Fountains of Thought

The Kingdom - 6

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 10:32:00 +0000

6. The Mad Saint
Nakshatra felt the silk of the cushion tickling her sensitive fingers as she reclined on the swing in the balcony, awe stuck by the full moon showering down its milky light. The full moon reminded her inevitably of the evening few years back that was etched in her memory as a wound that would never heal with the rolling of waves on the shores of time. But it seemed like it happened eons ago – and she had become a completely different person now - as if the old innocent kid had vanished into her own shadow.

Maduran, her man servant, watched her from the main chamber of the palace from below the balcony, unable to stomach the fact that someone could be this beautiful. His heart galloped without restraint when his eyes as much as caught sight of her face in the passing. Her slender figure and golden face made the angel statutes in the palace seem like ugly spinsters guarding the gates of hell. Maduran was glad that he was a lowly servant who could never dream of getting close to her in any other way, for he knew neither he nor any man could withstand her intensity. There was an ethereal quality in her beauty that was haunting – the kind that you saw in paintings in ancient temples – the ones you'd wish to come alive. But again her eyes were quicksands that seemed to suck in any and all life as a token of a man's surrender to her. Maduran had seen that with the prime minister – the one who was once hailed as the wisest man in Palaya had even gone on his knees begging her for love. Lost in thought, Maduran tripped over the bucket of water he was using to clean the floor of the chamber with and the metal rolled down the hallway with loud clattering noise. Nakshatra sprung up from the swing and looked down from the balcony.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“Sorry, my lady. It's the bucket. Sorry.”

“Careful.”

She replied with a smile and Maduran knew it was genuine just like he knew that she was a whore – a dangerous whore who could entice any man she chose and enslave them for life. And yet she was definitely not unkind or malicious- at least not to everyone. She was too much of a contradiction for him to ever comprehend and he decided for the umpteenth time not to try and think too much – he was after all a lowly servant. But by the time he got out a padded cloth to soak up the water, his thoughts were back to her like a ball thrown up in air falls back with longing to the ground. He thought that maybe she was a whore with a heart of gold – wasn't there always a whore with heart of gold? His thoughts were interrupted by loud banging on the door of the palace.

Nakshatra could not believe that Sribadra, the one people not so affectionately called the 'mad saint' had dropped by to pay her a visit. It could only mean that he knew the truth -unless he too had dropped by hearing her 'reputation'. Even the very thought filled her with disgust and for a second planted a worry line on her forehead. But then from what little she had heard of the mad saint, he was as far from indulging in any woman as any man ever alive. She prostrated in front of him and looked up at his face overflowing with rich, white beard – the same wise old face that had perplexed Velan just a few minutes back.

“Bless you, my child. May you live with prosperity.”

“Of prosperity, I have not a dearth, Sir. Of virtue and dignity, I do. Or so people say.”

“And so I have heard – but I am far from believing in any of that. Virtue is in the hearts of people and not just in their acts and your heart, I hear, you keep well sealed – and no one knows what sorrow or joy it holds.”

“You, Sir, are said to be a saint – I doubt if you wouldn't know what a stupid girl like me holds in my heart. And of sorrow, there are loads – but its true I find few takers who want to share that part of me – most are content with this youthful body and the pleasure that it promises.”

Sribadra seemed to cringe at the last sentence, but managed to restore the smile within seconds.
“You do know who I am. Don't you?”

Nakshatra looked up at the old man's shining eyes and knew lying was of no use. She wanted to hug him and cry – but she could not afford such luxury and what her mother had repeatedly said during her last days played in her mind - “Tears are the resort of the stupid and cowardly. Focus your anger and grief in your actions – you should not vent it out by crying”. She composed herself and replied warily.

“What are you hinting at, Sir?”

“We can play these games all day and not be any wiser or any foolish, child. I knew your mother and her pain. And now, I understand your anger. I am an ascetic who cares least for the worldly affairs that transpires in the capital and I came all this way only for you, child. What you are trying to do would harm you more than anyone else. And is this the life your mother would have wanted for you?”

Nakshatra remained silent. For a few long minutes, both of them were lost in thought.

“If at all there comes a time when you want to quit this life and want to start over in a new place pursuing, perhaps, the gift of dance that you're so beautifully endowed with, you can seek my help. I would take leave now, for there are a lot of people I need to visit before dawn – and the news of the King's condition reaches far and wide.”

Sribadra started to leave and Nakshatra accompanied him to the door where Maduran was seated wondering if this old man was the latest victim to fall in the cobweb of her charm. Maduran's heart ached as he watched her walk like peacock, with each step resembling a choreographed dance. If she could be his for a minute, even if it meant that would be the last minute he would live, he would have gladly traded his wretched life for it. And as Nakshatra passed him, he let out an almost audible sigh.

Standing by the door, the mad saint looked back at Nakshatra and held her hand for a minute with affection. Maduran, watching from few feet away, wished he could choke the old man with his own beard for a rope.

“I do not mean to change the course of how things transpire – nor to influence anyone in the fool's play that the impending war is going to be – I am but a silent observer to all these events - but I do want to tell you something that may soothe your heart – for the hatred I feel you're hatching in your young heart would fill you with bitterness far greater than you can withstand. Though the causes and actions of people's past are not for me to reveal – I would venture to say this much – your father is not a vile, degraded person that you think him to be. And I know it for sure, for he is my brother.”

The Kingdom - 5

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 13:44:00 +0000

The Fort and the distress

Velan waited patiently outside the giant iron gates of the fort. There seemed to be some commotion amidst the soldiers and despite mentioning his uncle's name, the guards had refused to allow him to enter the fortess. He looked up at the tall towers on either side of the gate and saw giant torches fighting against the wind on either of the towers. The towers were manned by soldiers who seemed to be searching the surrounding places for something – while exchanging animated words with other soldiers lined up on either side of the wall. The guard Velan had spoken to returned, holding a parchment in his hand.

“We were given a command to not allow anyone to enter the fortess tonight – there has been some incident at the palace and all gates to the fortress are sealed for people. You can try and enter the fort tomorrow afternoon.”

“But I have some important news – I would like to meet some official and report it – it could be of utmost urgency.”

“Sorry. I cannot help you in this. Maybe you can meet with Arangaavalar and get permission. His house is just two furlongs away by the river.”

Arangaavalar was one of the army chiefs who was primarily in charge of securing the capital – he was a strong, old man who had seemed intimidating despite his age when Velan saw him at a court event long back.

“But isn't it too late for me to disturb him at his residence?”

“No. I don't think anyone in the army – chief or soldier would be sleeping tonight. Get from him a brooch with the royal emblem and I will let you pass. Or you can tell him whatever news you are carrying.”

The soldier returned to the gate to question other pedestrians trying to enter the gate.

Velan wondered if the chiefs already knew of the Varshita ships and all the tension he was sensing was a result of a rumor about a possible seige. Velan was walking in the direction of the street the guard had pointed to when he felt a hand grabbing his and pulling him backward. Velan retrieved the knife he kept in his belt to use for cutting ropes to release boats and turned expecting to see a soldier to fight with. But he was surprised by the short man standing next to him with hair as white as the moon and a beard that seemed to sprout and pour out from his throat like a cascade. The old man was smiling and even in the dim light from the tower that was now a hundred feet away he could see the shine of his silken robe and a golden bracelet hanging from his frail hand.

“What do you want, Sir? Why did you stop me?”

The old man seemed to study Velan with interest and search in his face for some indication of some kind.

“I heard you mention the name of Uruviraja to the guard – how do you know him?”

“I am his nephew. Why? Do you know him too?”

“Yes. Oh! Yes. We go back a long time. We used to be what one can call best friends. But that was long back. Yes. That was a long time ago – about the time when our grace, Koozhapadman came to the throne.”

Velan was too tired and did not at all like this new interruption. He tried to think of a way to escape from the old man without appearing rude.

“It was a much different time – but in a weird way very similar to right now too. Over the years I have even forgotten how he looked but not his voice – his was a loud baritone that was hard to mistake or confuse with any one else – nice strong man – strong just like the ships he builds. Do you know we even had the same teacher for a while?”

Velan thought how his uncle could have been under the same teacher as this old man but he was not really too pushed right then to find out.

“It's a pleasure meeting you, sir. But I am on an urgent mission which has already been delayed by the guards who won't allow me into the fortess. I should get going now lest I be too late to be of help.”

“Oh! I know. They have sealed off the fortress and I suspect even the great Arangavalar would not see much reason to let you in right now – in fact I doubt if you would be able to meet him at all – for everyone in the kingdom is going nuts over what has happened – an unfortunate incident no doubt for all of us.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Why don't we talk on our way into the fort? There is a way to get to where you want to go – there always is if you care to look carefully and you really want to get some place.”

The old man started walking holding Velan's hand that made Velan realise that the old man was much stronger than he looked. They walked by the fort wall and as they moved away from the southern gate, the street got darker until at a point, Velan could not make out anything in the dark and turned to find the distant gate now had become a speck of dot on a dark, infinite canvas.

“Can you even see where you are going?”

“I possess a remarkably sharp eye sight, especially for my age. Moreover, we really do not want to attract any one's attention now, do we?”

The old man stopped at one point and whispering “two thousand and one” lit up a match, and guarded the flame with his other hand, releasing Velan and brought the match close to the wall. The old man then used his palm and felt up the wall, searching for something. And then, in the light of what was perhaps the smallest fire in the kingdom, Velan saw the most excuisite architectural secret unravel in front of his eyes: when the old man pressed hard on a stone slab in the middle of the wall, a little above his shoulders, the stone slabs above the one he depressed, seemed to move in response and protrude towards the front. A small wheel now became visible in the hollow by the side of the depressed slab and the old man started furiously rotating the wheel. Velan offered to help and continued to rotate the wheel and saw the slabs above them transform themselves into a series of stairs.

“And this is where I really need your help. The passage was not designed for men who are .er., lacking in height. Can you shove me up to the first step? I will lend you a hand once I am onto the stairs.”

Velan recovered from the wonderment and instantly grew suspicious of the old man. He was worried if he was aiding a spy into the fort at a time of war. He stopped working the wheel and looked at the old man.

“Sir, Pardon me for being rude. But I have never seen you before – how do I trust you? And what is it that you propose to do inside the fort that you had gone to the trouble of finding a secret passage to enter it?”

The old man smiled and for a moment Velan thought he was going to lit up his own beard, but then he brought the match close to his left hand and Velan saw a thick golden ring with the Fish engraved in gold and a shiny diamond that marked the fish's eye.

“I don't know if you have seen this ring before – there are only five of them in the entire kingdom and including the king, only five people who can ever wear this – the king himself, the chief of army and the chief of capital security, the wisest prime minister and me.”

Velan had indeed noticed the ring in the hands of the prime minister and Arangaavalar. Though his father had always taught him never to judge a man by his looks, the old man indeed looked like a noble man. But still Velan was still a little doubtful.

“Sorry again, Sir. But why didn't you show that ring to gain entry through the gate?”

“No one can know of my presence here until the time is right – like you, I too carry a message of import to the King – now will you help me get to the stairs before the match burns my hand?”

Velan helped the old man, who was too quick for his age and jumped on to his shoulder and in a leap got to the stairs above like a fox. He then held a hand out for Velan to climb up. Velan was surprised at the passage that formed from the hollow between the wall – the inner wall in the passage seemed to reflect light and lit up the path. There were paintings in the roof that depicted what looked like ancient kings waging wars. The old man walked in front, lighting up a new match.

“You would be amused to know that this passage has not been used for at least fifty years now and I half expected it not to open up – but thank those wonderful architects of those days – it worked like magic.”

The passage was just wide enough for a man to walk through and Velan had to bend down at places where the ceiling jutted out.

“These protrusions contain doors that drop in and can lock us in the passage and is controlled by a switch in the palace.”

Velan imagined how it would feel to be trapped within the passage and felt nauseated. The old man was almost running now – he seemed to know the turns very well. And they reached what seemed the end of the passage.

“I reckon that you can swim well?” The old man asked.

Velan looked at him without understanding and before he could think of what to answer, the old man dropped into the the end of the passage and disappeared. Velan felt a splash of water and realised that the passage ended with a tank. And the old man had jumped into the tank of water. And since he could see nothing but blackness all around, Velan took a deep breath and jumped forward, into the pit of water. It was much deeper than he thought and he swam forward holding his breath, not sure if there would be an opening soon and if there was, then how he would find it. He felt the roof of the tank and realised that he was now past the wall that marked the end of the passage. He held his breath and kept swimming forward and soon enough could feel bubbles in the water. He swam to the surface and could make out some light floating on the surface of water. He gasped for breath as he made it to the surface. He noted that he was inside a pond inside an ornate chamber – it had highly decorated chairs and cushions and a dais and Velan thought it was perhaps a theater where the royalty enjoyed dances or music performances. He got out of the pond and saw the old man drying his long hair and getting off the water from his robes.

“Things one must endure for duty sake!” The old man sighed.

“This is the royal theater and you can walk out through the back door, which is usually open and probably unguarded. I am afraid we have to part ways now though I must tell you I immensely enjoyed your company.”

“What about the passageon the fort wall? Won't it still be open?”

“Oh! Kingdoms are brought down by old men and their failing memory! Thanks for reminding. Let me close it right away.”

The old man moved to the wall and pushed hard onto a protruding slab on the wall similar to the one they had worked on to get to the lever on the outer wall. And it went back inward and the wall became even and ordinary.

Velan started walking towards what the old man had pointed to as the rear door to the theater.

“Why are all the guards on alert? What happened today? You said you would tell me.”

“Oh! The king was stabbed by a messenger – hard being a king. Good luck with your endeavours.”

The old man hastened away into the darkness as Velan tried to find his way inside the dark streets of the capital toward his uncle's house. And only then he realised that he did not even know the old man's name.

(to be continued...)

The Kingdom - 4

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 12:46:00 +0000

The Iruttu forest

“Who are you?” Amudhan asked.

Kumaran looked at Amudhan with a shocked expression.

“I have been yelling for you to stop! I got into the carriage chasing my monkey.”

The monkey was hiding its face in Kumaran's robes, terrified by all the sudden action.

“This is ridiculous – What's your name? Can you go back to the city if I leave you here?”

“No. It won't be safe for the kid – he is too small.” Thamarai said.

