MOTHER'S LOVE by ARMAN AMROHVI is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
“Indian Airlines welcomes you onboard flight No. IC 825, scheduled for Delhi via Amritsar. Flying time to Amritsar is 1 hour and 15 minutes. Your captain is Captain Satish Bhardwaj. All passengers are requested to fasten their seat belts. Smoking is prohibited onboard. We wish you a pleasant journey. Thank you.”
Within minutes, the plane was taxiing. Alexander shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. Once airborne, he rose, hoping to find a co-passenger to talk to. With few passengers onboard, it was difficult to find the right person. He walked down the aisle but in vain. Turning back in distress, he suddenly noticed a young woman dressed in a Persian-blue sarong, a white cotton shirt, and a blue scarf around her neck—her attire perfectly complementing her fair complexion. Alexander was mesmerized, frozen as he had been years ago when he first saw the Taj Mahal. Without hesitation, he approached her and said, “I am Alexander. May I sit beside you?” Before waiting for her reply, he seated himself next to her.
The woman was lost in the view of snow-covered mountains. A flight attendant interrupted Alexander’s thoughts: “Sir, would you like some tea or coffee?” “Yes, black coffee,” Alexander replied. “And for your wife, Sir?” “She is not my wife,” Alexander said, which drew the woman’s attention away from the window. “Sorry, Sir,” the attendant murmured. “Madam, something for you?” “Black tea and some chocolates, thank you,” she answered.
Alexander gazed at the scenery. “Nature is beautiful—shades of grey, white, and brown. Look, the snow glows like silver where the sun touches it.” The woman turned to him. “I was speaking of the mountains we’re flying over.” “Yes, indeed. Is this your first visit to Srinagar?” “Yes,” she replied. “That explains it,” Alexander smiled. “Everyone is spellbound by Kashmir’s beauty on their first visit.” Extending his hand, he said, “I am Alexander.” “I am Nitasha,” she replied.
Their drinks arrived, and as they sipped, Nitasha said, “I am an environmentalist, here for the conservation of Dal Lake. But I gather this isn’t your first visit?” “I’ve been coming to Srinagar regularly for five years,” Alexander answered. “You must love this place,” Nitasha remarked. “I do love nature, but my visits are mostly for business. I deal in papier-mâché products, crafted here and sold in Europe, America, and Canada.” “And how did you become an environmentalist?” Alexander asked curiously. Nitasha’s eyes grew distant. “I was born in the jungles of Africa. The very next day, my parents died in a jungle fire set illegally by builders. A local midwife saved me. That tragedy shaped me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Alexander, recalling rain on the Taj Mahal’s marble, whispered, “You are an orphan, like me. My father was a mercenary in Vietnam. The day I was born, my mother received news of his death. Her heart broke, and I was left alone.” “Birds of the same feather flock together,” Nitasha sighed. “That is why I chose to protect our planet—to conserve Earth and honor its beauty.” “I have traveled far and wide,” she added, “but Srinagar has captured my soul.” Alexander nodded. “Locals say Srinagar was even more beautiful before terrorism scarred it. What we see now is only a fraction of its former glory.” “Is that true?” Nitasha asked softly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in 10 minutes we will land at Rajasansi Airport, Amritsar. The halt will be 30 minutes. Please fasten your seat belts. Thank you.”
The plane landed, and some passengers disembarked. Alexander and Nitasha continued talking until an elderly woman boarded and sat behind them. Alexander’s eyes followed her. Nitasha noticed. “Do you know her?” she asked. Alexander pulled out his wallet, revealing a photo identical to the woman. “This is my mother’s photo,” he said quietly. Nitasha was astonished.
Unable to resist, she spoke to the woman. “I am Nitasha. What brings you to India?” “I am Elizabeth,” the woman replied. “The death of my only son brought me here.” Alexander leaned forward. “Death? How did it happen? I am Alexander.” “My son Michael was a reporter. He was killed in a terrorist attack in Jalandhar, just days before his wedding.” “We are so sorry,” Alexander and Nitasha said together. Elizabeth’s voice was firm. “Do not pity him. He was brave, a self-made man.” Nitasha whispered, “Nobody is truly happy. We have no parents, and she has lost her only son.” Elizabeth was deeply moved.
“Indian Airlines welcomes you onboard flight No. IC 825, scheduled for Delhi. Flying time is 1 hour. Your captain is Captain Satish Bhardwaj. Please fasten your seat belts. Smoking is prohibited. We wish you a pleasant journey. Thank you.”
Once airborne, snacks were served. Alexander, Nitasha, and Elizabeth shared their stories. Suddenly, the captain entered the cabin, ordered juice, and sat beside Alexander. Moments later, he collapsed, clutching his chest. Alexander rushed to help. “Lie down, I’ll assist you,” he urged.
Meanwhile, the copilot reported the emergency to Palam Airport. Fire engines and ambulances lined the runway. The plane descended, but the joystick jammed. “I can’t pull up,” the copilot cried. Elizabeth prayed aloud, “Lord, I must live to seek justice for my son.” Miraculously, the plane slammed onto the runway. Fire engines sprayed water as chaos erupted.
Alexander freed Nitasha and Elizabeth, urging them to jump onto the grass. He pulled Elizabeth out, calling her “mother.” She embraced him, whispering, “My son, you saved my life.” Alexander wept like a child. Nitasha joined them, and Alexander pleaded, “Mother, share your love with her too.” All three embraced, sobbing.
Elizabeth raised her hands to the sky. “Thank you, Lord, for giving me life.” At that moment, Alexander heard a voice: “Tell mother, I am Michael. I want to hug her—I am with you.” He ran to Elizabeth. “Mother!” he cried. With tears streaming, Elizabeth whispered, “Michael… come, my child. I have missed you for so long.”