The Last Storyteller (First Edition) | Page 45

longer. It was crushing him to let her leave, but the city was no place for them to start a new life. The pain swelled deep in his chest; he had not felt such sorrow since his buffalo died. Raja loved his buffalo and tears flowed when he lost her, yet this time, the tears seemed to wash away his heart. Raja thought back to years gone by, longing for better days as he walked the dark, dirty streets. Raja stopped under a large tree that had seen generations of human heartbreaks come and go. Sitting on the cool grass and leaning back against the rigid bark, he closed eyes and pulled the flute from his satchel. His fingers danced across the voids and a soft melody of love and sorrow lifted into the sky. He could feel the notes floating across the sea and he continued to play. The song was so pure; it called to souls yearning for healing. It was full of pain, love and loss and had anyone heard, they would have heard the closest Raja could have come to explaining how he felt on the inside when words didn't seem to be powerful enough to express his sorrow. His world turned dark again. A few happy and lovely days came and then ended quickly, leaving a deep hollow wound on his heart. He decided he would stick to his plan, no matter how hard it got. Every night when he trudged home, exhausted and filthy from cleaning the kennels and grooming his master’s dogs, he tossed his meager coins into his savings jar and tumbled into his bed. He refused to spend money on himself, mending his thin pants and eating what scraps he could scrounge from his master’s cook, who would save bread for him in return for playing a few dance tunes on his flute for her. He got other odd jobs where he could, hauling coal or carrying groceries for his master’s neighbors. Days turned into months of heavy work and tossed coins. One night, while he was sitting in his room with a small stale piece of bread and dipping it in carrot water that pretended to be soup, he caught sight of his jar, glinting in the sunlight. It was full to the brim, and shone with money. “Could it be?” he said aloud. He counted out the coins again and again, unable to believe it was true. Whooping and laughing, he jumped up with his small satchel, knocking over the soup. “Who needs watery soup? I’ll buy a buffalo!” he shouted at nobody in particular. Then he set off, marching down the street, grinning like a maniac. People stared at him as if he was crazy, but he didn’t care. He would soon have another buffalo. This thought gave him joy for the first time in months. He knocked on the door of his Master’s house, and gave a slight bow. “Sir, I have saved enough money for a buffalo and I will return to my village.” he said. The Master didn’t seem happy, no doubt thinking he would never find such a naïve villager working all day and night for such a pittance. Raja barely noticed though, as he waved goodbye. Page | 45