Amudhan steered the carriage through a much smaller path into the Iruttu forest to make sure those chasing them wouldn't catch up. Kumaran began sobbing lightly. He had never been this far away from his grandfather – though he hated the man, he would never have guessed today when he woke up that this day would end with such adventure. He had simply hoped to get some jaggery sweets at the festival and listen to the street musicians sing ballads praising the King for the wonderful harvest and the rains.

“I will get you back to the city when I can er., what is your name again?”

“Ku- Kumaran.” He said amidst sobs.

“Well, I think you might be away from your parents for sometime, Kumaran. As you saw, we are running away.”

Even saying the words felt really painful – like accepting defeat. Thamarai gave him a stern look and said.

“Don't worry! We will take care of you till that – you have nothing to fear.”

And Kumaran closed his eyes and wished he was back with his grandfather – hearing him complain all day about how tough life was for him and how it was Kumaran's bad luck that his parents died in a boat accident when he was an infant. The monkey that Kumaran called Prathama had slept off in his embrace – with the blood in his neck from the string clot to a blackish purple.

The moon was at its peak now – showering its silver light across the dark woods that seemed to extend forever on both sides of the two foot long path that the carriage was speeding through. Kumaran placed his head on the head rest that had a silk padding that made him think that the carriage must have been part of the royal entourage. The horse's steps rocked him back and forth and before long, he had dozed off.

Amudhan looked into the carriage from his seat and frowned.

“Now that young clown has slept off. We should have gotten rid of him – We do not even know where we are headed.”

Thamarai looked at him with a smile.

“Sometimes things do not go as planned – but – we are together now! Isn't that wonderful? I was so worried – I couldn't sleep last night.”

Amudhan looked into her deep, slender eyes that were shining in the moonlight and he knew that none of it mattered – being with her was worth all the trouble and much more though it was not in him to admit that to her. He simply looked at the horse again which by now was running at a steady pace.

He could feel the warmth of her body caressing against his as they sat on the tiny seat that was designed only for a single horse driver.

“You should go inside the carriage and catch some sleep – there are quite a few villages in the Iruttu forest – I think we will get to Peypuram if we follow this path. I will wake you up when we get there.”

“No. I want to stay here by your side.”

“But its getting cold – and the winds are strong – it may even rain.”

She just kept staring at him with a smile that made the mole above her lips seem like a gem marking the ivory statue that was her face. He looked at the horse again. He could look at the most horrible of men in the eye as he slayed them – he could look even at the fiecest of lions when they were about to pounce on him – but looking at her eyes was next to impossible. They seemed to drown him in their infinite depth.

She just held on to his hand and kept smiling thinking of how her dream had materialised. Ever since she met him, she had dreamt of the day when they could be together – something had told her that they were bound to be together – it was her obsession that the other girls in the palace had made fun of her for – she tried to think if the princess would be upset with her for this – the princess knew about Amudhan but Thamarai had not told her that she was eloping with him – she had kept that to herself from the day last month when he met her at the Koori's bank and she had cried to him asking him to take her with him. The nightly insects chiming in unison, celebrating the night, the fire flies flickering in the darkness like fireworks, the cool breeze that brought with it the thick fragrance of the Calati flower that the Iruttu forest was famous for, the hundred bats that flew in synchrony masking the moon for a moment – and the thundering noise of the Lavathy falls that was just a few miles away – everything seemed to wish her on this auspicious day when she was at last with her man – never to be seperated again or at least that is what she thought. She slept off on his shoulder and woke up only when the early morning rays of the sun, seeping through the Palai trees woke her up. She saw that Amudhan had slept off next to her, still seated. The horse had stopped as the path ended a few feet away and there were only trees hundreds of feet high all around. She ran her fingers through Amudhan's hair, and wondered again how his fierce warrior like countenance varied so much from this child like innocent smile he had when he slept. The monkey was awake and was trying to peep out through the window, perhaps calculating if it was safe to jump to the ground.

Amudhan woke up too. He smiled on seeing her face, before he averted her eyes.

“Where are we now?”

She asked him.

“I too slept off at some point – let's find out.”

He released the horse from the carriage and saw it trot into the woods. He helped Thamarai get off from the carriage and followed the horse as he knew it would find water. They walked past the tall Palai trees that roofed a thick, bushy swamp. But they stopped on their tracks as they heard a loud scream from the carriage. Amudhan ran back to the carriage, with Thamarai following close by. The monkey had leapt off the wagon and was looking on with terror into the carriage. There was a much louder second scream and Kumaran's voice drowned the chirping birds. Amudhan reached the carriage and drew out his sword in reflex.

(to be continued...)

The Kingdom - 3

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 00:25:00 +0000

The White Beard and the Oracle

The prime minister looked into the mirror and wished it wouldn't reveal his age so blatantly. His beard was now whiter than his robe.

“Excuse me, my beloved.”

It was his ugly wife. He hated seeing her. But she just had to follow him around everywhere whenever he was at home.

“What is it?”

“Someone has come to see you, my beloved. Shall I send him in?”

He looked at her with anger – how could someone be so silly for so long – it always evaded him.

“I am the prime minister of the kingdom. People would always want to come and meet me – doesn't mean they can walk into my house. You should know this by now! Don't disturb me.”

The prime minister, Nallapadha, started applying sandal scent to his robes. Tonight was going to be special. He had met the dancer, Nakshatra on his tour to Sudheeram – the southern most town in Palaya kingdom. He had seen her dance in the stone palace, celebrating the King's fiftieth birthday. The stone palace was the oldest palace in the kingdom and sitting in the dance hall – witnessing her graceful moves and heavenly beauty, Nallapadha had quickly decided he had to have her. It was common among royalty to have mistresses and the king had been at the forefront once, filling the royal chamber with all forms of female pulchritude. But that was before his current, self – declared chastity and ascetism – that was before he had met the mad saint at the Iruttu forest. And with the king out of the picture, it was much easier to have these girls for himself. Some of them would be rude and even turn away the advances – the kind who were in it for the art or some such reasons – but most would dance to his tunes. He had seen a lot of women over the years – being a minister at the king's court was not the most heroic of professions, but he could pull strings at the right places and that made him a very powerful person.

And Nakshatra was the most special mistress he had ever had.

“Please pardon my intrusion, my lord. But he carries with him a parchment with a royal emblem. That is why I thought it could be urgent.”

“Then, send him in, stupid lady.”

The previous night had been the most memorable – she had massaged him with scented oils and gotten into a tub with him. Her eyes were like grapes, and she herself was wine. He could act among his other mistresses that he was not fascinated by them, and sometimes, he was not – but none of it was possible with Nakshatra. Her mere presence filled his heart with ache – he knew he would kill for her if he asked to and the worst thing was she knew it too. If beauty was a sword and lust the wound that it caused, she was the best of warriors. He had held on to her even after his needs had been satisfied for she seemed irresistable and her smile – didn't they mask something – something that was too deep to be visible ever to human eye – she spoke with her eyes – but those words weren't meant to be understood. He could have her physically – make her do things that he wanted her to do to him – but he knew he could never have her – there was always a void at the end of the act with her – and the void got deeper with each night they spent. Maybe she was a witch who knew the secrets of enslaving people – but he would rather be enslaved to such a witch than lead life a free man. And every moment, he was away from her, her thoughts, the memory of her touch, her face haunted him – made him wish he could forever melt into a glass and stay at her side. And he could be the oil that anointed her hair, or the robe that covered the heaven that was her body – or those beads that adorned her ears – or the pillow where her head rested. He could forever be the sandals that held those rose petals that passed for her feet.

And a messenger arrived with a parchment. Nallapadha sighed wishing this wouldn't take time.

“Who are you? Where are you from?”

“ I hail from the city of Heera. And my name is Sampoornam. And I carry with me a message from the chief of army who is currently traveling toward the capital as we speak. ”

The prime minister plucked the parchment from the messenger's hand and opened it.

“War is imminent. Make preparations to gather supplies and recruit more soldiers. Inform the majesty that he should meet with Varshita king Bairan.”

Nallapadha dropped the parchment. He ordered his chariot to be made ready. He tried to remember when was the last time he had been this tensed – he could not think of a time. The kingdom had not been at war for fifty years and not with the Varshithas for more than hundred years. There were too many preparations to make and too many things to consider – this could not be final – this must be a rumor. Bairan was said to be an aggressive tyrant – but even he wouldn't just ignore the pact. There must have been some misunderstanding. And in his mind, it all started playing – those myths about Varshithas that he had accumulated over his forty five years of lifetime – about the size of their horses to the wrath of their gods. It was even rumored that every one in that kingdom joined the army at the age of six and that they were made to kill the tribes in the Rajabadri forest as practice.

He suddenly remembered something an oracle had said about a year back – she had predicted that the king would die on a full moon night when a message of importance arrives for him. The king had not been pleased but still let the oracle go as she did not predict any more specifics and racing to the gold palace in his charriot, watching the full moon rise with suspense over the Palaya kingdom, the minister forgot about Nakshatra for the first time that day.

The Kingdom - 2

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 22:24:00 +0000

2. Moon and Kisses

Velan got into the boat and held Pooncholai's hand while she stepped into the boat. The boat was rocked by the river's waves. Koori meant merciless – and true to its name, the river seemed to be raging with anger and it was especially fierce at night. Many men from the village had been washed away by its currents, but Velan was no stranger to the Koori. He had been swimming and handling boats in the Koori from when he was four.

Pooncholai's long hair was waving in the wind like a dark flag. Water splashed into the boat from the waves and wet their faces. Velan quickly weilded the oars and dug into the river, steering the boat into its depths. He looked into her eyes and they were reflecting the full moon, that was burning bright very close, yet too far away. He watched the land shy away from him, as the boat went deeper into the river towards the sea. It would take an hour to reach sea and the wind today was very strong, almost impatient to push them into the sea.

“Are you having a nice time?” He asked.

“Yes! How many months I have been asking you to take me to the sea. You would never budge. I love the water and.. and look at the moon! I did not realise it was a full moon day.”

Velan relaxed and placed the oar on the boat's floor. From now, the wind and the current would lead them to the sea – this was the part of the journey he enjoyed most. He had been to the sea more times than he could remember – his family were ship builders. His father built small boats like the one he was riding now – mostly for people to cross the Koori or to reach the Brindavan – the small island just off their village. But his uncle built large ships – every ship in the Kingdom – from those used by the King himself to the giant war ships were from his yard. And Pooncholai was his daughter.

The waves were growing in intensity – and he put his arms around her from behind. She shyly tried to shrug away. He hugged her tight, and wrapped her in his embrace. Their clothes were sticking to their skin. She felt warm and when he turned her face toward him, her eyes were burning in expectation. The spray from the waves left a trail of droplets on her face. Her eyes closed, he cupped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her lips. And before they knew it, their hands were feverishly working on each others' clothes. He had thought about this many times before – away from the world – on a boat – making love to his lady. He was working his way into her yellow silken top when he felt the sudden jerk. He stooped abruptly, and looked around the boat.

“What?” She whispered.

“Shhh!”

He got up immediately – he knew it was not a normal wave – it was an indication of an approaching ship and he looked to the east to see a giant approaching them. The hull of the ship was bigger than anything he had seen in his life and there painted on the giant sail of the ship was the symbol that sent chills down his spine. He immediately extinguished the lantern's flame – for even in the moonlight, that was now being dimmed down by the shadows from the approaching ship, the giant galloping horse painted hovering over the ship could not be mistaken. It was the emblem of the Varshitha kingdom – the archrivals of the Palayas. The shadow of the ship easily hid the boat and Velan gently held Pooncholai low and bent down too, hoping no one would spot them. And then, just lifted his head enough to catch the incredible sight. There were dozens of ships plying their way west. Each of them seemed to be larger than the previous. Velan's heart was beating fast. They were all headed in one direction. And the only place in that direction was Muthutheevu. It was a large, uninhabited island close to the Palaya kingdom.

And it took a long time for all the ships to pass and one of them came too close and the giant wave from its approach nearly sank the boat. He could see that some of the ships were lit and he could hear voices speaking. He could also see that some of them had a lot of people packed in. There were twenty seven ships and each one of them could have easily accomodated five hundred people. Despite the sea wind, Velan was sweating hard when Pooncholai broke the silence.

“What ships were they?”

“Didn't you recognize the symbol?”

“I did. But why are the Varshithas approaching our kingdom?”

“They are headed for Muthutheevu. And I am sure there are more ships coming.”

“But Muthutheevu is uninhabited.”

“Not just that. For the past hundred years no man has landed there – it was prohibited by the pact. It was to be no man's land. Neither the Palayas nor the Varshithas are to be present there. I think there is only one explanation. So the rumors ARE true.There is going to be a war.”

And the darkness of the night engulfed them – they were both afraid. It took them some time to realise that their dress was still a mess. The moon that had looked like a mischievious friend trying to peep into their romance now seemed pregnant with evil foreboding. Little did Velan knew of what was to come and what his part was going to be in the events that would unfold – he would in future remember this day – when he was scared of those Varshitha ships, when he hid from them in his boat, he would remember that a lot when he plotted with the other generals on how to tear down those ships – it was too soon to know all that.

The Kingdom - 1

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 05:07:00 +0000

This is a teaser chapter from my dream novel “The Kingdom” - an epic adventure tale involving kingdoms,knights, wars and love, pride and loyalty, greed and betrayal! Let me know if you like my writing

1. Night at the Weeping River

Once upon a time, in the land of Parvatha, in the valley of the Koori river:

"Please loosen the string. He is bleeding!", six year old Kumaran pleaded to his grandfather.

"Shut up. He won't jump up and down properly unless I tie it tight.", the old man replied as he checked if the rope around the monkey's neck was tight. He knew about monkeys alright - he had spent the last fifty years rearing them and holding street shows at different festivals. The rains had failed and he really hoped to make some money in the festival using his monkeys. It was rumored that even the King himself might come down to oversee the festival and if he got lucky, some of the royalty might witness his show and reward him well.

The Summer festival was the time of the year when the little town of Swarnapuram came alive and people from all over the Kingdom flocked the streets. One could smell the delicious aromas of the hot jaggery filled sweets that were being sold from miles away. The greatest singers and dancers from all over the kingdom had arrived at Swarnapuram to showcase their talent in front of the majestic crowd that was filled with exhilaration and festive cheer. All the women that walked down the streets shyly behind their husbands or in groups filled the place with fragrance of jasmine and roses. The fragrance seemed to permeate the place so much that one would doubt if the scent came from just the flowers that the women tied to their hair or if it was their hair itself, that waved with the wind and caused the scent.

