JAYA AND CHETAN'S CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER [draft] A children's story

It was cold and neither Jaya nor Chetan wished to play outside, despite the crisp, clear sky and the frosted trees.

“Why don’t you light a fire mummy Pam?” said Jaya, looking at the cold grey grate in front of her. “I want to send my letter to Father Christmas. We can’t do that without a fire.”

“I want to send my letter to Father Christmas too” said Chetan. Mummy Pam continued with her Seduko. Jaya looked at Chetan. “Haven’t you” she said “told him what you want already?” Chetan looked back at his sister. “No!” he replied. He had been a little shy of the Father Christmas at Harrods and had only mentioned his love of animals to him. He much preferred the idea of mailing his wish list direct to Father Christmas himself. That way there could be no confusion. Pamela glanced over her paper. The central heating had broken down. Her feet were cold as ice and suddenly making a fire seemed like a very good idea.

It was not long before the grate was ablaze, thick smoke coiling from the wet coal. Jaya had prepared paper and pens for brother and herself and was now busily engaged in the task of writing her letter. Mummy Legi had parked herself next to Chetan and they were both working out a brief message of their own.

Now: apart from those present, who is to say what was upon those lists? Only Christmas Day would reveal their contents to everyone and yet it seemed so far off to the children. Having to wait was little less than a cruel and unnatural punishment. But little did they know, a much worse disappointment could be awaiting them on Christmas day.

As they wrote, the sound of the fire appeared to get louder and louder. A large, dry log was hissing and crackling in the centre of the hearth and every now and again it would let off a loud bang, a shocking crack and a shower of sparks.

“Come!” it seemed to be saying to the children. “Post those letters now before the fire dies!”

“Hurry!” said Jaya, “Let’s post, post, post.” Chetan agreed and for a moment they danced in front of the fire like a couple of Elves conjuring up a little magic. Both their letters were ready and now there was not a moment to lose. The fire was hot and hungry and for a moment they felt transported to the world of Harry Potter and the Weasley’s Flu Powder. They would throw their letters into the blaze and magic would take their messages to a Grotto far away: somewhere at the North Pole to be sorted and filed by a multitude of real Elves.

The children, clinging close to their mothers, flung the scraps of paper into the fire. A loud crack and a bang and in another great shower of sparks the burning missives flew up the chimney. Gone! But were those letters complete, or had the children forgotten something important?

Christmas was a cold one. It was to be spent in the depths of the countryside at Ruspa which was colder still than the natural city warmth of London town. Ruiri and Ellana had joined the family group for a couple of days and all the children spent their time rushing from room to room, wildly round and round.

Through the main sitting room with its huge humming fireplace they would fly, into the front lobby. From there the kids would clatter across the stone flagged floor of the long cool kitchen where adults spent endless hours holding tea towels and talking about nothing at all, seemingly without excitement or fun. Then the children would rattle along the carpeted corridor next to the toilet coming out into the dining area and grand stairwell.

This was the danger spot. Adults would suddenly appear in the doorway and it was easy to pile into them or have near misses followed by the inevitable “Careful children!” and “Look where you’re going!” But in truth, this was the children’s domain and they ruled it with flying feet and cries of delight.

Occasionally there would be argument or injury, but there was always the comfort of a parent who, with a kiss and a rub, would send them back to their world of fun and games. If it all got too much or too boisterous there were a myriad of bedrooms in which to take some quiet time. Apart from the coldness this could be a welcome relief.

CHRISTMAS NIGHT


Christmas eve came and Jaya, Chetan, Ellana and Ruiri decided to hang their stockings by the huge fireplace in readiness for Santa’s midnight arrival. But would there be gifts in the morning from Santa’s heavy sack or would their stockings look as empty and sad as they did on that Christmas Eve?

