The Afterglow

“The queen who wished for a weightless crown”,

The pauper touch’d her skin so brown

And then she said, stroking the babe’s head

‘Tis the tale of this old, old town’

 

“You must be fair, to wear a royal gown,

But she was a queen, with skin so brown,”

The babe was spent, ‘bout the queen she dreamt

The queen who wished for a weightless crown.

 

My grandfather told me about it first when I was eleven. I was a girl growing up to become a woman, and even though we couldn’t afford them, diamonds have always been admired by me- and I was certain, that one day, a knight in shining armour would wed me, and immortalize his love for me in that fine solitaire. One thing that truly troubled me, and continues to, is that although I am a talented artist, I cannot seem to draw a perfect diamond. Maybe it’s because my Mathematics and Physics skills are below average- but I would make sketches, paintings and etchings of diamonds trying to perfect the art, and my grandfather always admired my work- no matter how many stray lines here and there would make them look like unearthly pieces of rock.

 

It was during one such endeavour, that he told me about it. About the Koh-i-Noor- the ‘Mountain of Light’.

 

As I grew up, I slowly started to come to the conclusion that three things will never happen to me. Firstly, I will never be able to become a rock star or a feature film director. Secondly, I will never look like Rachel Weisz in ‘The Mummy’ no matter how much I try to curl my dark, straight hair. And thirdly, no ‘knight’ on the face of planet Earth would want to wed me- let alone buy me a diamond ring. A real, diamond ring.

 

On my twenty third birthday, I returned to Calcutta, overly excited about meeting Grandfather. To my utter disappointment, he left the town for some work with my Grandmother and Uncle two hours before my arrival. I whined for a while, and then turned to Facebook. When that bored me, I decided watch some television, and in order to do so, to ask my sister, Nina (who was just on the brink of teenage) for the remote control.

 

“You’ve been at it for the past thirteen years,” I said, “Give me the remote control.”

“Why don’t you go online to Skype and talk to dear Tommy?” was the prompt answer.

 

I was quiet for a while. When I was younger, I had no one to share anything with, and sharing something with your eight year old sister wasn’t the best idea- or so I learnt when she made that comment.

 

“Tom’s-” I began, hesitating, “Working.”

“The army’s no ‘work’ really. Not the Royal army at least. No major wars. All he gets is free booze, and a lot of sex.”

“How dare you!” I shouted.

 “Oh please,” laughed Nina, “You know it’s true. Oh! And you’ve never met him. He’s probably just another jerk. You don’t know anything about him, except that he has had an abusive father and a dysfunctional family.”

“Stop it already!”

“No!” she cried, “No I won’t. You’re my sister. You’re supposed to be telling me these things, not the other way round! Be rational. Get a guy who you can see before your eyes.”

“Tom is different,” I protested.

“That’s what you said for all your other boyfriends.”

“Look,” said I, “You are a really smart girl- and believe me I love that. Because I know you’ll make the right choices in life. Tom and I have known each other online, for the past five years, you know that. We’ve spoken over voice, we’ve shared photographs and he has been with me through thick and thin. I promise I’d meet him this Christmas. Don’t…don’t tell Mom.”

“Oh ho ho ho!” laughed she.

“Also, he is undergoing military training- he’s not ‘in the army’. Your argument is invalid.”

“There will be a war,” said Nina, “You know it better than I do.”

“There will also be peace.”

 

And all this was said, with a background score of Dario Marianelli on the computer, and a chant of the following on the television:

 

“The legendary Koh-i-Noor diamond, presented to Queen Victoria in 1850, was set in the platinum crown made for the late Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother for the 1937 coronation. This diamond, which came from the Treasury at Lahore in the Punjab, may have belonged to the early Mughal emperors before passing eventually to Duleep Singh. It was re-cut for Queen Victoria in 1852 and now weighs 106 carats. It has been reported missing for the past week from its home at the Tower of London. Traditionally the Koh-i-Noor is only worn by a queen or queen consort: it is said to bring great power, but bad luck to any man who wears it.”

 

 

I did not spend many happy days in Calcutta. I was called to my workplace, the International Peace Organization office in New Delhi due to an urgent assignment.

 

 “The United Nations has declared this a special case,” said Dr. Chopra as she smiled at me,   “You are to address the delegates of all the other countries at the United Nations General Assembly.”

“The General Assembly?” I questioned.

“The United States of America is red with rage and the Middle East is stirring with revolution. We are the only non profit organization that may be heeded. There will soon be a war, and our job is to make sure it does not happen.”

“What will you have me do?”

“We’ll come to that later,” smiled she, “But first, congratulations dear girl. This is your promotion letter. Chief Executive of International Relations and Peacekeeping.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, and then wiped it off after I realized how heartless I was being, so I changed the topic saying, “There will be a war. You are sure of it?”

“Can you be sure of love?” said she, “No. We never know when it happens. War, is somewhat like that.”

“I see what you mean,” I replied.

“You are to represent our country in the IPO Convention for Peace in the coming month. Have your team ready by this week.”

“I will get to work immediately.”

 

I was just about to get up and leave, when I realized I had forgotten something.