The cantering sound of the horses that carried the men into the city formed a subtle beat for the buzzing sound at the crowded main street.

Kumaran looked at the infant monkey and his eyes welled up with tears. When his grandfather was looking away, he loosened the string around its head and felt few drops of its blood trickle to his fingers. A small crowd had gathered around the monkey, with few kids eyeing the monkey with wonder and mischief. Kumaran's grandfather started beating the drums and instructing the monkey about what moves to make.

A few feet away, Amudhan looked up from his horse towards the royal tower. Soon, the princess would arrive at the festival, with a swarm of royalty. And amidst them would be Thamarai, his lady to be. And he still could not reconcile that he had to run away with her. He was a warrior and a true one. He was not brought up to run away with or without girls. He could fight and make his foes pay with blood, if they did not accept his way. But then, in matters of the heart, the courageous way was not necessarily the best she had said. He did not know any other way. He pulled the reins of his horse in dismay as it neighed in indignation. He was a mad horse Amudhan had found roaming in the forests during his training days. He had been a stubborn animal, not flinching an inch when any of the other soldiers tried to capture. It had taken a lot of might and a couple of wounds before the horse had succumbed. And from then on, he had been a worthy and obedient companion– a bit head strong like his master. He would not tolerate another man's touch.

Amudhan looked up and saw a stream of lights light up the entrance to the tower. The royal party was on its way. Behind the pallaquin of the princess, Thamarai walked with the other womenfolk from the princess' chamber, nervously searching for him. She felt sad to be leaving the princess – she had been such a nice friend – but being with Amudhan was her dream for years now. And the rough, brave soldier was married to valor and swords – he had hardly ever reciprocated her smiles over the years. And then last month, he had asked her hand in marriage to her father. And her father had turned him away – citing his societal status and lack of royalty. Thamarai's father was the chief of the granaries and their family had once ruled over a very small portion of land south of the Koori. Amudhan had called her father a weak coward and challenged him that he would take Thamarai if she indeed wanted him too.

Amudhan spotted Thamarai behind the palanquin and the led his horse slowly towards them. But there were too many people on either side of the street and so he got off his horse and walked towards her. He caught her hand and she turned back, her face reddening as she blushed on his touch. But before he could turn back, someone near by yelled, “Snake!!”

Kumaran saw the snake hiss its way into the circle and the monkey got terrified and pulled hard at the string to escape. The old man too was taken aback by seeing the dark serpent and for a moment loosened his hold. And the monkey ran away, not even looking at where it was headed. Kumaran chased it, hoping it won't get caught under people's feet.

Thamarai's father, walking a hundred feet behind them, with the other ministers spotted Amudhan and was yelling to the soldiers. Amudhan turned back to see a sea of people blocking him from his horse – the dark serpent had gotten into one of the food stalls. He quickly got into a nearby charriot that was standing empty and gently helped Thamarai on to the seat next to his. He whipped the horse once, and though the horse wasn't strong as his, it started galloping its way amidst the crowd.

He knew his stallion would follow him

And before long, they were flying along the river bank, feeling the evening breeze turn to a storm because of their speed.

And that was when they heard the sound. Amudhan opened the carriage and saw a monkey inside clinging to a small boy who seemed in shock. And since he could see faint lights still following him at a distance, Amudhan did not slow the wagon.

(to be continued...)

The Voice - 10

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 06:53:00 +0000

Truth is …. subjective

The neighbor and his son were at the station. He seemed furious. His son was sobbing hard.

“Put this lunatic behind bars or in a mental hospital, sir. Everyone in his apartment complex have been complaining about him.”

“Calm down, Mr. Pachai. Tell us what happened.”

“I woke up as Johnny was barking- I came out- this man was digging in my garden. And I shouted for him to stop. But he didn't seem to even hear – seemed to be in a trance. I was scared to go near him – he was flinging the shovel like a mad man. He is a mad man.”

I was looking at the police constable. There was a glass of tea on his table – the fumes from the tea reminded me of the cotton flying around when I stabbed her. I noticed few people from my building also had arrived. They all seemed to be eyeing me like I was a spectacle. I scratched my beard I hadn't shaven for a year now. The constable wrinkled his nose and murmured.

“He smells like a corpse.”

“HE has never come out of his house for few months now – ever since his wife ran away.”

This was all a plot – I knew Lakshman was in it - I knew Priya and Lakshman had planned this – so that they can live happily after I was judged a lunatic. I kept quiet. I decided to play along. I told him the story. Everything from the beginning – everything from the theater incident, to pushing Jegan from the train, to killing Keerthi to killing my wife.

The police inspector took my phone from me.

“Who is Karthik?”

“He is a friend.” I said.

He called him.

“Mr. Karthik. Your friend, Arun is here. We have arrested him – he killed his neighbors dog and had tresspased into their garden. Can you come over here? He doesn't seem stable.”

And I sat on the bench, with people staring at me. And I knew it was all happening.

Karthik arrived. He shot a glance at me.

“Sir, Can I talk to you alone?”

The inspector asked the others to go out and wait. I was still sitting in the bench nearby – but I didn't matter – I was just a loon – but I was not supposed to remember that.

“Yeah – he had a wife – Priya. She must have realised he was not very stable – we kind of knew from long back. But somehow that girl didn't see it and they got married. They were happy for a few months. Then she left him to be with a colleague. She had told him she was going to attend his wedding and never came back. She must have been scared of him.”

“He told me a tale about killing people – mentioned lots of names.”

“Did he mention his evil brother too?”

“Yes. And that he has been killing people on and off.”

“He undertook treatment long back. There was a horrible incident that happened when he was a kid – He was raped by a a group of paedophiles when he bunked class and went to watch a movie in a shady theater. Another classmate Jegan who was with him fled the place.”

I knew I had to shut my ears – I just could not listen to this part – this was the part I was hiding from – it was dangerous to know.

The police officer looked at his assistant and then to me. I walked out of the room. But I could still hear their voices.

“But he said he killed that guy.”

“I was his class mate, sir. He was hospitalised. They found him bleeding. It was horrible. And the more horrible thing was that he was constantly teased after that – in school. He went into a shell. His parents put him in a different school. He took therapy. But after some time, he became alright. His mother passed away sometime after that – he found his mother's diary – from then on, he would often talk about a brother – that his 'evil' brother spoke to him. He is imaginitive – he, in fact, was trying to be a writer. So he would invent stories – he told me one day that he had killed the guy who tried to nab him in the theater.”

“What about Jegan? He said he killed his friend by pushing him off the train.”

“He was our classmate and is very much alive. Again he fantasizes about a lot of things. Whenever someone hurts him, he fantasizes that they are dead – that he killed them. He even killed an imaginary friend, Keerthi to show Shilpa how much he loved her – Shilpa was a neighbor – but I don't think they ever even spoke – he had a crush on her – but he was too shy. He told me about Keerthi sometime later. I am sure he would have killed his wife too a lot of times – he lives in his fantasies.”

Did I tell you about the hatred pouch? I forgot, Didn't I? It was Shilpa's idea. But I forget what it was now. Sorry, memory is sure a bitch – you remember what you want to forget and forget things you want to remember.

“It's my evil twin brother. He only asks me to do these things.” I said to the cupboard overflowing with papers.

But then he came to my rescue.

“In your mind, you are the emperor – every thought is for you to shape – facts are but what you want them to be in your head. If you convince yourself that the earth is flat, then in your world the earth IS flat. If you convince yourself that I am not there, I wouldn't stick around. But is that what you want to convince yourself ? Come on. By now, I think we both know we cannot live without the other. You know I am not real – just like you have always known. But knowledge sure is a tricky thing -isn't it? There are things you want to forget. Just like there are things you want to remember – even things that never happened – you want to remember it so that you won't remember what really happened.”

And so he was back – the voice was me – I think I told you that already. But the part I haven't told you about – those are things best left unsaid. And when the voice is with me – I am safe – Maybe not fully sane – but sanity is subjective just like truth. And maybe this lunatic asylum they have brought me to – maybe these are the sanest of people fighting against a world full of lunatics.

____

Epilogue a.k.a Just a few words:

The idea for the story is heavily inspired: I remember reading about a guy who hears voices in one of Sujatha's stories - there too the voice asks the protaganist to commit murder and even suicide. Also any psychological horror I come up with is always inspired by numerous Stephen King books - though I am sure my work is an insult to him if I call him my inspiration - he is too good. Thanks a lot for reading through - your feedback and criticism is valuable to me - please leave comments. Thanks also to my friends VC and Kriti for all the encouraging comments - honestly I crave for comments!

The Voice - 9

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 05:41:00 +0000

9. The Killing

“You owe it to me. You took my life before you were born. You're the reason I could not see this world. So through you, I continue to live. Don't you remember? WE learnt our first words together. I was crawling just next to you while you took your first step. You could see me then. There was pain – a lot of pain I knew before I knew what pain was. And plain hatred – isn't that a language by itself. I have hung around you ever since. Where else would I go? And you would live for me, do things I want you to do. You would satisfy my every whim and fancy.”

“Ok.”

I knew it had to be done – killing my wife would satisfy him. And I knew I had to do it. I sat down in the sofa for a few hours, staring blankly at the ceiling. I had a bottle of whiskey in my hand that was half empty.

“And don't you believe me when I say she is a slut? Look at her, lying there in your bed, after having lain with someone else – how dare she desecrate your bed. She is a seductress – she just has to go.”

She had woken up on hearing the knife fall down. I dropped the diary and picked up the knife.

“What are you doing?!”

“I know what you did. Just accept it.”

“What are you talking about? Drop the knife. Are you crazy?”

“Just accept the truth – tell me that you slept with Lakshman.”

“Yeah – as if the bitch is going to confess immediately. You loser – she would stick to you for the society and let him stick it to her from time to time for fun. You are again the loser boy. Do you remember high school? Do you remember the tauntings? The big pee boy, Arun.”

She was wearing flimsy pyjamas and a thin, revealing top.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!”

And then she started laughing. It was an evil laugh – she was mocking at me – it infuriated me and turned me on too. Her face was pale, her eyes dripping with false tears was now reflecting the deep shit that was her soul – and in there I could see her deceit – I could see that my evil twin brother had been spot on about her.

“Yes, Arun. I DID sleep with him. Are you happy?”

My hands were trembling – I had tears of rage. And I knew she would pay with her blood.

“And you want to know how it was? It felt wonderful. He was nothing like you – you're a weakling. He was majestic. I did not feel guilty one bit! I wanted him with every cell in my body. I made love to him twice. And I enjoyed it and would love to do it again!”

“BRING HER DOWN. STAB HER, FUCKER. ARE YOU A MAN OR WHAT?!”

I brought down the knife on her throat. And blood splashed all over the white sheets. And her blood felt warm and cosy – just like she had been. She could not shout as blood spouted out of her mouth when she opened it to scream. I continued to tear her up with the knife – disfiguring her beautiful face, that had once been angelic. Cotton flew all over the place from the bed. The cotton flowing out of the bed and settling slowly down seemed like the smoke circling the floor in heaven they showed in movies. She was no longer there. I was alone in the room. And I saw there was no more blood too. Maybe she had sucked it all back in and vanished into another room. I would find her.

I could hear a dog barking – I knew it was the dog from the house next to our apartment building – maybe it chased my car down when I left. I noticed that the dog was eyeing me from few feet away – I brought down the shovel on the dog and silenced it before it could bring people.

And then I continued digging – you see that is the thing with digging – you never know when to stop. It's the same with killing too. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I measured the width of the hole with the showel, and thought it was big enough to accommodate two bodies. Maybe I should have brought along Lakshman too. But he could wait. I first had to take care of my wife. I ran back to my car and opened the trunk. I lifted her body and walked to the pit.

“This one is for you, brother! And for me too.” I shouted to him.

“You make me proud.” My brother replied. I dropped her body into the pit and filled up the pit with mud. I continued to fill up the pit and when I left the place, there was a mound where I had dug. I unzipped my pant and pissed all over the grave of my cheating wife – it was my farewell to her.

I reached home and closed the door. I had to clean the sheets. I felt lonely. I wished he would speak. I thought of calling him. But he was silent. I stumbled on the empty whiskey bottle I had finished before I left to bury her. The noise of the bottle rolling on the floor made me sad – maybe it reminded me of everything that had been happening – I thought of breaking the bottle. But before I knew it I was in the bedroom. And there was cotton all over the room. But there was no speck of blood – maybe it was the whiskey – or maybe it was the wrong room. But then the other room had no bed. And there was the cotton – settled all over the floor. It was too much to process right then, so I simply laid down on the bed. There was a photo of Priay and me on the bed stand – it was from our honeymoon trip to Darjeeling. I was wrapping her from behind – she seemed happy – so was I. I started crying – like I always did. I started crying because it was all too much to take in. And I did not deserve this – I did not deserve all this pain. I did not deserve this kind of life. And I must have passed out sometime after that.

Some one was banging the door. I checked the time – it was six thirty in the morning. It had been only two hours since the killing. So they had been fast – the cops that is. I walked unsteadily to the door and looked through the peephole. There were a couple of constables standing outside, wiping the early morning sweat off their face.

“What should I do now?” I asked him. But he did not reply.

“Come on. Please. You can get me out of this.” He did not reply to that either.

They banged the door harder.

“Mr.Arun.. Open the door.”

I gave up. The struggle was futile. Sooner or later, I had to get caught. Maybe this will end it all – all this confusion that was now my life.

I opened the door. The two constables looked at me.

“Yes, I did it. Take me.”

“But why?”

“Cause she cheated on me. Cause I hear voices. Cause... Cause.. there need not be a cause – I just kill people.”

“People? We are here because your neighbour complained that you killed his dog with a shovel and dug a hole in his garden.”

“Well.. There is my wife's body inside the hole. Her ugly, stinking body with Euphoria scent.”

“We checked the hole, Arun. There was nothing in there. But he has filed complaint about his dog. Can you walk with us to the station?”

(to be continued)

The Voice - 8

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 03:38:00 +0000

8. The Diary

And there it was – a dog-eared old journal. It was just a lazy distraction at first. It was my mother's diary. It was something that she had written when she was pregnant with me. She had meant to give it to me sooner. Father retrieved it from her cupboard after she passed away a couple of months back. I did not get around to read it – I was saving it for some other time – You know, sometimes you just didn't want to get done with such things – you wanted to save it for future and it felt good to know there were words from a loved one, waiting to be heard.

