Lantern Light
Part Six – The Conclusion of the Cascading Waterfall Series
by Penamoli
“Some lights don’t stay lit. But the warmth — it lingers.”
The Cascading Waterfall has always been a place where something unseen flows beneath the surface — memory, magic, time. Each story in this series was a moment: a heart opening, a goodbye whispered, a thread picked up again.
This last story is about remembering — and what happens when remembering becomes harder than it used to be.
“When memory begins to fade, sometimes a place remembers for us.”
The first time Maya forgot Leela’s name, it was a warm evening.
The sunset was orange on the garden wall. They were shelling peas, like they had done a hundred times before. Maya paused, smiling faintly, then looked at her daughter and said, “And what was your name again, dear?”
Leela didn’t answer right away.
She just kept shelling peas. Gently. Quietly.
The forgetting came slowly.
Maya remembered to water the plants, but not what she had for breakfast.
She remembered her wedding day, but forgot she had a granddaughter.
She laughed at jokes no one told, and sometimes called Leela by her sister’s name.
Leela did not correct her anymore.
She only stayed close, like a lantern set beside a path — not leading, not forcing, just… there.
One evening, Maya disappeared.
It wasn’t the first time she had wandered. But this time, the gate was open. Her slippers were gone.
The neighbors helped search the streets. The nurse called the hospital. But Leela had a different idea.
She remembered a place.
A memory, half hers, half her mother’s.
A waterfall, deep in the forest.
A place Maya once called “the soul’s washing place.”
Leela followed the old path with a flashlight and a feeling in her chest.
She found her at the waterfall.
Not frightened. Not confused.
Just sitting calmly on the flat rock, the same one Leela used to sit on as a child while Maya lit small paper lanterns and placed them gently into the water.
And now, all these years later, Maya was doing it again — with shaking hands and soft humming, she lit a candle inside a folded leaf and set it afloat.
The flame flickered, then steadied.
Leela crouched beside her, not saying a word.
Maya turned to her and smiled.
“There you are,” she said, clearly.
“I knew you'd come. The water always brings us back, doesn’t it?”
Leela nodded, blinking quickly.
For the first time in many weeks, her mother’s eyes were clear. Not forever, but just enough.
They stayed until the last lantern faded downstream.
Maya leaned against her daughter and said softly, “I remember everything tonight. But tomorrow I might not. So… thank you for lighting the way.”
Leela didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.
She simply held her mother’s hand.
And for that night, the waterfall roared a little softer.
That was the last time they visited the waterfall.
Maya's memory faded gently, like the mist rising from the pool. But on some nights, when the moon was full and the air held that wild green scent, she would hum the tune again. And Leela would join in.
Not to remember, not to forget — just to be there, in the moment. Together.
Because some lights don’t stay lit.
But the warmth —
it lingers.
Final Note
Lantern Light is the final story in The Cascading Waterfall — a series of quiet, emotional tales connected by place, by memory, and by love.
Thank you for reading.
For walking with us through mist, grief, and wonder.
For listening when the water spoke.
If these stories touched you, I invite you to revisit them — like returning to the same waterfall, again and again.
Always flowing.
Always changing.
Always home.
Comments