 

“Oh, Dr. Chopra,” I said, “How silly of me, I forgot. Did you manage to read the application for a one day leave I asked for?”

“Yes I did,” she lowered her spectacles, “But I am afraid that we cannot allow that at this juncture. You are needed by the country now, Miss. Roy. I hope you understand.”

 

My heart skipped a beat. I promised him that I would come down on Christmas Eve and meet him, for the first time ever, in Kent. He said he would show me around, and buy me lots of chocolate, no matter how hard he was on money. We have waited for this day, for five long years.

 

“I understand,” I lied, and left the office room.

 

‘My country is my pride. And I will do anything to hold its name higher than all other countries,’ said the patriot within me, while the yearning lover in me said nothing in silent desperation.

 

“Bylla?” popped the chat box, “I’m calling you.”

 

It was Tom. And that’s what he would call me- by my old online game character name.

 

“Tom? Is that you?” I spoke into the microphone, adjusting my headset.

“Of course it’s me, Bully,” he said. He was trying very hard to make me laugh for once. It wasn’t working.

“You know, if you’re expecting me to whimper over the phone, I can’t,” I said, “I haven’t been able to cry for six years thanks to modern psychiatric medicine side effects.”

“You think I called you just to hear you cry?” he laughed.

“You know we can’t meet before the almost-war, Tom, why did you call me?”

“Well I wanted your postal address because I was going to send you a few things by post. After the war of course.”

“So there will be a war?”

“Well there’s a lot of debate. They’re transferring me to Syria tomorrow. Am I getting your postal address or not?”

“Why do you want my address now?”

“Well I prepare in advance, Miss,” said he in a high and mighty tone which made me giggle a little.

“I’ll send it to you in a while,” I smiled.

“Okay Bylla,” he said, “I’m leaving with the troops at dawn. See you next Christmas? Hopefully it will be over by then!”

“It will,” I smiled, “But I’m still mad at you. You’re horrid. And I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he laughed, “Take care Bylla.”

“You too, Tom. You too.”

 

There was no war, of course, just a lot of uprisings in the Middle East and some attacks in Jerusalem, Washington and London. My superstitious self blamed the Koh-i-Noor, and made some sort of strange connection with its disappearance to the reasons for the various uprisings and attacks. Thousands died- in an attempt to save their own motherland. The unidentified murderers remained unidentified. The whole thing, to my fanciful imagination, was an afterglow of the vanishing of a priceless diamond.

 

For days and nights, I would sit in front of the computer to wait for Tom to come online. I missed him. He was one of my best friends. Nothing happened. He never came. My sister was right. He was probably a jerk. Or he died defending his motherland. The latter- I liked not to believe.

 

It’s been three years now. I’m getting married next year- to a man I don’t know, someone my parents will find for me. I am growing ‘old’.

 

A while ago, I just received a package. Another wedding gift for the eldest daughter.

 

I opened up the wraps and found a letter first, which I shall re-write with correct spelling and grammar:

 

Dear Bully,

 

I’ve never written a letter before. I mean, I’ve written many e-mails, but since you told me you liked hand written letters I’m trying my hand at one.

 

I honestly don’t know why I’m going to war, and I don’t know if I’m coming back. The world has been divided into different ‘countries’, and I hate that. But I suppose I can’t change that right now. Maybe you can. I read T.S. Eliot’s ‘To the Indian who died in Africa’ and I think that’s the first poem I read. The first proper poem. And I agree with the bloke. Wholeheartedly. I don’t know about anything else, but if the world were a little more united, then maybe plane tickets could be cheaper and I could come down and meet you. I really want to do that. Meet you.

 

Okay I don’t know how to end this letter. I’ve given you a few stuff. It’s not much, don’t worry, I’m poor. Just two bars of chocolate that I bought for you with the money I got left. You love chocolate. Don’t lie. Make sure you share.

 

And well. I love you, Bylla. I really do. Just don’t do stupid things and you’ll be fine.

 

I opened the package hastily and took out the bars of chocolate and held them to my bosom. Suddenly, I felt something a little heavy still on my lap.

 

I looked through the wrapping paper to see what I must have dropped. I let out a little scream when I saw the Koh-i-Noor glistening against the silk of my skirt.

 

Turning the letter over, I discovered some writing:

 

P.S. A kid came by to sell some stuff to get money for his mother’s heart operation. I figured I did not want to give you a beautiful ring he had. I don’t want you to be ‘bound’ to me. No. But I found this jewel. It was beautiful, and strangely reminded me of your country…though I’ve never been there. Keep this with you wherever you go. Maybe you’ll feel more at home?

Author's Note

1. There is no International Peace Organization (IPO)
2. This is a completely fictitious account

Reviews

[Marina]

this is very gripping and believable, i was honestly surprised to read it was entirely fictitous, as so many bits of it felt real, specifically the character Tom. the letter was my favourite part. great piece! thanks for sharing :)

[Bleda]

Hi Marina! Thank you so much! This is a very dear piece of writing to me, and I'm so happy that you liked it so much.

Thanks again for your time! ^_^