I took the diary with my left hand, with the knife clutched tight on the right. There was a photo of my parents bookmarking the date where the entries started. There she was - my mother - smiling and radiant.

My mother's neat cursive writing across the first page was:

“To Arun and Prem

I cannot wait to see the two of you! The doctor said today there were two of you. And me and your father cannot be happier. P.S. I am hoping it would be Arun and Prem – but we're still discussing names. We might change it before you guys arrive.”

I did not need to see any further. My hands were shivering and I let go of the knife that hit the ground with a sharp clank. And my evil twin brother spoke from within my head.

“Now you know why I hate you so much.”

(to be continued...)

Teaser from what follows:

Digging is an art – digging the shovel into the earth, pushing up the wet mud and throwing it to the side gives immense satisfaction. It's almost like a dance. With each shove, the hole gets deeper. I kept digging till my hands reddened and the smell of fresh mud filled the air like an intoxicating drug. And then I continued digging – you see that is the thing with digging – you never know when to stop. It's the same with killing too. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I measured the width of the hole with the showel, and thought it was big enough to accommodate two bodies. I ran back to my car and opened the trunk.

The Voice - 6 & 7

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 00:47:00 +0000

6. The Killings and a garland of roses

He held her hand tight and led her to her grandmother's room.
“No... NO... Let's just leave.”

She whispered into his ears. But they were mine too, so I happened to hear.

“I am too scared. She has come back to punish me.”

“Relax! This has got to be something else.”

HE lifted her chin up with a finger, and looked into her eyes. She looked back into mine.

“ I am here with you. Nothing will happen to you.”

He could be charming when he wanted to.

She hung close to him, looking dazzled. He led her to the room. His hand was around her waist now.

“It's nothing... Didn't I tell you? It must have come from somewhere else. Relax.”

Her lips were trembling. And he leaned in and kissed her lips. She looked shocked, but not entirely unhappy.

“Let's hope it's not you.”

“What?”

She did not seem entirely conscious. Her eyes were still closed, when he gently pushed her back and closed the door to the room and latched it from outside.

And I screamed. I was screaming and no sound would escape – have you ever felt imprisioned inside your own body – that no matter what you do you are stuck within it forever – isn't that a horror! And to top that, I was in with a cell mate who was crazy.

He was targeting Shilpa just as promised. And there she was lying on the floor, her legs splayed wide open. He went into the kitchen and retrieved a large knife from the counter.

“What are you doing?! This is not funny. Open the door.”

Keerthi was banging hard at the door.

I fought him hard- I did, with all my strength I tried to pull away. He sat down next to her. He ran a finger down her face, touching her wet lips. He let it slide down her throat, tugging at her green top at the neck on the way down.

“I don't know what you see in this one.”

He lifted the knife up in the air, and I knew it was my last chance. I grabbed the knife with all my strength – and I was back.

“Go, Stab Keerthi and this will all be over.”

Tears were running down my cheeks. I bent down and kissed Shilpa on the cheeks.

“I am doing this to save you.”

“Enough of drama already! Or I will change my mind.”

I held the knife close and walked to her grandmother's room. I unlatched it and Keerthi came out. I shot a glance at her grandmother's framed photo inside the room. There was a fresh garland of roses hung over it. She looked out from the picture with a smile, perhaps not aware that she would forever hang in the house as this picture. I closed the door to not let her see or hear what was to happen.

“What are you doing?!”

I looked into her eyes – and I could see the horror of what was happening had was starting to sink in, she tried to run away from me.

“Please! Don't hurt me! What happened to you!”

I slowly followed her and since I was blocking the main door out, she ran towards the balcony, perhaps hoping to yell for help. And I neared her and when she turned, gave her a firm push with both my hands. For a moment I saw her in air, her oily nose shining in the sodium lamp's light.

“I am sorry. I have no choice. I really am.”

I heard a loud wail and a lazy thud as she fell on the ground four floors below. I looked down and saw her blood ooze out from her head and form a dark pool beside her body. I saw it to make sure I would remember every detail and would spend every day repenting it and feeling guilty and painful – that was his punishment to me for some sin I knew not about- that was also a form of self abuse – just like the urge we sometimes have to press on a wound to know how much it hurts. Her body twitched twice and then lay still – she had escaped her body and melted into the surrounding – and she was free in a way I would never be. And the rain, that was now more than a drizzle, poured down on her body, indifferent to the events of the day.

I walked back to the kitchen and put the knife into the counter and fetched some water. I could hear people shouting outside. It was a crowded apartment complex. I sprayed water over Shipa's face.

“What was that? Why are people shouting?”

I started crying uncontrollably – I knew I would be taken to jail – that people would know that I pushed her out through the balcony. And I knew that Shilpa would never know the story – that I had sacrificed my soul to save her life. More than all that – I knew I had killed an innocent girl and I knew I was a prisoner for life to a creature that I could not ever understand. And I was lonely in this knowledge for no one else would know – and that was the part that was scariest. It was all a blur after that – people came in. They asked questions – Shilpa tried telling them that we were in the balcony and then heard some voice in the next room, that we were all shocked and then she fainted – and maybe that was when Keerthi fell back.

I remained silent and in shock. I knew he was satisfied. He left me alone to soak in guilt and horror – to imbibe it into myself – I could see that the line was blurring – the line between him and me. I had felt her sweaty chest when I pushed her over – I had seen her head break and blood pour out. I could no longer be in denial.

But there is a thing with being a kid – even an adolescent one– no one ever suspects you – no one really thinks you had anything to do – they treat you as a victim and that is how I was treated.

But Shilpa suspected something. I avoided talking to her. I knew I was no longer safe when I was around her. She would know later – when I met her for the last time. I would tell her the horrific details as I waited to board a train to go back to my boarding school in Ooty. I had urged my parents to put me in a boarding school – I knew I could not be among people I loved. And I had been there for three years. She had insisted that she wanted to talk to me, about why I was avoiding her. And in that crowded platform, waiting for the Nilgiri express, I told her about the voice – she did not understand at first. It was not that scary to talk about it amidst so many people.

And when I was done, I half expected her to talk to the nearest police officer and get me arrested – or to run away from me like she should. But she just held my hand and I loved her for that. But I hated what she had to say.

“You're imagining this. I too was shocked after her death. It happens – and maybe it's the same with Jegan. I guess we have never faced deaths – so the idea is scary and I think you're just feeling you did it as a response. I have read about such a thing in a book....”

“Yeah! And the two bullies in the boarding school who 'happened' to fall off a cliff the day they ragged you would testify to that!”

He said with a chuckle.

The rest of what she said was lost on me. So the only person I had confided the whole thing to thought I was crazy. Luckily, the train started moving and I got in without letting her see my face. And before he could convince me to push her in front of the train.
7. The Bitch
Present Day

Sometimes he was satisfied with me hurting myself – you know – cuts on my hand, burns with a cigarette – just the usual. Once he made me cut myself with a razor, near my throat and watched the blood run down the sink. You see – he loves to witness pain – it, kind of, gives him a high. And in a way, he is like a kid – he is adamant and never rests until he gets what he wants.

I was typing on the computer when I heard the door bell. Priya had been out of town to attend Lakshman's wedding.

“Here comes the slut.”

I paid him no heed.

“Don't you see she has been with Lakshman? Maybe she gave him a quickie just before the wedding.”

“How did the wedding go?”

“It was OK.”

“Don't you see she is lying – can't you fucking see her face? There is something she is hiding from you, this bitch you married.”

“What happened? Are you OK?” I asked, half fearing what it was she was going to tell.

“Something weird happened – just before the day of the wedding.”

“Wow! Here comes the confession – the slut slept with him – I wasn't kidding!”

“He said he wanted to talk to me alone. And then...”

My hands were trembling.

“And then... he said he was not entirely over me. It felt weird. Then before I could stop him, he, kind of, kissed me. I could not... did not... stop him.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“NO! We did stop and then I told him what we did was terrible. I did not attend the wedding. I just wanted to tell you about it and get it off my chest. I am so sorry. But I had no idea it was going to happen.”

“Oh boy! She has got to go.” He said in a matter of factly voice.

“I know it sounds horrible. But I was shocked when he did that – and for a moment, I just, I couldn't just pull away – I mean. I love you. You know that right? Just hearing him talk like that on the day before his wedding – it felt kind of – special. I know I am coming off badly here. But it was just a moment – one vulnerable moment.”

"Won't it be awesome to see her blood?"
The idea shocked me though I should have seen it coming. My hands were trembling again - they seemed to do that all the time.
"Just a little red drop? Won't you do it. I know you want it too, even more desperately than me. She was so delicious in bed. I am sure her blood will taste sweet too."
The idea seemed to thrill and faintly arouse me. I was filled with horror and self disgust.
"No!"
"I know you want it too. I have seen you hold her hand wondering how her pale hands would look dripping with purple blood. You have pictured it in your mind and enjoyed the image. You want her to bleed. No, not to kill her. You love her. But yes, you want to hurt her just a little. Just to be sure she hurts. She hurts just like you hurt yourself and Keerthi. Or maybe you want to torture her to death this time. Don't you see she slept with him and is making a partial confession to 'get it off her chest'."
“I need some time alone.” I told her.
And she hugged me with tears welling up in her eyes.
“Bitch sure knows how to act.”
And smelling her thick, sexy Euphoria perfume and knowing that Lakshman must have smelt it too, was igniting a huge fire inside. I just shrugged her off. She was sobbing lightly. After some time she went to bed, while I kept typing on my computer. And I could visualise it – see it as if I was present there – I could see him ask to talk to her – I could see them going to a room, with drapes the color of mossy green and classy – just the way she wanted the fucking drapes. I could see his rugged face, with a two day beard. I could see his muscular body, and I could see her admiring it while he confessed his love. I could see their lips meet in a passionate kiss and I remembered our last kiss before she left to Bangalore and felt like throwing up. And then I could see him carry her to bed, and then mount her, ravishing her in a savage way while she moaned to egg him on.
And before long, I found myself searching the kitchen cupboards for something. I convinced myself that I was searching for a glass - for water, I knew I wasn't as my hands clutched the large meat knife that formed part of a six knife set. And it was only then that my hands stopped twitching. I walked back to bed holding the knife with an almost feverish excitement.
"Don't you want to cut through her flesh?"
I remained silent.
"You have hurt badly and it was her fault. Wasn't it?"
"Yes"
"You want to cut through her wrist, and watch her blood trickle down all over the bed - the bed where you made love to her. You want her to bathe you with blood."
"NO!"
"Oh Yes, you do. You're already wondering if her blood would be warm or cold. If it would smell of old rusted iron boards like your blood did."
I felt sick to my stomach and was filled with horror that I did not entirely hate that feeling. Deep shame engulfed me as I walked back. I had warded off killings for about seven years now. And she just had to spoil it all and unleash him again.
I felt warm beads of tears trickle down to my chin and that seemed to fill me with relief - part of me was human still. My hands were waving wide now, with the knife still clutched tight in a death grip. A cold breeze swept into the room through the window and cooled my face dampened with sweat.
"Stab her!"
And I noticed the diary in the bedside table. Isn't there always a diary with all the truths?
(to be concluded...)

The Voice - 5

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 04:32:00 +0000

Memories

Present Day

Priya was making coffee. And despite the thick smell of caffeine that felt divine, I was feeling nauseated.

He was coming back. He had been gone for a long time – long enough for me to believe he wouldn't return.

But he almost always did – but hey I think I told you that already.

“What's the matter? You look tired – didn't sleep well?”

“No. It is not that. There are things I haven't told you about.”

“Is this about the girl you had a crush on when you were fourteen?”

Priya asked with a mocking smile.

“Wow! How badly she underestimates your secrets!”

There he was again – voice fresh and posionous, as if he was never really gone.

“No. It is not that.”

“Then what is it? Hey, do you mind washing the dishes while I cook – the gravy leaves a bad, oily stain.”

I started washing the dishes silently – I was not going to have this talk while doing daily chores – maybe it can wait. She had lasted as my girlfriend for three years without knowing – a few months as wife without knowing the horror wasn't all that bad.

This was the phase of getting over the shocking truths about one another– or that's how she had worded it – and learning to deal with it – and before I could read it wrongly, she clarified – like she was putting up with my snoring and utter lack of sense of cleanliness.

“I cannot decide on the exact color for the drapes. Maybe we should go shopping again today. I want them to be classy....”

She continued to drone on about minor details about redecorating the house. I nodded on though I was not listening.

“Are you even listening?”

“What?”

“Of course you are not. Did I tell you about the Bangalore trip next month?”

“What trip?”

“Lakshman is getting married – all of us in the team are going to attend the wedding. ”

I had seen the guy a couple of times. And then I remembered when she had mentioned him before.

“Is this the same guy who proposed to you?”

“Yeah.. t'was stupid of him. But that was like three years back and he didn't know about you.”

As if you do.

“Anyways, seems he is getting married – someone his mother hunted out for him no doubt.”

She finished the three idlies and checked her watch.

“I think it's time for me to leave. We can go furniture shopping too in the evening – we really need to get a new couch – I cannot believe you never got a nice one- but yeah – you never watch TV and that is odd.”

Yeah – that is the odd part about me.

“And what about a new desk for me? I spend all my time on it.”

I was a freelance content writer – nothing fancy - I wrote out small pieces to go into insignificant websites/magazines about companies no one knew about. That was my occupation after quitting a bank job with a nice pay to become a 'writer'. It didn't turn out that well – After a series of rejection slips, I had made up my mind I was no writer. But there were still a couple of dream novels that I was working on – no one knew about it and I guess no one cared – definitely not Priya.

“I think the one you were considering is awfully expensive – can't you get a simpler one? ”

“Oh Yeah – she would think that and that's because she earns more than you do.”

“I guess it can wait.”

I don't know what Priya saw in me – we had a mutual friend and met at her birthday party. Maybe it was the beard or maybe she mistook my not talking much to indicate deep wisdom or something. But by the time she realised I was a boring dork with no big ambitions, we were three years into the relationship and she perhaps thought it was too much of an effort to start all over again and settled for me – or that is what I presume.

“OK. I am getting really late. See you. Bye.”

She kissed me on the lips – it was mundane and without passion.

As the door closed, he was chuckling hard.

“What are you laughing for?”

“Didn't you see the slutty outfit?”

“Shut up!”

“Oh boy! How did you ever land on this tramp? And honestly why did she marry you? She is way too hot for you.”

I sat down on my desk in front of my PC. I had to type for sometime. I lit up a cigarette – It was safest to smoke in the morning. I could clear up the odor before she got back.

