By Arpita Nandi
Pouring rain soaks his clothes and saturates his mind. Nothing remains except for the rage that consumes his every thought - it builds uncontrollably! Clenched fists swing aimlessly into the blackness of the night.
He hears a humming. Perhaps it’s religious. No, its children! They sing the most beautiful song he’s ever heard. But why? Why would they rejoice? Rays of soft moonlight shine from the sky. They pierce through the storm clouds and delve into the depths of his soul. Rage is replaced by the most beautiful feeling he’s ever experienced! The music continues as tears escape his blue eyes!
What’s that now? A crescendo? No, that’s not the word! It’s just noise- coming from over there! Is it coming this way? Did they see him escape confinement? Maybe then its time to call it quits! Maybe these sirens, sounding now to him as loud as trumpets, blare to let the world know that he’s had enough! There isn’t time for tears. The blue of his eyes is masked by their redness. But Hope still builds- slowly and steadily!
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| Artwork by - Bhaumik Mistry |
He wants to carry on! Remember when Kipling asked you to reach down for that hope and nerve and sinew? Where is it now? There - right where he had left it, he’s going to find it - in oblivion! It can be frustrating sometimes - searching for hope in oblivion! Voices ask him; no beg him, to stay. They invite him to wallow in the murky waters, to steep in the meadows of despair!
His fists punch the midnight air. The tears don’t stop streaming down his cheeks. The rage continues to build. He screams, but they are drowned in the pouring rain that ironically, can’t extinguish the fire of his rage! Oblivion doesn’t look so bad anymore! Maybe the voices are right; maybe it’s easier this way!
The ease with which he slips into abyss of oblivion is frightening. When situations do get out of control you can only pray. That’s how he’d learnt it! Blurred neon lights pass by- they’re blinding! And as he turns to avoid them, he sees her - welcoming him. Striking is not the word!
Despite her gentle demeanour, she has enormous strength. She can easily embrace him, save him yet again. The warmth of her touch helps him unclench his fists. The gritting of his teeth turns to a quiver of his lips. Burning tears of solitude, grief and despair turn to those of gratitude and redemption. As he rushes to embrace the ghost oh his dead mother, still beckoning him towards herself, waiting for him with open arms; he falls off the cliff he’s standing on. He hears no more voices, no more trumpets! Only a chilling silence; welcome, despite the coldness that accompanies it!
You know what they say - no one knows what it’s like to be the bad man - the escaped convict that had nowhere to go, no one to turn to but for her who always remains faithful, and comes without fail- Death!
Yere right, Mr. Daltrey - No one knows what it’s like to be the sad man. No one knows what simmers beneath the beautiful blue eyes!
Yere right, Mr. Daltrey - No one knows what it’s like to be the sad man. No one knows what simmers beneath the beautiful blue eyes!
About: A self-confessed Bengal-oorean, Arpita is at present supposedly studyingto become an electrical engineer. She however dreams of a future where she's a bestselling short-story writer. Arpita is passionate about cooking (both, stories, and food!!), singing and throwball...