Well, here is your answer: The Elves had been busy. They had received the children’s letters and had built their every last wish. Santa’s huge slay had been loaded up and with the reindeer tossing their heads, ringing out the tiny bells attached to their bridals, the big man and his massive cargo had lurched, then launched itself up and up and then by degrees ever higher into the swirling snow filled air above.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Father Christmas had cried “Up and up and away we go!” the invisible birds of Christmas time catching in his beard.

Christmas night was the high point of Santa’s year. He loved giving gifts to the children of the world more than meat or drink, though he loved those things too.

He enjoyed it so much that on Christmas night his heart would fly with joy as high and as fast as did is great red sleigh. That wondrous night would go on and on. Delight would sparkle in his eyes allowing him no fear, even when his landings were especially difficult.

And this was no easy landing. Santa parked himself amongst the chimney pots of a rakish roof and shot down the first chimney he saw, his sack squeezing improbably behind him.

Finally he had arrived at Cheti and Jaya’s. He bundled their gifts up by the cold fireplace and caste about him for his minced pie and carrot. There was nothing and the room was strangely cold.

“Well” said Father Christmas “It is no matter. A Merry Christmas to you all” he called and his words echoed round the room and returned to him with this reply: “The house is empty and all are gone.” And so it was. 23A Manor Road was silent as the grave. “What could this mean?” he mumbled to himself riffling his pockets for the children’s letters.

“Ah!” he said. “Here we are. I see no special address.” He flipped the letter over and pushed his glasses up his nose. Nothing. Quick as he could Santa placed all the children’s gifts back in his sack and shot up the chimney once more, back the way he had come. And what of the poor house? It was left as cold and empty as before he had arrived.

DREAM CATCHER, DREAM WEAVER


While the children slept the dream catcher worked. She dipped her nets down deep into the wells of sleep to see what she might find. Sometimes she could reweave and patch the broken dreams she found but sometimes she could not. Nevertheless, every dream she came upon she’d kiss and say:

“Return my sweet at break of day,
I’ll mend your dreams as best I can
And send them on their way.”

The threads of dreams were made of hope and fear and Christmas night was always a busy time for this dream weaver.

“Look here” she said “What dream is this,
You dream of what’s not there.
Your lonely sacks are giftlessness
And filled with only air.
Your sorry sacks are whistfulness
And loss is hard to bare.
Beware my pretty sleeping ones,
Beware of loss. Beware.”

A small pearl tear fell from her moon white face as she looked upon the dreams of these beautiful children. The tear fell upon the dreams and broke up into one thousand million shining diamonds and stars, a galaxy of sparkling points leading away ten billion years into the future and the past where everything that could be, both was and was not.

Magic, beyond understanding, shimmered and glowed through all the colours that could be seen and through all the colours that were invisible to the human eye. Waves of hope rippled out to the farthest moons of the most distant planets and back again. The Universe became no bigger than an eggcup then expanded once more to meet itself on the other side of always.

The children opened their eyes and knew what they must do: The four of them crept down to the front sitting room. They listened out for the sound of adults but the big old house was silent. It would soon be morning, though the night was still dark.

"Oh no!" said Jaya as they stood in front of the fireplace.

All four stockings were empty.

"I think" said Ruiri "we must do something".

"Yes" said Ellana, "But what?" The children looked at each other. The room seemed cold despite the remains of the fire.

"Look!" cried Chetan all at once and the other children hushed and shushed for fear of waking the parents. "Look." he said again in the voice of a mouse, pointing straight into the heart of the fireplace.

Right at the back, behind the grate, they saw a stairway that had not been there before. At least, until now they had not seen it. The glowing embers of the fire parted themselves to make a cool and perfect path for the four children.

What an adventure! The children looked at one another. All at once a strange wind whirled about the house. The children could hear it speaking to them with words they could not understand:

“Seize the day!” it whispered. “Those who hesitate are lost.”

“Oh come on!” Said Jaya. Suddenly she could not bare the standing around any longer. There was only one thing to be done.

Chetan, as the smallest of them, took the lead, not even needing to duck his head as he stepped into the fireplace. The others followed bending over as they climbed through the opening at the back of the fire and up into the clear stillness of the starlit night.