“Is this about me?”

I kept typing on the keyboard – the sound of keys being punched giving an intense satisfaction.

“Hello... Won't you talk to me? I missed you.”

And I responded with more silence and that must have infuriated him.

“OK. So I have to get dirty to get your attention. Shall we talk about the night at Keerthi's?”

“Bastard.”

“Mind your tongue, Arun. Know your manners. Priya won't like your language. So you remember the night still? Good. I was afraid you would act like it never happened. You have been convincing yourself that I never happened.”

“Won't you ever leave me?”

“For how much I hate you, you're lucky I am giving you breaks. Coming back to that night – remember the dirty things you did? Remember the fun you had doing all that?” He asked with a chuckle.

“It was you. YOU. YOU.”

I dropped the cigarette. His chuckle was getting louder. I could see the room swirling around me. I held my head and sat down on the floor. And those memories started flooding my mind – like a broken tap that wouldn't close.

Keerthi was bending down, sprinkling water over my face and exposing rich cleavage as I opened my eyes – I was just a witness and heard myself speak up.

“Sorry. I am think I just fainted off. But I am OK now.”

I sat up on the floor. Both the girls were sitting next to me. I desperately tried to scream – warn them of what was to befall them.

“Did you have dinner yet? We can cook. That would be great.”

I panicked – knives, LPG, grinder wheels – there were too many things he could use.

“I had dinner. Are you alright? You fainted! Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Shall I call your father?”

“I am OK. You look great today, Keerthi.”

I felt my mouth form the words and they came out like they were programmed into me.

“Thanks.”

She was blushing hard.

“Are you really alright, Arun?” Shilpa asked.

“Yes, I am alright. Can we sit in the balcony? We can watch the rain and talk.”

And as we moved into the balcony – I realised for the first time, how low the parapet in the balcony was. And almost simultaneously, we heard a loud, unhappy groan from the next room, in what sound like an old woman's voice – maybe even a dead one's. And Shilpa fainted. Keerthi caught my hand in reflex and in the glass door of the balcony, I could see my reflection, with the most sinister of smiles painted on my face.
(to be concluded...)

The Voice - 4

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 22:19:00 +0000

The Love Triangle

I watched the seconds hand of the clock slowly but steadily making its meaningless journey around the clock. I was waiting for the clock to strike 10 – the time when we had planned to meet in Keerthi's house. I knew he had planned something – and when he planned something it was not really pleasant – I should have known – but it was too soon.
So I kept waiting, watching the clock, listening to the sound of the mild rain against the windows. It was going to be a long night. I was filled with anticipation. There was a paper lying on top of my table – a crumbled piece of paper that I would have thrown aside but for the color of the ink with which the words were scribbled on it – it was written with red ink – only that the red seemed purple enough to be someone's blood, maybe even Shilpa's blood. The note was short -
“I need someone dead.”
It was him, he had been silent ever since I came back home. This must be a joke, he did joke a lot – and he had never written anything so far – he always spoke to me – with his voice soft as silk and yet venomous like snake. The strokes were unsteady like that of a child and the writing thick, as if he used not a pen, but someone's fingers. And when I turned my hand, I saw it was my own. My index finger was tainted in blood seeping slowly from a firm cut in the middle. I took some cotton and dabbed on the cut and shred the paper and threw it into the dust bin.
I went to balcony – I could see Keerthi's balcony one floor below mine – hers was to the left of mine. The rain was now slowing to a steady drizzle – like the incessant crying of a hungry child. The moon was a lazy yellow – neither too full, nor too empty. I suddenly remembered that it had been a crescent on the day of the theater incident. I had sat down in the swing in the balcony and watched the crescent – wishing it were fuller – wishing that day had never come. And he had let me alone – seeing blood and death silenced him for a while – did I tell you that already?
The clock stuck 10, yes it was an old fashioned grandfather clock that stuck each hour, announcing the hour. I walked down to Keerthi's house and pressed the calling bell – she opened the door after about two minutes.
“Sorry, I was eating. Come in. Shilpa will come in a while.”
Keerthi was not wearing her spectacles.
“Which means she cannot even see you right now – you're probably just a blur.”
He sounded feverishly excited and that made me tense – I thought of going back home - I should not be with her alone – I knew that was a bad idea.
I was not close to Keerthi – she had moved into the apartment only two years back. I went and sat down at the sofa - she sat down next to me.
“Thanks a lot for coming. I am sorry to bother you guys.”
“No Problem.”
“What happened to your finger?”
“I cut it while using knife.”
when I was using it to cut my finger.
She held my finger and massaged the band aid, as if admiring a war wound. I suddenly noticed that her dress was clinging close to her, revealing her sumptuous figure.
I yanked my finger away, and thankfully enough, Shilpa rang the door bell and broke the awkward silence.
“And here comes your lady love.”
He said with a chuckle.
And I knew he knew it- something I had so long hidden from myself – my long time crush on Shilpa.
And when Shilpa bolted the door, the voice muttered with infectitious enthusiasm.
“And only two from the room is going out that door again.”
Keerthi switched on the TV and despite trying to stay calm, my hands were trembling in anticipation.
“Do you remember what happened to Jegan?”
He was taunting me. Fill me with guilt and then make me do far worse things – that was his modus operandi. And surprisingly it worked – almost always and that is how I ended killing thirty people before I was thirty. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Please stop.

I was pleading with him and he always enjoyed it. I should have known better.

“He had it coming, though. What was he thinking? It was his plan to go to the movie. And all he had to do was to call out for help, maybe just talk to some adult on the way home. But what did that bastard do? He ran home and locked himself up in his room, thinking he will never see you again ever. Boy, how did that work out for him!”

Please Stop.
“I mean, don't you relish the look on his face when he saw you the next day in class- it was like he was shocked you were OK. And then, he said he was sorry – as if that would magically make things better. And what you did to him... was... let us say, just.”

He chuckled. There was a stupid, totally unfunny comedy movie playing on the TV. Somehow I could feel Keerthi staring at me – and it filled me with disgust.

“You remember how he walked like a lamb when you said you wanted to talk about what he did. He definitely had it coming.”

Please stop.
“And then, he said he was happy you escaped too. No, no. He said he knew you would escape too – how generous of him to know that – that cowardly bastard.”
Not anymore. Please. I am sick. Please stop.

“ And you waited a month – waited for the right opportunity – part of you knew you had to kill him. So you waited till the school tour -And boy, he did watch in horror – when you pushed him off the train, like was he nuts? Didn't he see it coming? Why else would you ask to speak to him at two am in the night? It was a pity they realised he was gone only the next afternoon- and found only half of him in the bridge and the rest strewn all over the dry, river basin.”

You made me do it!

“Of course, I did! But you had the intention – I just gave you the push. And you loved it – loved to watch that look of horror – gave you the thrill. And you're no longer an innocent lamb, so wipe that sorry face and just sit back and enjoy the show!”

No.
“NO!”

I yelled out loud. Shilpa and Keerthi jumped in shock.

“What was that about?” Shilpa asked.

“Nothing. Listen, I think I need to go. This was not a good idea. I am not feeling well.”

He did not like me talking to them.

“Like hell you are not. You sick bastard – you know you can't walk out after planning this all along with me. You're a sicko. No one can change that and besides what's one more murder?”

“What happened? You look sick. Sit down. Let me get some water.” Keerthi went to fetch water, while Shilpa looked at me.

“Is something wrong, Arun?”

“Yes. Something is very wrong. I need to talk to you about it. But Keerthi can't know. No one can.”

Shilpa held my hand – and I felt a moment of relief.

“Are you a moron?? Are you going to confess your sins to your lady love? Don't you think she won't take it in the 'right sense' that you killed two people – one of them a dear friend?”

Stop.

“You're crying. What happened?” Shilpa sat down next to me and held my hand in both of hers. I loved her for doing that – just like I loved her for everything she did.

“I have done... something terrible.”

The sobbing was getting uncontrollable. Keerthi walked back with water.

“What happened?” She asked.

“It's nothing. His uncle passed away.”

Shilpa invented an uncle – and looked at me, wishing Keerthi wasn't here so that she could know what horror was haunting me so bad. She couldn't have guessed – I mean no one could have - not everyone has a devil inhabiting their head.

“Wow, what a wonderful lover you have got? I have tears in my eyes. You will make a wonderful pair!”

Stop.
“No, I won't. Now here is the deal – you can choose – if you don't kill Keerthi, I would take Shilpa. You have got yourself a nice little love triangle. Keerthi likes you. You love Shilpa. And maybe she loves you too. So give me Keerthi and I will leave you alone.”
No. Never going to happen. Never. The bald man hurt me – Jegan betrayed me. I had reasons. I did not just budge to your orders. I won't hurt anyone any more. I am normal!

“Ha ha. If you are normal, then I am God. Come on. Do we have to have this fight? Her presence fills you with disgust. And remember – I can take over you – you bet I can and then I would make it hurt. Shilpa would hurt badly. It's your choice – either you do it for me to Keerthi or I would do it myself to your darling. I can give you ideas to make it painless –ok, not really – at least less painful.”

Do what?!

“Now we are talking. Don't you think it was a tough coincidence that she heard 'voices' from the room next to hers? You should have seen the look on the old lady's face when I showed up, she screamed hard, Arun. I loved watching her die – of fear. Should have invited you to watch – Sorry! But tonight you're in for a treat, I promise.”

“Why are you holding your head? Is it paining?” Shilpa asked.

“I am going to leave. I can't stay here.”

“You leave me no choice. I am going to take over you in a minute. Boy, are you going to be sorry!”

I stood up. I knew he could not do anything without me. I mean, yes, maybe he could talk – make noises – but that is all he could do on his own. Don't ask me how I knew that – I knew that just the way I knew he hated fire.

“Listen... I should not be here. Lock the door from the inside – or go to your house. Don't let me in if I come.”

“Wow! My genius – when did you get so smart? You think I was so unsophisticated and dumb? Don't you think I already made preparations?”

I walked towards the door and just as I reached for the bolt – I passed out and saw him near me, smiling – and something was terribly wrong with his smile – not just the fact that he was standing next to me hovering in thin air, but that it was the smile of craving – like that of a baby before a bottle of milk.

He got into me.

(to be continued....)

The Voice - 3

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 20:43:00 +0000

The Girl who heard voices
“Drop it right now!”
I blinked hard. I was holding a knife in my hand, the tip of the blade shining with the smallest drop of blood. Shilpa was standing in front of me, eyes filled with shock.
Shilpa was a friend from childhood. We had known each other forever. She lived in the apartment below ours. She was one of the few people who would come to know about the voice and the murder. She was the one who came up with the idea of a hatred pouch, but I am getting ahead of myself again.
“I am sorry... what happened?”
“What were you swinging the knife back and forth for?” Shilpa asked, rubbing the tiny scratch the knife had caused.
I kept silent. It had been a year since the theater incident – and in that time, the voice had appeared a number of times, and I realised sometimes he came without my notice and took over me. It was like sleeping off and having an irresistable dream that spirals to a horrific, inescapable nightmare.
“Keerthi is coming here in a while. She was asking if we can go out somewhere today – maybe to Joes' Shakes.”
Joes' shakes was an ice cream parlour close to our house and Keerthi also lived in the same building.
“She has not left home for past two weeks – from the time her grandmother died. There have been hordes of relatives ever since – guess she just wants to go out for sometime.”
“Was she close to her grandmother? I don't think I have even seen their grandmother a lot. She has been bed ridden ever since I remember.”
“Yes. I think she used to take care of her grandma during the day - feed her and all that.”
Keerthi arrived then -her hair in a huge mess, and her thick spectacles sliding down her oily nose.
By the time we reached Joes' it had started drizzling and there was hardly anyone in or near the place. The owner greeted us with a smile and took our order amidst the loud barking of his dog in the backyard.
“I am sorry. He is not well. Normally he never barks.” The owner smiled and left us to get us our order.
“There is something I wanted to talk to you guys about.”
I looked at Keerthi – she was a year older than me and Shilpa. She looked lot older than her age – with large breasts and pimple covered face.
“I know what I am saying might sound stupid. But I just had to talk to someone about it.”
I could see that she was breathing hard as she seemed to think of a proper way to put what she had in mind to words.
“You know about my grand mother right?”
“That she passed away?” I asked.
“Yes... But not just that... She was bed ridden for a long time. She slowly started losing her voice and could no longer mouth words properly.”
The barking of the dog intensified, as if it had something life threatening that it wanted to share but was stuck with just the dog language.

“My room was just adjacent to hers. So sometimes, in the night, I would hear her call out and would go to get her water or to change her sheets if she had wet the sheets.”
Shilpa cringed on the last sentence and bit her tongue as she realised that would appear rude. Keerthi did not seem to notice.
“So... the night she passed away – I heard her – I am not sure if it was a dream or if it was real – I heard her call me – not just the sounds she used to make – but actually call out my name.”
“Sorry I am late.”
We almost jumped as the owner kept the tray with ice cream bowls on our table. None of us had noticed him walk up to us. The power went off in the parlour and the barking of the dog suddenly stopped and it thundered in the sky instead. We ate in silence as the downpour started outside, with the constant drumming of the water against the glass windows of the place filled the place with the perfect ambience for the story.
“I was half asleep. I am sure I was – otherwise I would have rushed to help. But I did not even get up- I felt tired – tired of having to sacrifice sleep – tired of being woken up by her voice- mouthing sounds I could not decipher. So I simply shut my ears and slept off – I was half hoping it was a dream.”
She ate her pista ice cream eyeing the bowl as if she half expected it would explode.
“And in the morning, we found she had passed away.”
“So, you're feeling guilty about the whole thing now?”
Shilpa eyed me from across the table – I watched her hand with the tiny scar where I had swung the knife and cut and I realised with horror that seeing that tiny speck of blood clot on her pale, soft hand was turning me on. Keerthi continued.
“Not just that – for the past two weeks there were loads of people in the house. And I was busy helping mother with the preparations for the ceremonies and cooking and all that. Last night was the first night I slept alone in the room after she died.”
“And you heard your grandmother last night?”
I completed the sentence with heavy sarcasm in my voice – despite all the abnormality in my own life, I was still skeptical about the paranormal.
“Yes.”
It had darkened inside the parlour and the flame from the single candle the owner had lit was fighting vigorously for survival against the heavy wind through the windows. Keerthi pushed her spectacles up with a finger and looked up at me.
“She called out my name a couple of times – and then made those noises that she usually summoned me with.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It stopped after sometime. I was scared to go to her room and check. I wanted to wake up my parents – but thought it would be too silly. I slept off after some time.”
“It must have been a dream. You must have been a little scared by the whole thing – that's all.”
Shilpa said looking at me for support.
“I feel she is angry with me.”
And the dog resumed barking, as if in agreement.
“Don't be silly. You took care of her for so long – she would only be thankful and happy.”
“No... I think she is angry with me.”
The power came back and I noticed a drop of tear slide down from Keerthi's eyes.
“And today, parents are going to Rameshwaram for some ceremony. I will be alone at home tonight.”
Shilpa hugged her from the side.
“Come on. Don't be scared. You can stay with me for a couple of nights till you get alright. You need not go back to your house.”
And the dog howled to that. We walked back to the apartment, lost in thought.
“You thinking about me?”
It was him.
I kept walking, hands trembling in response. I thought he came only when I was alone.
“Wasn't that a nice little ghost story? A bit too simple, you think? You non-believer of the paranormal – you wondering if I am one too? Why don't you check that one out?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Shilpa asked, as we opened our apartment building's gate that let out a loud creak.
“We can stay with her at her place tonight – just to help her get over the fear.”
“No. Are you insane? She can instead stay with me.”
“I think he is right. Getting away from the house only will increase my fear. I will be happy if you people can stay up with me tonight. We can watch TV all night or something.”
And he laughed loud, for all the pieces were in place – just the way he wanted them to be. And he would have an enjoyable night – but I am getting ahead of myself.

