He was walking down main road at the dead of the night. The hour had struck one and there was no hustle and bustle on the street. Surprising, he thought, at this time there are always a lot of things going on. Why not tonight, he wondered, maybe that there was some kind of curfew that had this effect on the populace. He had always defied convention and gave a raucous laughter.
Why he wondered,
What was there to laugh about?
Was it the bitterness that filled his heart and made him hate the world or was it this characteristic of his to defy convention again. Again and again and again. He did not have enough to go on and to be trapped in this thought cycle anguished his senses to no extent. He told himself to sort out his own thoughts. What did he have to do?
“First Id like to know why I laughed the way I did”…he wondered…
He was convinced!
He had laughed at the timidness of these cowards! These insects with their small insignificant lives being ruled over those who knew. Knew how to manipulate the lives of the pestilence called humanity. He spat on the sidewalk. He hated everything. And he hated hunger the most. It reminded him about the small piece of bread that he had tucked away somewhere in the torn trouser he was wearing.
This was the end.
But a voice inside him said NO!
It’s not over yet... There is still time... time to smell the sweet salty air of the sea, time to gaze at the clouds in the sky, time to observe the waves come rushing at the shore only to break on the wall that was made by men.
Men! Why did they have to interfere with gods creations! Why did they have to do what they did. Then a thought occurred to him.
Wasn’t he breaking the same type of rules that these men were breaking. But he was only a man! Thought he. Men cannot be gods! So why confirm to their guidelines. Why follow their ideals. Surely they were not gods.
Preoccupied with these contradictions, he stumbled, looked down and found a stone. He bent down and picked it up.
He heard someone behind him. He spun around to face the person. A short stout policeman was standing behind him looking at him warily but incredulously. What are you doing?? Get out of here!!
He moved on. All his life he had moved on. And he did again. His mind fought with him. He wanted to turn around and club the policeman. How the hell did he dare to talk to him such a fashion?
And then something snapped.
Something had gripped him form inside as his body started doing what he had known before. He was spinning on his heels, his arms raised and the stone, now a deadly weapon aimed at the head.
Exactly five minutes later, reality dawned, what had he done! Whatever that he had read, told by others, experienced, studied, believed in had all melted away. He had done the unthinkable. He felt cold. He felt empty. A deadly stillness was there in the air. He got up and looked at his bloody hands. Not struck with horror, but as if he had just dirtied his hands with mud and casually tried to flick them away from whatever there was. When that did not work he wiped them on his trousers. And, walked away.
His act had shaken him. Not in a sense that would cause him grief. It had opened up a whole new dimension. He was never like this. All his life he was a kind hearted gentleman who never raised a finger on anyone. A loving god fearing human being, who believed in doing good to others. The past few months had told him otherwise. There was no good in this world. With these thoughts he went to sleep under the rail bridge. His dreams took him back to the village. His family, his sister, his father toiling away in the parched fields, under the blazing sun, fighting against inevitability. He had not wanted that life and moved to the city, lived in the slums that many of his people had and still were living in. traveled in jam packed local transport. All the while enduring these inhuman conditions with a smile on his face. He had done everything that a good caring son, a great father, and a loyal husband should do. Then the unthinkable happened.
He awoke with a start, the same bloody dream. He thought with exasperation. By now his hands had caked with the blood. He found water from spouting out of the partially leaking water pipes running under the bridge and cleaned himself; more from the memories of the last night than the dirt. His life had taken a totally different turn. No longer could he move about without his guilt overbearing upon him. Wherever he looked, he saw accusatory eyes staring down upon him. He could not speak of his guilt to anyone. Not even to god. Though he understood that any kind of remorse would not change what he had done.
Yesterday’s events did not feel as vivid in his mind as they felt now. The ruthlessness of his actions struck him. He could never even imagine himself to be so violent. And last night had brought that violence to the fore. But something in him told him that to live in this world; this was the path that he must follow.
His subsequent barbaric actions against the common man struck him and pierced his heart to no extent, there still was the god fearing, gentle soul that was so ruthlessly relegated to a corner to make space for the new element that had firmly taken root.
