A lonely man

[I wrote this story back when I was 14. This story is really close to my heart.]

After school, I walked to the cafe which was located on the way to my house. I entered, took a table next to the window and ordered some french fries, a sandwich and a juice. After a few minutes, an old fellow with white hair, white beard and a broken leg entered the cafe and sat across from me. This had become my daily routine since I had come to the new city. The first time I came into the cafe, it was full. There was not an empty table. But, this old man had been kind enough to offer me a seat on his table. We began with introductions and soon started talking about our past. "You were about to tell me what happened to your family",I said. "Yeah, that", he said, leaned on his chair and began....
"It was the July of 1938 when I got married. I was 21 then. It was a love marraige and I really loved my wife a lot. For two years, we spent a peaceful life even as the world was waging war. I was a journalist in one of the leading papers. In the summer of 1940, all the countrymen were called upon to defend our country against the enemies who were attacking us. I went forward and enrolled my name for the war. Soon, a call came and I had to leave my wife back at home. We promised to write letters to each other as frequently as possible, and I left. After six months, my wife gave birth to a child. I yearned to go back and hold my baby in my arms, but the war was on. On the 15th of March, 1941, the Government announced that it wasn't safe anymore to send letters as they were being checked and we were banned from doing so. Thereafter, neither did I write to my wife, nor did I get any of her letters. This separation was hard to bear. I longed for my family. On November 16, 1941, while at war, I broke my leg when crevice pierced through it. My leg was cut off. I had to learn to walk all over again with crutches on my side. After this incident, I could no longer fight in the war. I was honoured for my work and sent back home. When I returned to my city, my house, everything had changed. Our house was now occupied by some other people. No one around knew where my wife had gone. I grew frantic. I contacted everyone my wife and I knew, but to no avail. I never gave up hope. I left no stone unturned in the search of my family. I searched the whole city twice and then all the places I and my wife had ever visited together; I even hired a detective to find out about my wife, but in vain. I was ready to go to any limit to find her, but wherever I went, the doors closed on me. I resumed my job as a journalist, but also continued with the search. One day, I wad assigned to cover a story about a far off village, where there were frequent bombings, post-war. On my way, I stopped by a little market and went on to buy some snacks. One moment I was buying some chips, the next I was facing my wife and child. We looked at each other and tears flowed down our cheeks. She had a little baby with her who was pulling at her sleeve leading her towards an ice-cream stall. After sometime, we smiled at each other, there was a loud noise and everything in front of me blew up. It was another one of those blasts. I was at a safe distance from the blast. But my wife and my child..." The old man began to cry like a baby. I comforted him. After a long pause, he said,"My wife died then and there. My son survived with major injuries. The bomb had some chemicals which affected my son's nervous system. He went mad. He is currently in a hospital and tied up with ropes 24X7." The old man said nothing after that. He simply got up and left me dwelling on my life. I felt sorry for the old man who had gone through so much in life and yet stood up bravely. He was still a lonely man in this wide world. Even with many people around him!

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