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<\/p>\nThey called her names. They flocked her. They idolized her. Loved her and worshipped her. I let them. That was probably my first mistake. I should have stopped them and I could have. I could have hired guards, barricaded roads or just moved away with her. I could have tired something but I didn’t want to. I planned it that way. I am to blame.<\/p>\n
I could have tried to stop her. Stop her from meeting them. Stop her from holding hands and talking. I could have but I instinctively know I would have failed. There was no way I could talk her out of it. \u201cIf I can help someone, why should I not?\u201d she would have argued back. I could not have won that battle and I really did not want to win that one either.<\/p>\n
I try to recall when it started and how. I cannot. Is my memory fading? Is it a symptom? A sign of the end? I wonder. How did it begin? The whole farce. Yes \u2013 I still consider it a farce. A fluke. A chance that grew into something untamable. I feel a clammy hand on my forehead. It must be her. Small, delicate, warm and mucid hand. She lays her hand on my forehead and waits.Like she has been waiting for years – for answers.<\/p>\n
I want her gone. Gone from this place. This place swarming with germs and viruses unknown. I don\u2019t want her next to me. I don\u2019t want the comfort of that small hand on my forehead. I want her out. I tried to tell it with words that refused to come out. I tried to indicate with my hands \u2013 hands that were immobile. I want her gone. I don’t believe in the vulnerary powers of leaves and berries. I don’t believe in her powers to heal me.<\/p>\n
She is whispering as she presses something on my forehead. I am sure it was some kind of leaf. I strain my ears to hear her words. \u201cAre those magic words? Pagan prayers? \u201c I wanted to ask her the questions she had been asked by others. Numerous times. By people who doubted, questioned and demanded. The questions never fazed her like it did me. I had the same questions but I kept them to myself. I was a doubter myself.<\/p>\n
A doubter but a calculative one nonetheless. I knew I had a hen that laid golden eggs and I devised a marketing strategy. Was it wrong of me? I don’t think so. I used the opportunity. I am that kind of person you see \u2013 the kind who asks for a bar of soap when he falls into the well. I have memoir written and ready for publication with clear instructions. \u201cMy Journey with a Healer\u201d \u2013 Stretching the Truth would have been a better title but I knew I had a best seller in my hands.<\/p>\n
You call me avaricious? I agree. I am. I like the comfort that money brought into our lives as we discovered her powers and skills in extracting the vulnerary powers. I am sure she does enjoy it too. No more daily existence. No more rat races. No more promotions, deadlines and backstabbing. I left it all and turned our lives around.<\/p>\n
And today here we are, 10 years down the lane. Sitting on my bedside, she was trying in vain whispering \u201cOne last time\u201d. I knew she wanted answers \u2013 answers that will not give her back her lost childhood, education, friends and dreams. I changed her from a 8 year old to a healer overnight. I exploited her. I used her.<\/p>\n
She was revered, respected and doubted. She was hailed as the future and stoned for being a witch. She took it all for 10 years and now she sought answers \u2013 answers sealed within me. I lay in that hospital bed, with her next to me \u2013 healing me.<\/p>\n
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