(to be continued...)

The Voice - 2

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 06:19:00 +0000

The Theater Incident

I was twelve then. It was a Monday. The last two hours were PT period. I signalled to Jegan that the gate was safe to cross. The watchman had gone to nearby tea stall for his hourly beedi. Jegan ran towards the gate and jumped up onto the wall and quickly got outside the school compound. I tried to ape his jump, but slipped and bruised myself on the rough wall. Beads of purple blood blossomed on my knees. I looked around and steadied myself and cleared the jump in the next attempt.
Once on the outside, we quickly changed out of the school uniform shirts to tee shirts we had stuffed in our satchel. Jegan had been meticulous about the details. After bunking school, one shouldn't be roaming around in uniform. It was a sure way of attracting attention. Also he had calculated how much we would need for the movie: 20 Rs for the ticket, 5Rs for the cone ice and 5 Rs in case we had to catch a bus directly from the theatre, 5rs to give the guy at the ticket counter to let us minors in for the adult movie. We walked quickly to Rani theatre and I shyly shot a glance at the bikini clad lady exhibiting her assets from a 12 feet hoarding for the movie we had sneaked out to watch. Jegan walked to the counter with the authority of an expert, asked for two tickets for Midnight Marvels and when the ticket guy asked if we were school kids, he slipped 10Rs across the counter.
And before long, we were finding our way in the dingy interiors of the theatre. We sat ourselves in a corner, sinking deep into the seats to avoid being seen and wishing the movie would start soon. My heart thudding hard, half expecting a police constable to come in and take us for this 'crime'. But as the movie started and a buxom lady ran in slow motion, with water splashing across her body, I got engrossed in the movie. It was not until the group of filthy looking men sat down in front of them that I sensed trouble.
"Hey... Look what we got here."
One of the guys turned and looked at us with a sly grin. He smelled of something horrible, which I would later understand was liquor. I started getting up, sensing something was wrong.
"Let's get out."
We got up to leave. The guys followed us out of the theatre. We were walking fast when they surrounded us in the corridor. There were four of them.
"Who are you guys? Don't you have school?"
"What have you got in your pockets?"
Jegan and I emptied out pockets and gave them the remaining money we had for the cone ice and the bus.
"This is not much. What do you say fellows? We can hand these over to Mani. He likes kids. Sells them off for a lot once he has had them."
I looked around hoping, praying to see someone walk in, like a watchman I realised my hands were trembling.
"Someone is coming. Move. Move to the store room."
And it was then that Jegan wriggled himself free of the dirty little man who was holding him and sped fast past the corridor. The men were shocked and just kept moving me into the store room. I thought Jegan would soon bring over people and this horror would be over.
They pushed me roughly into a dark room room with a suffocting interior and locked the room. I was in the room for a long time. I had started crying out of fear and lost track of time as I kept sobbing imagining what it was those guys had planned for me. The store room had no windows and though I had tried yelling out for help a couple of times, it did not help one bit and I was afraid one of the men would return if I yell too loud. I noticed the light seeping through the door get dimmer and began wondering if anyone even knew I was stuck here in trouble, I began doubting for the first time if Jegan would have run for help. I was repeatedly asking myself what would I do if one of those people came back and opened the door. I felt helpless like I had never felt before. And I felt rage suddenly replace fear – it was all Jegan's fault. I could not exactly figure out which part of this was his part. But with each passing moment I was cursing the friend with whom I had embarked on this stupid adventure. And that was when the voice spoke out to me, like a messiah:
“Hit him with the rod.”
I was shocked to hear a voice break the deathly silence of the store room. The voice seemed remarkably familiar. Fear was replaced by something more morbid and horrific.
“Who is this?”
“Is that important now?”
“Who is this?”
Though the room was dark, my eyes had got used to the darkness enough to make out the shapes inside the room and I could see that there was no one else near me. This voice was coming from somewhere close, as if someone was whispering into my ears sitting next to me. I began crying harder, and shaking all over with horror. I could feel a scream choking in my throat, unable to escape.
“Why are you crying?!”
“I am scared. Please... Leave me.. Don't harm me..... Pleaseeee..”
I was sobbing hard, loud heartbeats punctuating each syllable.
“Why are you such a chicken?”
“I am scared... Please..”
“Stop this nonsense. I am here to help you. Don't cry like a fool. I am just part of you. Without me , you're just like a piece of shit sticking to a stinking dog's ass.”
I closed my eyes and could see him – yes – not as a face, but as a shadow and suddenly I knew I was no longer afraid of him. I could see the face of the shadowy figure move in synchrony with his speech. He was amused – How do I know you ask ? How do I know he was amused from his shadow? Well, that is how it is. I know how he feels. I can feel it in me as part of me. Like a layer of clothing I wear, except that he is something I can never get out of, nor can he get off me.
“Now, listen closely to me. You can get out of this. These bastards cannot harm you and get away.”
He waited for my sobbing to lessen.
“Hit the guy when he comes back. Hit him with that rod.”
I had not even noticed the rust-filled iron rod, that was lying nearby. It seemed heavy and dangerous.
“No. I can't. There are too many of them. ”
“Yes. But only one of them is going to come in through the door in five minutes. Hit him with the rod. Hit him hard. Make sure you use all your strength, cause if you miss, you are dead. Didn't you hear them talk of a guy who had to 'have' kids ? Don't you know what he meant?”
I shuddered to think of that possibility. The light seeping through the slit in the between the door was suddenly replaced by a dark shadow as someone approached the door.
“Now is the time. Quick! grab the rod!”
I could hear him unlock the door, and when the clinking of metal against metal was over, I had grabbed the rod and stood on the hinge side of the door. I held my breath as the door was slowly opened and the silhoutte of a man entered the room, searching for me in the dark, I lifted the heavy metal and brought it bang on the back of his head, with the sharp base of the rod digging into the man's bald pate. He was shocked and turned around in surprise with a loud cry of pain. I brought down the rod once again, this time the sharp end digging into the man's eyes, and blood gushed out of his face and sprayed over mine. He fell down and tried to grab my foot as I tried running out. I brought down the irod rod one more time on his skull and the momentum of the rod ensured that his skull cracked into two. I was almost outside the room, trying to breathe to slow down my racing heart, when the voice spoke again.
“You think that was enough? He would soon be coming after you, calling out the other guys.”
I stopped walking. I realised that I was not entirely scared anymore. I was feeling overwhelming relief and a mild pleasure as I walked back into the store room. I was no longer the prey – I was the predator. I lifted the rod, not worrying about the blood dripping from its metallic surface. The bald guy was shaking uncontrollably. He was seeing me from his one eye that was still intact. And to this day, I know for sure that he was still conscious and writhing in pain as I brought down my weapon one last time on his bald pate and killed him.
“Now do not run home like a fool. People would notice the blood and stop you. You have committed murder. You would be sent to jail if caught.”
“What should I do?”
“Get your bag, change your shirt and go home. Throw this blood stained shirt into a drainage on the way home.”
And that was how he orchestrated my first murder. I felt no remorse. I knew something bad would have happened to me but for the voice. He was my hero.And I realised that is how all demons own you - not by being your enemy - but appearing to be a friend. And when I walked back home, wearing my uniform, after throwing all evidence including the cinema ticket I had stuffed into my pocket, I knew I was no longer the same twelve year old boy I had been when I started from school with a cowardly friend to watch an adult movie.

(to be continued...)

The Voice - 1

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 00:35:00 +0000

1
I can hear voices in my head. No, I am not kidding. I can hear voices. At least one voice, the evil one. Sit next to me. Maybe you will hear it too. But then it's inside my head. I can see shadows too. No, Not when I open my eyes. That is the thing with shadows. You can see them with eyes closed. Dark images moving across a darker background. Do you see them too? No? Well, I do. And that is how it all started.

For a long time those were just shadows and voices and they never meant anything. Yes, it sometimes made sense. The voice sounded nothing like mine. But it was still familiar. Do you sometimes hear someone talking and feel you have heard that voice a million times before? This voice is something like that to me. And it was good, whatever it was that the voice belonged to. It was benign. At least it was.

Until that day. Until then. You ask when? I am coming to that. But he is a bad guy alright. I should have never listened to him. I should have consulted a doc like Priya asked me to when I told her a year later. But then that was all later - after it didn't matter. The voice made me evil. The voice is me, at least now. But I am getting ahead of myself here.

It was soon after the wedding. The period when we were obsessed with each other - in a very physical way. And I knew he was watching us - the voice that is. I could feel it laying there near us, watching us unravel our animal instincts, in the most savage and primitive act. And I know he laughed silently, for he knew what was to come. Unlike me he could see the future. And it pleasured him, just like riding her body pleasured me.

"That's a weird smile."
She said suddenly, amidst loud moans that were adding fuel to my fire.
"Stop doing that. It freaks me out."
And that is when I realised he had been smiling, through me. And it was the first time when he became visible to other people.
I rolled over and wiped sweat off my forehead. He had stopped smiling, watching me tremble in silent fear.
And then in the most amused voice, he whispered in my head.
"Your wife is delicious."
"What happened?"
Priya touched my hand. I flinched and drew farther away from her. I needed a hot shower.

There would be weeks when the voice would not speak up. It was the same routine cycle - for the first few days, I would warily wait, too scared to relax and would watch out for the evil laugh and the bad talk that would soon follow. It was an intense wait. Though it happened a hundred of times over the years, each time it felt painfully unfamiliar and new. After I began smoking, these were the days when I would fill the room with cigarette smoke and soak in their intoxicating cloud. And no matter what precautions I took, I knew he would come back and then hurt me. It was part of life - that part which you desperately hope would just disappear but never does. He might take weeks or even months. But he would return.

He liked drama. He loved romance. He loved violence. But I am getting ahead of myself. Maybe I should start with the beginning. I think he has been with me, in me from when I was born or even before that - for eons perhaps or births if you believe in such a thing. But the first time I knew of his presence was after the theatre
incident.
(to be continued....
Teaser from what follows:

My hands were waving wide now, with the knife still clutched tight in a death grip. A cold breeze swept into the room through the window and cooled my face dampened with sweat.

"Stab her!"

ENGE AVALL

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 23:29:00 +0000

உன் பாடலில் இன்னொரு வரி உண்டு.

அது என்னவென்று சொல்லி விட்டு போ.

உன் சிரிபிர்க்கு இன்னொரு அர்த்தம் உண்டு.

அது என்னவென்று கூறி விட்டு போ.

என்ன நினைக்கிறாய் என்று பல முறை கேட்டு பார்த்தாய்

சொல்ல தயங்கி ஒன்றும் இல்லை என்று சொன்னேன்.

இன்னொரு முறை நீ கேட்பாய் என்று காத்திருந்தேன்.

நீ கேட்கவில்லை இன்று வரை.

அன்று வானம் கருத்து மேகம் பொழிந்தது

விபதல்ல பெண்ணே .. என் பிரார்தனையின் பலன்.

ஒரு குடைக்குள் நாம் இருவர்.

இடி ... என் இதயத்தின் துடிப்பு.

மின்னல்... உன் கண்களிலிருந்து.

எதோ பேசினோம் .. என்னவென்று நினைவில்லை.

உன் உதடுகள் உதிர்த்த புன்னகை ..

அதிசயங்கள் உலகில் உண்டு என்பதர்க் அத்தாட்சி

அன்று நான் குளிரால் நடுங்க வில்லை.

நூறு தினங்கள் உறக்கத்தில் கழித்தேன் ..

கனவில் அந்த நாளை மறுபடி வாழ்ந்திட ..

திடீர் என்று தொலைபேசியில் அழைத்தாய்.

ஊர் விட்டு போகும் செய்தி சொல்ல..

அன்று நீ கேட்கவில்லை என்ன நான் நினைத்தேன் என்று

நான் உன்னை மட்டுமே நினைத்திருந்தேன் என்று சொல்லி இருப்பேன்.

விட்டு சென்றாய். சிரித்து கொண்டே ...

சிலை போல் நின்றேன். மௌனம் மட்டும் மொழியாக.

என் பெயர் உனக்கு நினைவிருக்காது

என் முகம் கூட மறந்திருப்பாய் ..

வருடம் பல ஓடி விட்டது ..

உனக்கு இன்று நாலு முகம் ...

மதுவின் சேட்டை...

இன்னும் சில சமயம் உன்னை நினைபதுண்டு ..
மண் வாசனை மழை சாரல், இரவின் இருட்டு..
அதில் உருண்டை நிலவு.. இவைகள் நினைவூட்டும் போது

நடு நிசியில் இது என்ன திடீர் மழை - இன்று யவனின் பிரார்த்தனை?

உன் பாடலில் இன்னொரு வரி உண்டு

அது என்னவென்று சொல்லி விட்டு போ.

எப்போ வருவ நீ...

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 06:12:00 +0000

காதல் சொல்லி முடிக்ககுள்ள ஓடி போய்ட்ட தூர தேசம் பாத்து..

பேசாம போனப்போலாம் பின்னாடியே ஓடி வந்த ..

