THE WALL
A Short Story
By Jansi
The early morning in that beautiful village had begun gently, accompanied by the sweet songs of birds. At the Mother Mary Church, which was regarded as the pride of the entire village, the first bell for the six-o’clock Mass had just stopped ringing. Without even looking at a clock, one could therefore assume that it was five-thirty in the morning. The second bell would ring at five-forty-five and the third at six, serving as a reminder at fifteen-minute intervals.
As soon as the second bell rang, a large gathering of villagers had already assembled inside the church. Men and women sat in separate sections. They knelt and made the sign of the cross. The women covered their heads with their veils, and most of the people had begun rolling the beads of their rosaries in their hands.
[*Mass: A Catholic liturgy in which the body and blood of Jesus are offered as a sacrifice.
*Rosary: A form of prayer practiced individually or in groups, using a string of beads consisting of five sets of ten beads.
In the next few minutes, people hurried towards the church. A few moments after the third bell had fallen silent, the choir began the opening hymn of the Mass.
“I, the Lord of sea and sky
I have heard my people cry
All who dwell in dark and sin
My hand will save
I have made the stars of night
I will make their darkness bright
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?
Here I am, Lord
Is it I, Lord?
I have heard You calling in the night
I will go, Lord
If You lead me
I will hold Your people in my heart.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…” With the priest beginning the Mass, the people joined in the worship.
It was now seven o’clock. The Mass was over, and the crowd was streaming back towards their homes. Sugandhi was among them. Now in her early fifties and weakened by age, she walked slowly and wearily towards her house.
Only recently had she begun to have the opportunity to attend Mass peacefully in the morning after many years. For more than ten years, her life had revolved around caring for her bedridden husband with complete devotion.
“Sugandhi, are you all right, dear?”
Several voices passed her, asking after her with affection and sympathy, knowing that she had recently lost her husband.
“Who could have had as much patience as Sugandhi?”
“Sugandhi deserves a statue.”
“What patience, sister! We should learn from you.”
Two women’s conversation pulled Sugandhi away from her wandering thoughts.
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