Ever higher they climbed until the whole of Sussex lay below them, the orange florescent street lights a cheap imitation of the ever brighter stars above. The street lamps faded further and further as the stars grew stronger and more brilliant.

Now, beauty and wonder surrounded them, comets hovering above, trailing their long, dusty tales. Shooting stars shot by making the children’s hair buzz and tingle. Tomorrow and yesterday vanished into the never endingness of here and now and in that single instant they saw it.

THE MAGICAL MEETING


Far in the distance they all could hear the unmistakable sound of bells. But these were no ordinary chimes. It was as if ten thousand angels where calling out their names. Each one as clear as the next. The children could feel their hearts swelling and their breath coming fast in the cool night air.

A great arc was being traced across the sky. The children gazed across the Universe to see its wide and immeasurable sweep. It was as if the hand of a giant was drawing a huge curved path past the waning moon and shimmering stars and in amongst the bottomless blackness of deepest space. And though time stood still while forever and a day could pass, all four children knew that this enormous trajectory was destined only for them.

Santa Claus was coming, and for the first and last time in their lives the children would watch, open mouthed, as he did so.

“My loves, my darlings, my dears. Where have you been? And now to meet you on the Interstellar Highway. However did you get here?”

Santa Claus was struggling to keep the reindeer in check. They were hot with their journeying and thick white steam rolled off their wet flanks and mingled with itself in the deepening chill of the night. They smelled of mulled wine and wet dogs and it frightened the children not a little to stand so close to the twelve of them.

There was no break to the sleigh and from time to time it would jerk forward as one of the deer became too frisky. The children found themselves having to shuffle along by the side of the sleigh just to keep up.

“My darlings, my dears” the great man said, chunks of minced pie falling from his beard, “Jump aboard. I can tarry no longer.” And with that, the children, clinging on for dear life to the massive wooden and metal craft, lurched up into the air with the strangest of twisting motions. After making a wide circle, they shot off, straight and fast, Northwards.


As you may have guessed, time stands still on Christmas Night. Many moons it takes to deliver a gift to each and every child. And all in an instant.

The children saw and did many things that night that only their imaginations can reveal: waterfalls made of happiness falling to lakes of placid calm. Rivers of feelings weaving to great seas of emotion, running down from the high peaks of clarity and understanding to the depths of the great unknown. Myriads of mysterious mysteries all wrapped up in an acorn shell.

And amongst it all, there was the discovery of their gifts, high up in a mountain of toys at the end of the World, to be carried home to bed.


And what a deep a peaceful sleep it was. The children did not wake till late, the adults having clattered about for hours with their coffee pots and endless talk.

The children awoke and for a moment could remember the night that had just passed. They looked at each other in wonder; still seeing the starlight in one another’s eyes, the sound of celestial bells yet ringing in their ears.

Was it all true? Will their sacks be full? Or are these fading memories nothing more than children’s dreams? They leaped to their feet. There was but one way to find out. And so, in a mass of arms and legs they rushed downstairs to see what the night had brought.

EPILOGUE


Well, it goes without saying that Jaya, Chetan, Ellana and Ruiri all know how this story ends. After all they were there and saw it all themselves. And who knows, one day you may get to meet them too. When you are old and grey perhaps, you may find yourself at a bus stop or a friend’s party and be introduced to someone by the name of Ruiri or Ellana or Chetan or Jaya. They are not the most common of names. But if that ever were to happen, you may venture to ask:

“Were you ever once a character in a story many, many years ago?” And if they answer “yes” then they can tell you how this story ended themselves. You can have a personal account. But just in case you do never get to meet this quartet, let me reassure you now:

They found by that ancient fireplace, still with the smell of minced pies and mulled wine in the air, all four stockings, stacked full with gifts from Santa’s sack.

For however busy our Saint Nicholas is, and busy is indeed the word, on each magical and mysterious Christmas night, he always seems to find some time to make our youthful dreams and desires come wonderfully to life.

The End