கண்ணாலே பேசினப்போ காதல் வரி சொல்லி வந்த..

சிரிச்சா சிலை போல் இருக்கன்னு சொல்லி ...

உயிர் வரைக்கும் சிலிர்க்க வச்ச..

பின்னே ஏன் என்ன விட்டுட்டு ஊர் பக்கம் போய்வச்ச ..

உன்ன பார்க்க முடியாம சோர் தண்ணி எறங்கல..

உன்ன பத்தி நினச்சு நினச்சு ஒரு நாள் கூட தூங்கல..

பாக்கும்போதெல்லாம் என்ன சிரிக்க வெச்ச ..

பின்னே ஏன் கண் காணாத தூரம் போய் நெஞ்சுல நெருப்பு வெச்ச ...

உன்ன பார்தா பேச மாட்டேன்..

சிரிக்க வச்சாலும் சிரிக்க மாட்டேன்..

என்ன அழ வெக்கமா சீக்கிரம் வா..

விட்டு போனதுக்கு உன் கிட்ட கோசிக்கனும் ..

அதுக்காச்சும் என் கிட்ட சீக்கரம் வா.

போகட்டும் நீதான் இனிக்கி வந்துட்டனு

சேதி கேட்டு புது சேல உடுத்தி மல்லி

பூவும் வச்சு உன்ன

பார்க ஓடி வந்தேன்..

இவ்ளோ நாள் ஆச்சா வரதுக்கு ... வா ..

விட்டுட்டு போகாதநு சொல்ல வந்தேன் ...

பாத ஓரம் உள்ள வேப்ப மரம் போல ...

கசந்து நின்னேன் ... நீ என்ன பாக்கல..

வருஷம் பல போய்டுச்சு... ஆனா

என் முகமுமா மறந்து போய்டுச்சு

துளி துளியா மழை இங்க பெய்யுது..

ஆனா அதுங்க எங்க என் கண்ணீர கரைக்குது..

நீ நடந்து போற... என்ன கடந்து போற ..

நான் யாருநு கூட உனக்கு இப்போ தெரியல..

முந்தி ஒரு நாள் . கை கோர்த்த நம்ம

சேர்ந்து நடந்த நினைவு ....

ஒன்னு கூடவா இல்ல..

ஓரமா நின்னு கொஞ்ச

நேரம் அழுகுறேன்

என்ன மறந்த என் மன்னன நெனச்சு.

oru nodi

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 06:47:00 +0000

ஓர் நொடி போதும்...

ஈரம் தோய்ந்த வாடை காற்றில் வந்த ஒரு பாடல்..

ஓர் அங்குல இடைவெளியில் நீ ...

மஞ்சள் குளித்து முகம் மலர்ந்த மாலை நிலா..

நடை பாதையில் விழுந்த போதும் மணக்க மறவா பூக்கள்..

விண்ணின் வரப்பை திரை வைத்து மறைத்த கார்மேகங்கள்...

இரவின் வரவை வாய் நிறைந்து கொண்டாடும் ஜோடி குயில்கள்..

மார்கழி பனியிலும் வேர்த்து விட்ட புருவம்..

கண்ணன் குழலின் மயக்கம் போல உன் கண்ணின் சுழல் மயக்கம்.

கடலின் ஆழம் பார்த்து மிரளா ஆண்மகன்..

உன் விழியன் ஆழம் பார்த்து மிரண்டு விட்ட அக்கணம் .

இதழ்களின் நடனமாய் உன் முகம் உதிர்த்த அந்த புன்னகை,

கோடை வெயில் தீர்க்க பொழியும் மாரியின் குளிர்ச்சி.

உன் கூந்தல் என்று போய் சொன்ன மலர்கொடி காற்றின் ராகத்திற்கு ஆட,

விரல்களின் நடுவில் மல்யுதம் ..

செவி ஓரம் ஓர் ரகசியம் சொல்வது போல்

நெருங்கி கண்ணது குழி ஓரம் வைத்த அந்த கள்ள முத்தம்..

அன்பே அந்த ஒரு தருணம்...

உயிரே... கடந்த அந்த ஒரு நொடி...

மீண்டும் வேண்டும் ஒவ்வொரு நொடியும்..

kavidha... 2

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 13:56:00 +0000

பெண்ணே , கவிதை எழுத தெரியுமா என வினைந்தேன் . பதிலளித்தாய் இரு கோடுகளில் ஒரு கவிதை - உன் கண்ணை வட்டமிட்ட மை.

___

இருபத்தி மூன்று வருடங்களாய் ஒரு தேடல் - இந்த காற்றில் உன் வாச சுவடுகளுக்கு - ஒவ்வொரு சுவாசத்திலும் ....

___

ஒரு ஆவியின் காதல் பயணம் -

இரவுகள் மட்டும் தான் என் உலகம்,

நள்ளிரவின் நரி ஊளை என் செவிகளுக்கு சங்கீதம்.

நடு நிசியின் முழு இருட்டில்

இன்றென்ன இந்த திடீர் மயக்கம்?

உன் நினைவால் நான் இறந்ததையும் மறந்து

இதயம் அது ஒரு முறை மறு முறை துடிக்கிறது .

ஞாபகங்கள் மட்டும் தான் இன்று என் சொத்து.

அந்த ஒரு நாள், அதை பற்றி எண்ணம் இட,

அதன் நினைவுகள் அவை நிகழ்காலம் வரை இனித்திட,

தனியே இன்று உன்னை பற்றி எண்ணுகின்றேன்,

அன்பே இன்னும் என்னை மரவாதிரிகிறாயா?

உயிரே உன்னை பிரிந்த என் ஆவி,

தவியாய் தவித்து உலகை சுற்றி வர..

உன் முகமென்ற ஓற்றை ஓவியம் தவிர

மற்றவை எல்லாம் மனதை விட்டு மறைந்தபின்

உன் பாத சுவடை தேடி பேயாய் அலைந்தும்

பலனின்றி நிற்கிறேன், வரம் ஒன்று தர வேண்டும்,

ஒரு முறை உன் முகம் அதை என் விழி பசி தீர பார்க்க

ஒரு முறை உன் நிழல் அதை அரவணைத்து நான் உறங்க,

அத்துடன் என் ஆவி ஆசை தீர்ந்து தூங்குமடி.

அத்துடன் என் ஆவி ஆசை தீர்ந்து தூங்குமடி

ஓடை நீரில் ஒற்றை படகில்

மாலை மழையின் ஈர சாரலில்

நனைந்த ஆடைகளின்

விடுதலை போராட்டதிர்கிடையில்

கண்ணும் கண்ணும் சேர்ந்து

கண்ட அந்த காட்சி அது,

வார்த்தையில்லா பாடல்,

இதழ்களின் நடுவில் உலக யுத்தம் -

முடிவில்லா முத்தங்கள் ,

காதல் - ஆசை - மூச்சின் வெப்பம்,

தவறின் தவிப்பு, குற்றத்தின் குதூகலம்,

ஆசைகடலில் அடங்கா சூறாவளி ,

கண் இமைகளில் பட்டாம்பூச்சியின் பதட்டம்,

ஆயிரம் ஆண்டுகள் காத்திருந்த தினம்

வந்ததென்ற துணிவில் கைகள் இடையில் ஓவியங்கள் தீட்டிட,

படகின் அதிர்வில் ஓடையில் அலைகள்,

மஞ்சள் நிலவும் வெட்கம் இல்லாமல் உற்று பார்த்திட ,

புன்னகை போட்டியில் அந்த நட்சத்திரங்கள் உன் விழிடம் தோற்றிட,

காதல் புரிந்தோமே, அதை கனவில் நினைப்பாயா ?

பழங்கதை என்று வெறுமே மறப்பாயா ?

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--
Arjun

Wonders of the world

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 06:50:00 +0000

Not a day passes without those wishes,

Of being some other guy who is better.

Of becoming that one trend setter.

Even a celebrity with fans on twitter.

The only nightmare haunting us day and night,

is ending up being just who we are.

Of not reaching places near and far.

Of not outshining every star.

Roses never wish to be jasmines,

Nor do sparrows envy the peacock.

Trying to be one that isn't your flock-

An obsession seen only in the human stock.

God doesn't run a factory.

It's his eclectic art collection.

Only the best of his production,

Reaches the earth station.

To make you into what you are,

the heavens did many a spin,

so know for sure that the only win,

is being comfortable in your own skin.

Arun and Ram

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 12:13:00 +0000

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival."
- C. S. Lewis

“It is perfect! The best possible place for this!”
Vicky’s words were punctuated with loud thunder and the drumming of the water on the roof of the enclosure. They were at a resort in Coorg. Ram looked at Arun who kept staring at the bottles, waiting impatiently for them to start. Ram cursed Nithya in his mind for the hundredth time for asking him to break the news to Arun. It was complicated and impossible for him. For it had been Ram who had given Arun ideas of how to impress Nithya. That had been three years back. And then, things had changed. He had started talking to her and then slowly before he knew it, they had gotten together too close and this thursday, only a few hours before they were to start for the trip, he proposed to her amidst another totally irrelevant conversation and to his surprise, she had said yes right away. And only then had the reality sunk in, that he had in fact proposed to the dream girl of his best friend. Arun knew Ram had become close to her. But not in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that Ram would do this. Another fresh pang of guilt ran through Ram, as Vicky opened the whiskey and started pouring into their glasses.

Arun had proposed to her last year and she had never really responded. She had given a plethora of reasons why this won’t work out, but Arun had been hopeful - he still was. He used to reason that she hadn’t actually said no either- which would have been true until yesterday, for now she had asked Ram to talk to Arun about what had happened. Ram thought about a million different ways how to make ‘i stole your girl’ would seem less hurting, but couldn’t find anything less painful. But it had never felt wrong - at least not when he was with her - it had seemed natural -he had heard the background score and the heartbeat when he was with her. He felt those magical moments, when time would seem to have frozen and her face was all that he could see, all that he cared to see. The rest of the world including his best friend Arun were erased from his mind. But the guilt would hit hard the moment he saw Arun, with his four days stubble making him look more devdas types. Ram prayed the alcohol would make things easier. The doors of their hearts opened out wide with alcohol - for it had been on their first drink that Arun told them all about his crush for Nithya. That had been the first year in college -when the six of them had assembled promptly at Vicky’s room for the ‘party’ - the first of many to follow. Amidst the eardrum tearing music, Arun had looked around at them and said -”I love Nithya. Man, she is the ONE!”.They had all cheered it and drank happily, then.

“Are you going to just keep staring? Not planning to drink?” Rohit asked Ram, breaking his memory trip short.
Ram kept looking at the golden liquid dancing as their glasses clanked and they all shouted ‘Cheers’. The first sip as usual tasted weirdly metallic and unpleasant, the task ahead seeming to make it more bitter. And Arun put an arm around Ram and said in a cheerful voice.
“Special cheers to out best pal here. He may not join us often from now for our trips.”
College had gotten over and they’d all soon be moving to different cities for the job. Most of them were placed in companies in Chennai and Bangalore. Ram was going to Mumbai.

Ram drank down amidst a choking feeling in his throat and for a moment he thought he’d give up on her for his friend, to do away with the pain of having to break the news that his dream girl was now committed to his best friend. But then, he remembered her face from the moment yesterday when he proposed, the way she had held the locket in the chain around her neck and then kept staring at somewhere far away, how he had thought she was still staring at him, sensing the words he was going to say, and how the pink top she was wearing seemed to hug her chest tight, revealing a perfect structure and he realised with panic that he was getting an erection. He told himself that he was supposed to feel guilty. And a mere look at his friend who had gotten completely inebriated with the three rounds brought him back to his melancholy mood.

“I proposed to Nithya and she said Yes. I am sorry.” Arun kept on looking at the floor of the isolated enclosure, which seemed like an island because of the puddle that had formed all around it with the water from the rain.

“Don’t kid me.”
Arun looked at Ram without much interest and gulped down from his glass. And Ram turned to look at his best friend and his eyes must have conveyed with conviction what his words failed at.
The reaction was immediate. Arun sprang up on Ram, started slapping him madly. The glass slipped from Ram’s hand and broke into a hundred pieces. Ram’s eyes tore down. The others jumped in to separate them, the sudden violence sobering them all up. As people held Arun, Ram told in a muffled voice “Let him get it out. It’s ok. I deserve it.”
“Yeah! You deserve to die for what you did, bastard!” Arun freed himself from the clutches of the others and managed another slap across Ram’s face before his friends caught him again. Vicky who was usually the ‘person-in-charge’ especially when they were drinking, pulled Arun away and they both walked out into the rain. Ram felt light and relieved despite the glass pieces that had pierced his hands due to the impact. Ganesh started helping him with removing the glass pieces slowly. He watched his red blood drops fall down to the puddle of water and mix with it. It seemed hypnotic.
“Hey this is shitty. You shouldn’t have done that! by the way, you really got the chick? congrats!” Ganesh patted Ram on his back. Ram did not know whether to smile or sigh. Vineeth and Rohit simply sat on the chairs and kept on watching as if this was some reality TV show.

Ram cursed the location of the resort for there was no signal in any of their phones. The downpour had strengthened in the mean time and from where he stood, the silhouette of Arun and Vicky slowly faded in the heavy rain. He must have kept staring at the rain for about half an hour. Ganesh and Vineeth had poured out another round. Arun walked in fast and Ram half expected him to stab Ram with a knife or maybe a broken bottle. But he simply took the whiskey bottle and gobbled up the rest of it in one gulp.
“You finished our share too!” Ganesh protested feebly, half scared the bottle may fly his way.
Arun turned towards Ram and from his eyes Ram could see that he too had cried.
“This is the last time I am seeing you! I don’t want to ever see your shit face again in life.”
“Listen. I can explain. You gotta...”
Arun had by then marched into one of the rooms they had booked and slumped on the bed.
Ram walked out into the rain and let the sky beat him up with the icy drops. He remembered the day they had both got drunk together.
“Great friendships are glued with booze” Arun always said. Now he had proved Arun wrong. They could be broken over booze too.
“You should have told him sometime later. Like maybe few months from now.”
Ganesh was speaking up from his chair, still feeling bad about the losing his share.
“No. I didn’t want him to go on believing she’ll eventually say yes. It was hard on her too.”
-------------------------------------
Vicky was shaking Arun violently to wake him up. He had slept off on a chair in the enclosure. He tried to rub off the head ache that made his head throb.
“He was saying that he wants to leave right away. I talked him out of it. Just don’t talk to him for a while. Give him some time. He will get alright.” Vicky said.
Ram nodded and went into their room to get a shower.

