They named them seven wonders, didn't they? They did—and it's really a shock to say there is one more, amid the squatters' homes in Epworth. Seven springs in a row that produces more than three hundred tonnes of clean, safe water daily—and never run dry. Right now, as I speak, I'm holding a tumbler of water from one of them. But if you are like Thomas and think it's alcohol speaking, lend an ear:

The night was peacefully quiet and all was in dead stillness. The silver rays of moonlight were dancing their way through the half covered window onto the white bed covers—making them glow around dimly. All was quiet, except for the ticking wall clock and him of course—snoring like a tractor. In the gloomy room, I fambled for the bedside lamp and tipped it to life. The illuminated walls then revealed the ticking clock, at which I casted a glance at. 'Well, an hour past midnight,' exactly the awaited time.

I sat up—very carefully not to make a sound—and gazed shortly at the snorting face, before slipping feebly under the covers, onto my feet. The floor was severely cold, but who cared? I buckled to a pandiculation—just for a second—then tiptoed towards the locked door. Any silly sound would herald the brutal end of me, and I just couldn't afford that. Good heavens, the key was left on the padlock. I held it lightly with a shaking hand and turned it slowly until.... I gasped and stiffened, for—all of a sudden—the snoring had ceased. My youthful and girlish heart pounded audibly, I knew he was now awake and ready to croak the hell out of me. Courageously—with effort—I looked back and urgh...I sighed. He was still lying unconsciously. What a relief? I turned doorwards, held the knob hesitantly, then turned it and the door creaked open.

There—in the doorway—I paused and turned to take my last glare at him. I felt it all, the physical pain, the mental anguish and all the torment I had endured. I took it all in one painful gulp. A lump had already formed on my throat. I could feel my tears again, warmly trickling down my cheeks—and accompanied by some watery mucus creeping down slowly from my nostrils. I was whimpering yet again—mourning for my dear life. I swore I would never forgive him, even in the flames of hell. He had raped me almost every night and threatened to behead me if I utter a single word about it. I was only thirteen and him, thirty-four—worst of it: my father! A heavy drunkard and smoker—the kind that smokes like a chimney. No doubt now that I was wombing his secondborn. I couldn't bear the thought, not at the least. Immediately, I slipped away into the moonlight and scuttled off.

With bare feet, I stalked down a narrow track. The air was chill—and frighteningly still. This was Epworth, the home of blood-thirsty robbers. Where a child could be murdered cruelly in quest of his or her pocket money. I kept walking anyway—for the decision was already made, I was going to commit suicide. The dam was situated a mile away and I was going to perish silently in its blue waters. The world would never know and I would not be missed. Now, at a curve, I came to a halt. I had to take the last glimpse of my home, the only home I had ever known. I couldn't see it clearly from there but nevertheless, I could see the open door—the cottage door. That was my home, my only room, despite that my father had invaded it lately. Anyway, I bared it my last farewells and then turned to resume my.....God!

I bumped into someone and at once my mind slumped out of life, in total surrender. My heart thudded and my feet tingled. A cold shiver creeped up my spine and I felt goose bumps forming all over my skin. My epinephrine-filled body trembled frantically as if connected to a twenty-four volt throtobolt battery. I swallowed back the silent scream and stood there paralysed. In a second, I felt two fingers lifting up my chin to face their owner. I was scared to death, but I didn't protest. Finally, I looked him in the eye. He wasn't a ghost nor a robber as I had assumed, but urgh! He was an old, white man. Damn my brains, I was hallucinating.

"What's the matter child?" Asked the old man pityingly. More to my astonishment, he was speaking in my native tongue. I stared blankly at him, still recovering from the panic. Then suddenly it all came, in a flash. I scanned him once more—his covered grey hair, beard, white robe and sandals—I was satisfied. For the first time in world history, I cracked a beaming smile amid a panic. He stretched out his hand in a welcoming gesture that said—take my hand. I did and together we ambled briskly down the track.

"Did you come for me Jesus?" Asked I, with the world's broadest smile.

"Yes and also for many others like you?" He replied calmly. I looked away. The reply was not the one I had expected. I wanted him to be mine only because people might crucify him again. He somehow sensed my mental chatter and lowered his head to whisper in my ear, "I died for you once, and shall never again see death."

I flashed a grin that touched both ears—for I was caught thinking stupid. God sometimes!

