Having enjoyed listening to stories since my childhood days, it was only logical that I started writing my own.
A death in the village
The child was not breathing. It lay still, the world no longer visible to it. There was no fighting, no resisting. Just giving in to the harsh winds of the dark and merciless winter. Its body was barely covered with rags, just enough to give the impression of it being dressed. Now, we come to the parents. In their eyes, there is another conflict. A conflict between Despair and Doubt. Both fighting each other. The attendees end it quickly, though. Despair wins. The child is gone. Now, they grieve, crying and cursing their fortune & luck. Perhaps it was karma for a previous life’s actions, or maybe it was just the world being the world. They say that we return to the very dust we are born out of. Perhaps we just wish the duration of stay could have been better for this poor child, amongst a million others.
Now, the parents calm down, becoming expressionless and quiet. They take the baby away for a funeral. No one knows how it will be given, but everyone knows why they are calm. The child’s death is as natural to them as the setting of the sun. For a poor family that is barely making ends meet, it is to be expected. So, they leave aside all thoughts of comfort. Instead, they focus on the funeral and going back to work. After all, there are still six more left for them to care for. Perhaps, it is amongst the best ways to handle things for many. Rather than beating them up when they are alive and dressing them up like kings when they die, we should also prefer to grieve for those who are gone and live for those who aren’t.
The Price of Freedom
The race was in its final phase. The other horses were tired and huffing, for they had been running for a long time now. Without breaks, water, or food in the scorching heat. The riders were certainly no angels themselves. People have treated horses either like living beings and children or like a television with a bad connection. Hit them until they start working properly. And hit them, they did. The whipping was done skillfully to bring out the maximum amount of pain for the maximum amount of performance. Nature was also trying its best as well. The sun heated the ground, and the cool air called quits on the horses, who were already half dead from being whipped and shouted at by the two-legged superior species that had loved the idea of being superior so much that they ensured everyone else knew it every day. The thrill of the race, the fun of the chase, and excitement at each pace continued the cruel race, and there was no hope, for life was about to leave the horses, as was natural for them. But then something extraordinary happened with one of the horses.
The horse was just like the others. It too got the proper amount of whipping, half-rations, lack of proper rest, and neglect that the others got. But suddenly, it decided to do something different. It resisted, refusing to move even after the rider whipped it. The disease that afflicted it could be described as a “will to live,” free from the humans, apparently, as was clear from how it started to jump, hitting the men trying to subdue it and throwing down its rider. The horse was certainly feeling the heat, the one of the sun on its head and the one of revenge in its mind. Much to the crowd’s horror, it stomped on the rider. Ruthlessly and unrelentingly as he screamed. But none of the men could stop the horse’s mad rampage, and just a final and precise kick on the rider’s head did the trick. The horse ran after that, knocking everyone in its path down, towards its freedom. The other horses also seemed to have understood what just happened. Freedom did exist, and it had a price. The only thing to wonder now is who else was going to pay it. I’d like to think the horse wanted a peaceful resolution, where the humans lovingly released it into the open to run free. But, even it must have understood that often at times, things need to get ugly before they get well.
Glorious Dreams
A small shop was near the giant banyan tree. But it only kept on getting smaller. It was as if it was shrinking, It looked that way to Arjun. It made it small, the shop and everything else. The drink that he had tasted again makes the world small. Arjun was having the time of his life. He was finally on the high pedestal that he thought he had deserved and that the world had denied him for being so-called “lazy”, “irresponsible,” and “abusive” to his family. Who needed that noise? He was finally happy. He was the “ruler of the world” now. He needed to worry about no one.
Certainly not because no one cared to ask anything of this great “ruler” who was lying in a pile of garbage. The empty injection and wine bottle were right next to him. It was only a matter of time for him to lose his heavenly kingdom and be transported into the pits of hell, which is called ‘Reality.’ And then, his journey would be to find the portal to his beautiful kingdom once again. The key of which lies on the sharp end of that injection.
However, instead of being transported back this time, he instead was met with a blinding light that seemed to consume him, only to lead him to darkness. He was confused as to what was happening. So was the other drunkard, who stepped out of his car to see who he had hit. It was Arjun, who had gotten in his way, staring at his car’s headlights rather than moving away. What a mess. Moreover, Arjun’s wife and son back home decide to go to sleep. It wasn’t the first time Arjun didn’t come home, and it wouldn’t be the last, or so they thought.
