only mine. I find strength in you….your love unconditional…..your affection eternal. When you look up at my face and smile your toothless smile, I see in you another face……the face of the one, who gifted me you. My dearest child... my love….

Mr. Bullmore, the tall, hefty, formidable man was the Proprietor, Principal and Teacher of the School. 'Bullmore's School' was always the 'first and best' when it came to a choice of schools. My first day at school was filled with sweets, toys and nursery rhymes. It was a day of colour, a day of new found love. Mrs. Bullmore was always there to keep the show going with her affected, maternal ways. The initial excitement wore off as the days passed. I was gradually initiated into the world of alphabets and numbers. My tiny hands fondly held the black slate on which the strange markings appeared and disappeared. I was fascinated beyond measure with my first slate, so fragile yet strong. This 'Black Beauty' was my treasure, my 'First Love'. I had committed myself to something greater than my little hands could contain. It was to last a life- time and there was no turning back……..