ONCE UPON A TIME, AN ANGEL WALKED THIS EARTH
(A Love Story Beyond the Now)

By John Harricharan




It was a small fishing and farming village where I was born. My
forefathers had traveled from India to work on the farms of the only
British Colony on the northern coast of South America. In the course
of time, the village was settled by Muslims, Hindus and others who
were converts to Christianity.

There was peace and relative prosperity. The various religions
cooperated with one another and tolerated the multitude of beliefs
that had become normal in such a diverse society. My parents were
Hindus but we had many Muslim and Christian friends. During
religious holidays, we would all visit the various churches, noting
more similarities than differences in beliefs.

About the age of eleven, I started attending the Christian churches
as well as my own Hindu temple. Later on, I became a Christian,
and though I still visited the Hindu temple, most of my religious
activities centered around the small Christian church at the far end
of the village. My father, a liberal Hindu, encouraged my church-
going activities and even visited with me on a number of occasions.

And so it was that I was baptized and confirmed into the Lutheran
denomination of Christianity. Village life was generally peaceful and
quiet in those days. Everyone knew one another and life continued
as it must have in many other village of the world. On many an evening
the older men would gather in a common area  and talk about crops and
farming or about the weather and fishing.

There were those other times when the younger boys such as I and
my friends would sit and listen to the elders tell stories of their youth.
We would sit by a wood fire, fanned by the trade winds of the
Atlantic, totally entranced by the tales of guardian angels, friendly
ghosts and unseen influences that had made their presence felt. I
grew up believing as Shakespeare did that "There are more thin
gs in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your
philosophy."

Village life revolved around sowing and reaping, between the dry
season and the wet season and little boys grew up to be young men
and the young men would marry the young women. As high school
was not mandatory but was certainly an honor, some of us were
fortunate enough to attend high school in the city while others went
to work on the farms with parents and relatives.

My dad had not finished fourth grade when he was a boy, but later in
life, he believed so strongly that he should educate his children that I
was one of the fortunate ones to attend high school. I have always
felt a guiding hand in my affairs of life. Even my earliest memories
reflected a wonderful world and friendly beings who were willing to
help me. It was as if an angel sat on my shoulder and
whispered to me when I wasn't sure which way to go or what to do.

It was during my second year of high school that an incident
occurred that was to have a major effect on my entire life. To attend
high school in my time, one had to pay certain tuition fees.
Something became mixed up in red tape for me and as a result, my
fees were not recorded and I was asked to leave school. When I
returned home and told my dad what had happened, I could see the
sadness in his eyes and hear it in his voice. He had worked very
hard to earn the money for my school fees and now there was
confusion.

My dad, a simple farmer from a village, always seemed to listen to
an inner voice. After a moment of quiet, he looked at me and said,
"There is a man of importance who lives in the city, not too far from
where your school is. I hear that he is very kind and that he helps
many people. He is also a pastor of a Lutheran church and, so, may
be inclined to help us, since you attend services every week.  We
will talk to him about our problem and then we'll see what else to do."

Next morning, bright an early, my dad and I set out on the long trip
to the city. We caught the bus at 5:30 am, reached the ferry at 7:00
and finally around 9:00 am reached the city. We asked directions
from various people and eventually ended up at the home of the
home of the man.

I was only twelve or thirteen but I remember very vividly that I felt a
sense of excitement as if something extraordinary were about to
happen. My dad rang the doorbell and waited nervously. I could tell
that he was worried. What if this man couldn't or wouldn't help us
and we were forced to return to the village without any hope? I'd
never be able to finish high school and all my days would be sp
ent working in the village as my dad was doing and his father before
him. These thoughts crossed my mind as the door opened and a
maid, dressed in white uniform asked our business.

My father told her that we were there to speak to the master of the
house and that we'd be very grateful for a few moments of his time.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked. When my dad said that
he did not realize that an appointment was necessary, the maid
replied, "the master is very busy. You'll have to make an
appointment and return another day. He just can't see everyone who
turns up here."

My heart fell as those ominous words echoed through my entire
body and soul. I glanced at my dad but he held his head high and
said, "We'll wait." Before the maid could say another word, we heard
footsteps and a regal looking man came through the door. The maid
held the door open for him as he looked at us with kindly
but questioning eyes.

"I was just leaving," he said, "but I do have a few moments. What
can I do for you?"

"We need your help, sir," my father answered.

"Come with me. Let's sit in my office and you can tell me what you
need."  We followed him up the stairs into his office. He motioned
for us to sit while he sat on a chair behind the giant desk that
occupied one corner of the room. My father introduced himself and
explained why we were there. The man listened intently and took
some notes. He asked a few questions and then said to us, "Go
home and don't worry anymore about this. I know the principal of the
school and will  take care of this whole business of fees. I'll also
make sure that it never happens again... ."

He didn't finish the sentence because there was a big bang on the
door which flew open immediately as a little girl, pedaling furiously
on a tricycle rushed into the room. She could not have been more
than five or six years old. The man smiled and said, "That's my
daughter, Mardai." As she headed out the door she ran over my foot
with her tricycle." She looked around, smiled, said "Sorry," and was
gone.

As I stood there, a strange, sweet sadness came over me and a still,
small voice whispered in my ear "You'll marry her one day." I quickly
regained my composure as my dad thanked the good man for his
help and we left. And that is how I met the one who, years later, was
to become my wife. It was as if my guardian angel orchestrated the
entire affair so that I could get a preview of coming events.