We walked into a fenced yard in the roadside. In it, seated a beautiful house, perhaps a thirty roomed one. What a big surprise from my Lord? I couldn't wait to see its inner side. Sorry, we didn't go into it, but rather walked past towards its back. There was a standalone, one-roomed house there—too small for a cottage though. I couldn't help frown—but then, I realised this man was once born in a manger. What a bigger surprise then? A really humble Father.

We shouldered our way into the murky room. A candle was lit and placed in a corner. The room sheltered no furniture in it except maybe, for the candlestand. The walls were bare and the whole floor area was thoroughly monopolised by a reed mate. Nothing else—nothing else except the two of us, glowing in the candlelight. We sat cross-legged and facing each other.

"Lord how do you live here? I mean there are no blankets or any sign of food here. How do you survive without food?"

"Who created a human stomach?" Asked him, lifting up his grey eyebrows rather playfully. He studied my face for a while, or perhaps waited for the meaning behind his question to sink into my empty brains, then went on. "Verily verily I say unto you, whosoever will see the face of God, shall be filled."

I thrusted my shovel of curiousity deeper into his personal life. He told me he had no friends nor disciples and was on a ten day fasting. He had been living in that room for three days now. "I'll be here for a while, then I will return to whence I came." he had said.

"But Lord, how can one see the face of God?" My mouth surprised me on that one. I had no intention of asking that.

"The ones who see God are the ones who see not with the eyes of flesh. Verily verily I say unto you, unless you know the secret of life, you shall never inherit the Kingdom of my Father. The secret of life is to die before you die and find that there is no death."

"What does that suppose to mean?"

"It simply means, unless you are born again, you will never see God."

"But aren't you one with God, you are saying there is another Father?"

"I am the Now, the beginning and the end. I am One in all forms and beyond name. Before Adam, I AM." He paused—for he had left me a mile away. He let me chew it, but knew very well that I would never comprehend it. "Don't try to understand the words, for you will never understand them when living in your old self. Time will come that you shall see me. On that day I shall be in you, and you shall be in me."

"Father, I want to see you everyday, would you stay? Say until Xmas."

"Forgive your father first and I shall dine with you two." He smiled dazzlingly—for he knew well that he had casted a challenge. To me, that was the last thing I could ever thought of, forgiving who? The reality then sank in and haunted me in front of the world Saviour. Was I really pregnant?

"Lord am I...?" I touched my stomach. He smiled knowingly then shook his head.

"Now get up, let's go, it's already dawn." Said he, rising from the reed mat. Until then, I realised the candlestick had all vanished and the flame was now burning the wooden candlestand itself.

I checked my room first. Strangely, the bed was perfectly made, the floor swept. Urgh! That must be a miracle. But nobody was in. I dashed to his own. He wasn't there either. Where was he? In the kitchen? I checked, only a green-eyed cat. But the water buckets were nowhere in sight. Then I knew where he was.

Sure the day was out of ordinary. Instead of a hundred-metres-long queue, people were just crowding there, murmuring to each other. Common sense said it all. The borehole was nolonger functioning or had dried up. I closed my eyes and cursed myself. Just a few hours ago, I was face to face with the world Saviour but hadn't talked about it.

He located me first. "Tarisai! Are you okay?" He came rushing—two buckets in each hand. I felt my tears welling up again.

"I'm okay dad, why?"

He casted aside the buckets and knelt down before me.

"Listen, I know how you are feeling... I...I'm really sorry. I mean you can now report it. I have been a bad father since your mother's death, and I don't deserve your forgiveness anyway. Now you can..."

"No dad please. I won't do that, I've already forgiven you. Please get up, you are really making me feel bad that way."

"Peace be unto you," said a voice from behind. I turned around—and he was there smiling. In tears, I ran into my Lord's arms. The hug was longer than intended.

"What are all those people doing there?" Asked the Lord.

"They came fetching water but the borehole seems to have dried up." Replied my father, still trying to figure out who in the hell had just hugged his only begotten daughter.

"Tell them to dig seven pits in a row, in the western side of the borehole." Said the Lord.

Without a question, my father disappeared and returned a little later with two picks and a shovel. The work was done with a bunch of curious hands and when the seventh pit was dug, clean water sprung forth from them. And now, like I said, I'm holding a tumbler full of spring water from one of them. Jesus is smiling at me across the table—for he knew well that somewhere somehow along the story, I had deliberately lied to you. Amen.