An element of survival that reigned supreme over all the other human emotions, which overrode all these and eventually turned a god fearing mortal into something unrealistic. Though level headed, he had turned a cold blooded and calculative executer. No emotions resided in his heart only a single minded pursuit of the ordinary goal that all human being fall prey to - money.
Why he wondered,
What was there to laugh about?
Was it the bitterness that filled his heart and made him hate the world or was it this characteristic of his to defy convention again. Again and again and again. He did not have enough to go on and to be trapped in this thought cycle anguished his senses to no extent. He told himself to sort out his own thoughts. What did he have to do?
“First Id like to know why I laughed the way I did”…he wondered…
He was convinced!
He had laughed at the timidness of these cowards! These insects with their small insignificant lives being ruled over those who knew. Knew how to manipulate the lives of the pestilence called humanity. He spat on the sidewalk. He hated everything. And he hated hunger the most. It reminded him about the small piece of bread that he had tucked away somewhere in the torn trouser he was wearing.
This was the end.
But a voice inside him said NO!
It’s not over yet... There is still time... time to smell the sweet salty air of the sea, time to gaze at the clouds in the sky, time to observe the waves come rushing at the shore only to break on the wall that was made by men.
Men! Why did they have to interfere with gods creations! Why did they have to do what they did. Then a thought occurred to him.
Wasn’t he breaking the same type of rules that these men were breaking. But he was only a man! Thought he. Men cannot be gods! So why confirm to their guidelines. Why follow their ideals. Surely they were not gods.
Preoccupied with these contradictions, he stumbled, looked down and found a stone. He bent down and picked it up.
He heard someone behind him. He spun around to face the person. A short stout policeman was standing behind him looking at him warily but incredulously. What are you doing?? Get out of here!!
He moved on. All his life he had moved on. And he did again. His mind fought with him. He wanted to turn around and club the policeman. How the hell did he dare to talk to him such a fashion?
And then something snapped.
Something had gripped him form inside as his body started doing what he had known before. He was spinning on his heels, his arms raised and the stone, now a deadly weapon aimed at the head.
Exactly five minutes later, reality dawned, what had he done! Whatever that he had read, told by others, experienced, studied, believed in had all melted away. He had done the unthinkable. He felt cold. He felt empty. A deadly stillness was there in the air. He got up and looked at his bloody hands. Not struck with horror, but as if he had just dirtied his hands with mud and casually tried to flick them away from whatever there was. When that did not work he wiped them on his trousers. And, walked away.
His act had shaken him. Not in a sense that would cause him grief. It had opened up a whole new dimension. He was never like this. All his life he was a kind hearted gentleman who never raised a finger on anyone. A loving god fearing human being, who believed in doing good to others. The past few months had told him otherwise. There was no good in this world. With these thoughts he went to sleep under the rail bridge. His dreams took him back to the village. His family, his sister, his father toiling away in the parched fields, under the blazing sun, fighting against inevitability. He had not wanted that life and moved to the city, lived in the slums that many of his people had and still were living in. traveled in jam packed local transport. All the while enduring these inhuman conditions with a smile on his face. He had done everything that a good caring son, a great father, and a loyal husband should do. Then the unthinkable happened.
He awoke with a start, the same bloody dream. He thought with exasperation. By now his hands had caked with the blood. He found water from spouting out of the partially leaking water pipes running under the bridge and cleaned himself; more from the memories of the last night than the dirt. His life had taken a totally different turn. No longer could he move about without his guilt overbearing upon him. Wherever he looked, he saw accusatory eyes staring down upon him. He could not speak of his guilt to anyone. Not even to god. Though he understood that any kind of remorse would not change what he had done.
Yesterday’s events did not feel as vivid in his mind as they felt now. The ruthlessness of his actions struck him. He could never even imagine himself to be so violent. And last night had brought that violence to the fore. But something in him told him that to live in this world; this was the path that he must follow.
His subsequent barbaric actions against the common man struck him and pierced his heart to no extent, there still was the god fearing, gentle soul that was so ruthlessly relegated to a corner to make space for the new element that had firmly taken root.
An element of survival that reigned supreme over all the other human emotions, which overrode all these and eventually turned a god fearing mortal into something unrealistic. Though level headed, he had turned a cold blooded and calculative executer. No emotions resided in his heart only a single minded pursuit of the ordinary goal that all human being fall prey to - money.
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