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| - Published in StoryStar 2014 She was as energetic at eighty-five years of age as when she was eight years old. All the wrinkles added grace and light to her beautifully chiselled face. A smile played perennially on her features. The glint in the marble like blue eyes added to the aura reflected all around her self! And, she carried herself with the demeanour betting the head of a living family tree of fifty members, ranging from tiny toddlers to youth to middle aged to 'senior citizen' -status of society. In a way, she was a union of several wills, to a single, whole and undivided will. They all adored her strong presence. Celebrated life in her jovial, bubbly company. And, today was a very special-day for her. Every X-mas day brought with it memories of her own Santa Claus. ***** The old man still had striking features of the handsome soldier who had joined the armed forces as a reluctant youth on insistence of his grandfather who had fought in the Great War of Civilisation but had over the years risen to become a Field Marshal and honourably retired from service of the Motherland. The price of fame though in changed times has been the acquisition of fabulous wealth by his kith and kin but each of his children and grand children were so caught up in their own worldly pursuits that one had to cross-cross the oceans to meet one another once in a few years. The widower loved his glass of rum and stack of books. A round of golf with the old boys or the odd game of tennis at the Club helped him stay fit as a fiddle. What cost was all the Wealth and Prosperity attained in the name of a fragile Peace after all those bitter Wars? - this was the nagging question which plagued his mind all the waking hours, in recent times. And so, he was now flying out to spend the Christmas with men of the Fifth Regiment from which he had graduated to become a superior Officer winning his first Sword of Valour. Even as he looked across the aisle from his window-seat on the flight taking him to Madras, he espied a little girl clutching on to her Barbie-handbag and blinking eyes taking a seat in the other row. None seemed to escort the little child who appeared to be not older than seven years. The air-hostesses were fluttering about as butterflies but as mechanical as 'professional-bees' of the times! They did not bother to answer the child's repeated pleas for a glass of water. Nor, were they attending to his buzzer-call. He winced aloud: was this the era and carelessness for which he and thousands of other soldiers had sacrificed lifetime for? Sending out a prayer to the souls of all his men who were martyred in the call of duty, the old gentleman officer soon found his musings interrupted by the pilot's in-flight announcement of landing in a short while. As expected, during deplaning too, he and the little girl were overtaken by all the co-passengers that appeared in a greater hurry to get off the plane. Still holding the Barbie-doll handbag, she tentatively ambled towards the exit gate. Noticing that a painting-box had dropped off her hands, the pink-faced old man bent down to pick it up and hand it to her. She gave a smile of surprise and gratitude at the same time. And, in a sing-song voice said - 'Thank you Uncle!' He turned a beetroot red at the courteous little greeting. Gratitude of old world manners was ringing loud and clear. As both ambled towards the baggage retrieval - belt area, the two chatted like two long lost friends. She was visiting her aunty's place alone for Christmas because her father was a very busy surgeon who could not afford a holiday and her mother had to stay back to cook his meals and keep house. This was her first trip alone. And, yes. She was a topper in her class and aimed to become a Police officer when she grew up. There was so much of law & order problem in the society, she declared. She also informed him that he resembled the picture of the Field-Marshal whose portrait adorned the Hall of Fame in her School Library. And, giggled long and loudly. The old man joined in the merriment. Just as they were parting ways on her sighting her Aunt, Uncle & older cousins that had come to welcome her home, on an impulse, the old man with the pink smile thrust his long hands into a corner of his briefcase, took out a small golden cover and along with a box of Swiss chocolates, handed it over to the sweet little creature planting a peck on her forehead. With a mock-harsh tone: 'Officer, you shall not open this box before Good old Santa Claus visits you tonight!' The conspiratorial-tone excited the child no end and she held out a palm and said- 'I promise You Uncle!' He felt a lump in his throat as their car went away into the traffic! ***** The clock struck twelve. It was Christmas day again! A solitary tear dropped down her cheeks. She opened the golden box around her entire Family of fifty gathered in the huge drawing room, seated by the fireplace and the beautiful Christmas-tree decorated with little bulbs of different colours. A bright photograph smiled at them all from beside the Christmas Tree. 'Oh, I am imprisoned in this world even eighty years from that date, Uncle!' she whispered. And, moved to tears, she gently opened the box which was presented to her by the Uncle who had endeared himself to all of her Being and Family: out popped a glistening Gold Medal with the inscription- 'The Honoured First Field Marshal'! A Golden-Star glistened as the solitary-Star which directed the Three Maggi on that fateful night, all those years ago on their way to the manger of the birth of baby! That was the most treasured possession of the grand old warrior, liked by him more than any other valuable or asset which his kith & kin had been endowed with. He had said this in the last telephonic conversation he had with the little girl just after she had opened it at home. And, her Uncle had called him, astonished at the amazing gesture of a noble Man they had only read about in popular Media and never imagined would meet. All the elders were floored at his affable, honest voice expressing his sincerest wish to gift it to her whole-heartedly. And, the next morning's news of the death of the Gentleman Soldier sent the household into a pall of gloom. More intense than a while Nation felt. The little girl grew up into a little woman who soon won laurels for her stellar role in rendering medical attention to soldiers on the battlefront and during peace-time. Desi Florence Nightingale: they all named this Angel of Mercy, Compassion and Humanity! The beautiful little infant, youngest member of her clan holding out a tiny fist to touch the Gold Medal brought her back out of the reverie. A young grand-nephew began to sing- 'Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way...!' She joyously screamed - 'Merry Christmas!'
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