WHISPERS soft the wind through the tall grass and wild shrubs. For those who lay in eternal sleep, the silent tombs speaking only through the endearing words and verses inscribed on the headstones.
Arjun, holding a bunch of carnations in his hands, stood in the cemetery and looked around, a little lost. The hushed silence, the soundless butterflies and the scent of wildflowers touched his senses like cold fingers.
He was there alone in the midday hour.

“Not a good time to visit a cemetery,” he remembered his grandmother saying, but he was not a believer of such superstitions, and shrugged his shoulders. He walked around looking for the gravesite, not quite remembering where it was after such a long time. Huge flamboyant and wisteria trees beautified the landscape of the old cemetery, but the overgrown, intrusive shrubs and creepers somewhat ruined the scenic beauty.
It was Arjun’s first visit since he had left home sixteen years ago, the exact day since the tragic accident. Time should have healed the wound of that loss over the years, but it could not, and today, he had come back to visit the gravesite of his childhood friend.

She had only been seven. He stopped, not sure where to look, for he had been so young at the time, and after over a decade, the landscape of the grounds seemed to have changed.
“Where are you, Devina? I can’t find you,” he said aloud, a little desperation in his voice.
A slight gust of wind ruffled his hair, and a white butterfly with pink flecks on its wings alighted on his hand. Arjun looked at the butterfly, not sure what he should do, when it flew away and a strange urge overcame him to follow the butterfly as it flew to where the shrubs were thicker, and the shadows deeper.

He cleared a path to pass, and there in the shade of a flamboyant tree, laden with pink blossoms, was her tomb. Arjun inhaled deeply, the grief subdued over the years arousing in his heart once more. He knelt down and laid the bunch of carnations gently on his friend’s grave. It felt again like when he was that eight-year-old boy. The ache in his heart; the unending tears.
“So young,” he whispered. “So sweet; gone far away to the beyond.”

Time rewound as he sat by her grave, and he saw her pretty face lying in a deep sleep, the pink frilly dress, pink ribbons in her hair and carnations flowers to say ‘goodbye’. Through his tears that day, he had thought he saw her smile just a little, something only he seemed to have seen.
Friends they had been since nursery school, but like broken glass, their young lives were shattered by the speeding car that came through the narrow street that day. The crash, her screams as she was hit from her new bike, and the last words she had said when he held her little body, her hand grabbing hold of his shirt, “Arjun, my friend.”

Then silence, the shock and horror of a thousand nightmares that stole his sleep and played havoc with his young mind.
The pain in his young heart, nothing could heal as the days went by, and he would sit and stare at the gate for hours, waiting for her to come and play, but she couldn’t; not anymore. So when no one was watching over him, he would run away to the cemetery to be close to her; to talk with her. It was not a good sign for his mental state, and his worried family had taken him away, far away, hoping it would help him to forget his loss.

Years had gone by as he grew into a young man, excelling in his studies, focused on his ambition, and forging friendships in his social life. His family was happy that he had found a way to overcome his pain, but no one knew the sad memories he kept in a secret vault in his heart, and the happy memories they shared as children was the soothing balm that eased his pain. Sitting by her grave now, he spoke to her softly.
“I’m still your friend Devina,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten you. Never mind I live so far away, you’ll always live in my heart.”

The butterfly fluttered its wings, and a sweet childish voice said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Arjun. Why did you take so long?”
Arjun looked up, a little startled, but there was no one around.
“Did I actually hear that?” he wondered and shook his head. “It can’t be; not after all this time.” Yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why have you been waiting?”

No answer; not for a long while, and he smiled wryly, knowing it was his mind playing tricks on him when she answered,
“Because you asked me to.”
A sudden hush descended on the grounds, and Arjun stood up slowly, his heart beating rapidly, not out of fear, but astonishment. He remembered the day of her funeral when he had been so grieved, he had cried, “Please don’t leave, Devina.”
All that time she hadn’t left; she was waiting for him.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, “This can’t be true.”
He looked around, but there was nothing that showed any indication she was there, except for the beautiful butterfly that had guided him to her grave. He stretched out his hand, and it alighted on his palm, the touch of its tiny form sending a slight shiver through his body.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I never knew you were waiting all these years; you should be in Heaven.”

“I know; the angels have been waiting for me,” he heard her say. “I wanted to see you just once more; now I can leave with them.”
He nodded, tears flowing down his face. And as the butterfly flew away, he felt something soft touch his cheek. “Goodbye my friend,” the sweet childish voice said.
A gust of wind shook the trees, showering her tomb with the fallen pink blossoms, and a light shone through, exiling the shadows. Through the veil of light, he saw her, like an illusion in her pink dress. Then she was gone.

He sank down on his knees by her tomb for a long while, crying, the vault in his heart now open. Then he raised his head to the Heavens and asked in a broken voice,
“Why did this have to happen, Lord? You gave a precious life to one; a priceless gem, then you take it back so soon. How can you be so unfair?”
Arjun spent the next few days cleaning and restoring her tomb, placing a sculpted angel over the headstone. And in her village, he opened a charity in her name. He returned home with even more special memories. And, one night, several months later, he had a dream.

She was riding her bike down the street, and she stopped and looked back at him, standing there; the young man he was. And she asked him, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No! Why?” he asked, surprised at the question.
“You should; you’re a handsome dude,” she said, laughing a little, and rode away, disappearing around the corner.

He awoke, wondering what was the meaning of that dream, if it had any meaning at all. But it was a good advice, anyway, and two years later, he got married. One year later, a baby girl was born. Arjun held the precious little bundle in his arms, happy and proud to be a father. And as she moved her tiny arms, he noticed the heart-shaped birthmark on her inner arm.

He stared at it, astounded.
It was the exact design of the heart he had drawn on a piece of paper and placed in Devina’s hand that day, as she lay in eternal sleep.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, delighted beyond words as he looked at the baby in his arms.
God had sent his friend back to him, as his own child, to love and cherish. Her name was Devina.