She was only six and I thirteen when this occurred. The problems at
the high school were solved just as Mardai's father had promised.
The years went by and every once in a while, I'd think about the time
my dad and I went to visit him in the city. It appeared so unlikely that
I would ever see them again. They were from the city and socialized
with the highest levels of society while I was from a small country
village of fishermen and farmers. "East is East and West is West
and never the twain shall meet... ." But the angels of God looked
down on this country boy and smiled.

Finally, I graduated from high school and the world seemed to be full
of opportunities as a young man started out to seek his fortune. And
then word came that the church at the outskirts of the village would
be expanded and a very famous pastor would temporarily stay in the
parsonage there until the expansion plans were accomplished.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that the new pastor was the
same one whom my dad and I had visited years earlier.
I discreetly inquired as to whether his family would stay there with
him, but was disappointed to learn that they would visit on
weekends. I was told that he had only one child, the daughter whom
I had first seen on the tricycle.

One day, I saw her again. This time she was not a little girl riding a
tricycle but a young lady with all her dreams and hopes shining
brightly. Again, that strange other-worldly feeling came over me as I
looked at her. Again, the voice whispered in my heart and soul, "She
is the one you'll marry. She will be your wife and help you do the
things you came here to do." The angels seemed to have a way with
words.  It seemed so ridiculous, and yet, there was a ring of truth to it.

The time came for me to leave the shores of that little colony on the
northern coast of South America to further my education. With the
help of Mardai's father I was able to enter an American  university
with a full scholarship. University life was very different from life in
the little village. In time, I graduated with honors and went on to
graduate school. I had my share of girlfriends but allthrough the
years, I would think of Mardai, wrote poems about her and dreamed
about seeing her again.

One day I received a letter from her dad that the family had
relocated to Canada to start a new life after all the political problems
and near civil war they left behind. He mentioned that they would be
spending the summer with relatives in New York City  and that he'd
like me to visit and have dinner with them if possible.

The threads of time weave strange patterns in the fabric of life and
so it was, through strange coincidences and synchronicities, I found
myself in New York City. By this time, I had started working with a
Fortune 500 company and my future seemed bright. All I could say
was the angels of love and mercy had smiled upon me, again.

Soon after, there was another relocation as they moved to a small
town in Pennsylvania. I moved from the city to a small town across
the river in New Jersey. I would visit Mardai and her family every
once in a while. The more I visited, however,  the better friends we
became.

Some things seemed to be destined. They make no sense if we try
to reason them out and only serve to confuse us even further. Thus
it was that Mardai and I were brought together across oceans and
countries and time. No longer the little girl, she had grown into a
beautiful, charming young woman.
The words of the Angel of Love finally were  fulfilled. Mardai and I
became engaged and a year later we were married. She was only
nineteen and I was all of twenty-six. Our marriage was one of those
special unions that seemed to have been made  possible with the
help of other dimensional friends. A few years later, our first child,
Malika was adopted followed by her brother,Jonathan, four years later.

Mardai encouraged me to write and publish "When You Can Walk
on water, Take the Boat." She always believed in me even when I
didn't believe in myself. Sometimes I thought that she wasn't
brought to me by an angel of love but that she herself was the Angel
of Love.

We spent many happy years together. She stayed by my side
through all my trials and tribulations, never complaining, always
encouraging and always having a kind word for others. But the Angel
of Love did not tell me what the rest of the story would be like.

One day, unexpectedly, Mardai was diagnosed with cancer. She
fought a valiant battle but finally left to continue her angelic work on
other, perhaps, brighter shores. It's been a few years since she has
been gone but sometimes it just feels like yesterday. Since then, I've
written "Morning Has Been All Night Coming" which is the sequel to
"When You Can Walk on Water, Take the Boat," and have just
completed the third book in the series. Every once in a while, I wish I
could share my thoughts with her.

Today, Malika, our daughter, is a wonderful young lady in college.
She is about the age her mom was when we were married. She
reminds me so much of the charm and beauty, the courage and
spiritual strength of her mom. And Jonathan is in high school and
growing into a wonderful young man his mother would have been
proud of.

And I? I continue writing and sharing whatever little I've learned in
this journey in the fields of forever. On quiet evenings as I sit on my
back porch feeling the wind blow through my hair, I look up to the
skies and see the twinkling stars far, far away. If I let my mind
wander, I could almost hear Mardai singing a song of joy and love as
she used to do years ago. Perhaps, once upon a time, the
re walked on this earth an angel of love named Mardai. Perhaps,
she had intended to stay with me for only a little while before going
back to join her other angel friends. And, yet, I cannot help but feel
that the ties that bind us span eternity itself.

(C) 1994, John Harricharan
This article by John Harricharan appeared in a different format as a
chapter in  the book, "Undying Love" (Berkley)  by Brad Steiger.
 (C) Copyright1994, John Harricharan

John Harricharan is the award-winning author of "When You Can
Walk on Water, Take the Boat" and "Morning Has Been All
Night Coming" (Berkley Books in North America and
HarperCollins in Great Britain and Australia.) John is a unique
blend of the pragmatic west and the mystical east. He is a
summa cum laude graduate with degrees in Chemistry and an
MBA from Rutgers University.
John Harricharan welcomes your
comments.He can be reached by e-mail- 75523,2460