THE
TELEGRAM ON THE TABLE
Once again his
eyes fell upon the telegram which he had received weeks ago. But he had not
sufficient time to read that. He always went his rented room very late night
and went to bed. Because he always used to be very tired and exhausted. His work
was fantastic as he wanted. In his childhood he used to think that he will
learn English. And he learnt, by which he became a guide. All time he was busy
and used to have a dinner in hotel. So he went to bed as quickly as he reached
in his room. So since the telegram received he had not got the time to read it.
He used to think that one day he would go America. And his tourists who were
guided by him would welcome him and they would be the guide of him.
One day his close
friend came in that city and meets him. And his friend gave the sympathy to
him. He did not know the reason of getting sympathy but he thanked him. And one
night after reaching his room, he started dreaming America without closing his
eyes. But suddenly in his imagination, he found his village, his friends, and
his family. He has not been there for a long time. At least he had forgotten
his family and village. But that day the thought his beautiful village and
there’s people. Suddenly he remembered that he had got a telegram. And he
started reading that. He found written that his wife had died the day after. He
shocked, he stared weeping. He tore the telegram and cried and cried and cried
such a long time.
INTERPRETATION
This beautiful
story may be telling us that, we must be aware of the situation of our home and
family. If we did not care about that will be regret. If we are living in a
city far from our family, we must be updated by the situation of our family. We
must love them and care too. Like the person in the story, we should not be
like a stone. He did not care of his family and village by which at last he
feel regret and weep for a long time.
He had known about his wife death at first only but he didn't care n felt no sorrow about it..not that he dint know at first..
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