“Iruppu falls is one of the best places in Coorg. We shouldn’t miss it.” Vineeth said.
“You have told that hundred times already. This place doesn’t even seem like it has a waterfall closeby.” Ganesh retorted.
“They said we gotta keep walking for a mile or so.” Rohit chirped in. Only Rohit and Vineeth had even been keen on visiting places. Ganesh had suggested they spend the day with booze for a change, which had not been much of a change for they did exactly that in their previous trip to Kodai.

At last they started walking by the side of a stream, though there was no water fall in sight.
“In the end its going to be a lame falls - not more voluminous than a child’s piss I guess.” Ganesh said.

And then, the steps started. they were covered completely with algae and sometimes water trickled from the sides. By the time they had climbed a dozen steps, they could hear the majestic sound as if a sea was thumping against the rocks. Within some time, they had reached the end of the steps. There was a pool of water and they were almost in the middle of the water fall. There were three levels to the falls and they were standing on the middle level and Ganesh accepted that the falls was much more magnificent and voluminous ‘than a million babies pissing together’. And all of them, except Ganesh, plunged into the pool, which was about 3 feet in depth.

“There isn’t even a metal bar to hold on to! It’s dangerous. Just get out of the water.” Ganesh tried reasoning out with his friends. They did not seem to be listening.
Ram realised that water in its many forms - sea, rain, alcohol, waterfalls never failed to fascinate guys, for right now, they were all splashing water on each other not much different from kinder garden kids. Even Arun too joined in the fun after moments of keeping the mum, dejected, angry face.
“The water seems to be raising man. Look at the falls.” Ganesh pleaded. He was sitting on the rock by the side of the pool. He looked down beyond the end of the pool towards the steep fall thereof and felt dizzy.

It was Vineeth who first noticed the increase in the intensity and volume of water. He thought he was imagining it, until he felt himself powerfully pushed by the stream. He tried to walk up towards the rock, out of the pool, when a huge wave of water rushed in, sinking him almost. They all were shocked and Vineeth started yelling. He lost control and barely managed to cling on to the rock by the side of the pool. They all started quickly climbing out of the pool. The edge of the huge pit was now no longer visible and the water simply dropped off the cliff down to seventy feet to the lowest level. As Arun, climbed out of the pool on to a rock, he slipped over the algae and was pushed into the pool. Vineeth screamed louder.
“Oh GOD! He has gone in!”
“The intensity is growing wild!” Vicky shouted.
Arun was holding on to a big stone that was almost submerged by now. He kept trying to push himself against the water towards the rock where his friends stood.
Ram got into the water.
“You too will drown, fucker. Get out!” Vicky shouted. He was trying to tie the towels they had brought together to throw to Arun to hold and climb up. By now, Ram swam a bit and the intensity seemed to have levelled off and holding on to the make shift rope Vicky had swung his way, Ram reached Arun and gave him his other hand. Ganesh was mumbling prayers loudly.
Arun let go of the rock and almost went into the stream completely before he caught Ram’s hand and inched closer to him.
“You climb up first and we’ll pull him out!” Vicky screamed.
“He is panting hard.Pull him out safe first” Ram screamed back.
Arun looked at Ram’s face and held on to the towels and as he climbed over the rock, the towel snapped and the water intensity doubled at the same time. Ram was instantly pulled towards the cliff.
“Oh Fuck!!” Ganesh screamed amidst his prayers.
Vicky knew it was lost. He saw Ram, but did not budge, for there was nothing Ram was holding on to, he was being pushed closer to the edge of the pool and would soon, within the next two seconds, be thrown down the 50 feet fall. Vicky would not spend the rest of his life feeling guilty for not saving Ram’s life. It was Arun’s life all his guilt in the future would be for. Arun, who had climbed up to safety saw Ram being pushed away, knowing it was too risky, but refusing to think for fear of not trying, jumped into the water and waded towards Ram. Their faces were above water for a fraction of a second and the group’s chorus yell was drowned by the thundering waterfalls. They heard soft thuds signalling the death of their friends who had died trying to save each other. The moment Vicky would remember most and repent most was that one moment when he should have judged that despite knowing it was impossible, Arun would still dive to save Ram and he should have held Arun back. And indifferent to all the drama surrounding the visitors, the bloated cascade continued to pour down heavily.
--The End--

kavidha... kavidha... padi

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 09:25:00 +0000

நகைச்சுவை பேசி உன்னை சிரிக்க வைத்தேன் - சிரித்தாய் - நான் காதல் சொன்னதையும் நகைச்சுவை என எண்ணி ...
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மழையில் உன்னோடு கை கோர்த்து நடக்க விரும்பினேன் - நடந்தேன் தனியே - மழைநீரில் என் கண்ணீரை மறைக்க.
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ஒரே ஒரு முத்தம் நித்தம் கேட்டான் - இப்பொழுது தருகிறாள் நூறு முத்தங்கள் - அவன் கல்லறையின் கல்லுக்கு.
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காதல் கவிதை எழுத வரவில்லை எனக்கு - உன் உதட்டின் நுனியில் தந்த முத்தத்தை விட அழகிய காதல் கவிதை உண்டா.
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உன் குற்றம் - பூட்டு போட்ட என் மனதை உடைத்து திறந்தது - உன் தண்டனை - என் மனதின் சிறையில் ஓராயிரம் வருடங்கள் .
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கால போக்கில் மறந்து விடுவாய் என்று சொன்னார்கள் - காலம் போக வில்லையா இல்லை மறந்து மறந்து உன்னை தினம் நினைகிறேனா ?
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கூந்தல் அருவியில் குளிக்க நினைத்தது ரோஜா - உன் கூந்தலின் மணம் திருட அது திட்ட மிடுகிறதோ
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ஆசையின் உச்சத்தில் அலைகள் அவளை கட்டி அணைக்க துடித்தன - நானும் தான் - கடல் கரையில் ஓர் உயிர் சிலை அவள் - காலில் ஈர மணல் - நிலவின் நிறத்துடைய அவள் கைகளில் நான் தந்த கடிதம் - இமை மூடாது அவள் தொலைவில் இருக்கும் படகை நோக்க என் விழிகள் அவள் வதனத்தை பார்வையால் முத்தமிட - உடல் சிலிர்த்தது - வங்க கடலும் தான்.
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பரிட்சையில் கேள்வி தாள் பார்த்து வரும் அந்த பயம் இன்று உன் பார்வையின் கேள்விகளை கண்டு தோன்றுகிறது - எல்லா கேள்விக்கும் என் ஒரே பதில் என் காதல் தான் என் மௌனம் தான்.
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பேருந்தில் உன்னை தினம் பார்த்தேன் - பள்ளிக்கு நாம் போகும் காலங்களில். என்னை பார்க்காதது போல் பார்த்த அந்த பார்வையை நான் பார்த்தேன் - தோழியிடம் பேசி சிரிப்பது போல் என்னை பார்த்து புன்முறுவல் பூத்ததை நான் ரசித்தேன் - பள்ளி சீருடையில் நீ பார்க்க கிளி போல் இருந்தாயா இல்லை மயில் போலா என தினம் எனக்கோர் குழப்பம். அன்றொரு நாள் உன் பிறந்தநாள் என்று வண்ண புத்தாடையில் வந்தாய் . மயிலும் அல்ல கிளியும் அல்ல ஏதோ ஒரு தேவலோக மாளிகையில் வசிக்கும் இளவரசி என்று முடிவு செய்தேன். பேருந்து அன்று ஒரு தேராய் மாறியது - அதில் வெறும் நீயும் நானும் விண்ணுலகம் சுற்றி திரிந்தோம். அப்பொழுது நான் கேட்டு வந்த பாடல்கள் அதில் ஒவ்வொன்றும் நமக்காக எழுதப்பட்ட கவிதைகளாய் தெரிந்தது. அந்த பேருந்தின் படிகட்டுகள் சொர்கத்தின் வாசற்படி போல் இன்பம் அளித்தது. ஒரு நாள் துணிந்தேன் - கடிதம் ஒன்று எழுதினேன் - கடிதம் எழுத நூறு பக்கங்கள் கிழித்ததால் என் புத்தகத்தில் காகித பற்றாகுறை. அக்கம் பக்கம் யாரும் தெரிந்தவர்கள் தென்படுகிறார்களா என ஒரு ஆய்வு செய்தேன். நெஞ்சு பட பட வென அடித்து கொண்டது. பேருன்தோட்டுனர் முதல் நடத்துனர் வரை அனைவரும் என்னை உற்று பார்பதுபோல் ஒரு ஐயம். அந்த ஒரு கடிதத்தின் சுமையால் என் புத்தக பை பாறையாய் கனத்தது. கடிதம் தந்த அடுத்த நொடி உன் முகத்தில் முத்தம் இட வேண்டும் என்ற அந்த ஆசை தவறு என்று மனம் சொல்ல அந்த தவறு இனிது என்று இன்னொரு மனம் சொல்ல , கை நடுக்கத்தில் கடிதம் கிழிந்து விடுமோ என்றின்னுர் ஐயம். நீ இறங்கும் இடம் வந்தது. என் பக்கம் திரும்பி ஒரு நொடி பார்த்து விட்டு நீ இறங்க, யோசிக்க நேரம் இருந்தால் பின் வாங்கிவிடுவேன் என தெருந்து நானும் இறங்க. உன் பின்னாலே அந்த தெருவின் முனை வரை மெல்ல நடந்திட. அலையாய் முகத்தில் பொங்கும் வேர்வையை சட்டை நுனியில் துடைத்து கொண்டு உன்னை நெருங்க. நான் வருவதை கவனித்து நீ திடுக்கிட்டு திரும்ப. இமைக்கும் நேரத்திற்குள் என் கடிதம் உன் கை சேர , என் விரல்கள் உன் விரல் தீண்ட. கடிதத்தின் பதிலாய் காற்றில் நீ முத்தம் இட , நூறு இசைத்தட்டுகள் என் மனதிற்குள் சுழல, தெருவில் வேறு யாரோ நடந்து வரும் சதம் கேட்க நம் சொர்கத்தின் புனிதத்தை கெடுத்த அந்த கயவன் யார் என நான் நிமிர, அங்கே உன் தந்தை. முயன்ருகொண்டிருபதை உணர்ந்தேன். நீ ஒரு முறை திரும்பி பார்த்தாய் - அதில் கவலை இருந்ததா இல்லை விரக்தி தவழ்ந்த்தா என முடிவு செய்யும் முன் அவர் உன்னை இழுத்துக்கொண்டு உன் வீட்டிற்குள் செல்ல. அந்த கடிதம் கிழிக்க பட்டு பட்டாம்பூச்சி போல் பறக்க - சொல்லாமல் நீ புரிந்து கொண்ட என் காதல் செய்தியை அந்த காகிதம் காற்றோடு ரகசியமாய் சொல்லி முடிக்க, திரும்பி நடந்தேன், நம் தேர் விண்ணிலிருந்து கிணற்றுக்குள் எப்படி விழுந்ததென்று விழைந்தேன். வேண்டிகொண்ட தெய்வங்களை ஒவ்வொன்றாய் திட்டி தள்ளினேன். அன்றோடு உன் பேருந்து பயணங்கள் முடிந்தது. உன்னை அதன் பின் பார்க்க முடியவில்லை. இன்னும் ஓர் காதல் காவியம் அன்று துவக்கத்திலேயே முடிந்தது. பேருந்து வெறும் புகை கக்கும் பிணமாய் மாரியாது. அது தான் என் வாழ்வ்வின் முதல் தோல்வி. அது தான் என் வாழ்வின் முதல் காதல்.

--
Arjun

The Triumph

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Thu, 27 May 2010 12:17:00 +0000

HE would never remember any other incident that happened in life as vividly as the one that sparked off the plan for the 'devil's carnage'. They were woken up with the usual jet of cold water. There was an announcement in the loud speakers asking them to assemble at the quadrangle. They all queued up and started walking towards the iron door that led to the quadrangle, half expecting to witness yet another pointless butchery of their men, half wishing it would be their turn today so that the suffering would end, and despite having been audience to the most blatant violations against humans ever inflicted, part of them were still nervous about what new horror the soldiers had thought up for them. As HE passed the iron door and stepped into the quadrangle, the sight of the brown uniform and the erect guns sent few shivers down his spine - the terror on seeing that uniform never left him since the day he had hidden in an air conditioner shaft, cramped to the point of bleeding for few hours as the soldiers ransacked his house, searching for the inhabitants and looting any thing remotely of value. He had watched them from the narrow slit in the metal and had waited for 4 full hours after the last of them had left and switched off the light in the room. And then, assuming it was safe, he had jumped out of the shaft, only to realize that the soldiers had camped up in the nearby room. Since he looked fit, they decided he could be made to work for few months and then killed. He was dragged into the wagon and pushed into the crowd of 50 odd people sharing the ten by four feet space of the rear of the small truck. And now, four months later, he had seen every horror that one could imagine being played live or so he thought until his eyes fell on the sight in middle of the quadrangle. A pregnant woman's legs and hands had been tied up together and she was writhing and struggling on the floor. Her clothes were torn and an officer was standing in front of her, with an amused smile in his lips, waiting for all of them to gather before he gave his rehearsed speech. They all stood in perfect lines with each person at exactly three feet distance from his neighbors - it was easier now after months of punishments for an inch of mistake. The office smiled at them jubilantly and cleared his throat with an added sense of drama, as he started speaking.

"This woman here is... as you can see... pregnant."
The officer tapped the woman's belly with his baton as if to emphasize the point. Her eyes became wide as if they were gobbling up the horrors that were awaiting her. A few drops of tears flowed down her trembling face, leaving wet trails on a desert like countenance. They all kept on looking, for averting sight when an officer was showing them something would earn them a dozen lashes from the whip the soldiers carried, the ones with sharp spikes along their perimeter.
"Don't you people know that getting pregnant in the camp is unacceptable behavior?"
He tapped the belly, as if testing if it was a balloon that would burst open. He smiled again and lifted her chin roughly with his baton.
"Didn't you know that it is prohibited in the camp?" He asked with a mock concern.
"I was.... I was pregnant when they brought me here. I ... I..." The woman blurted out.
The officer laughed as if this was the funniest thing he had heard and turned towards the crowd.
"Well... Then you have lied when they brought you in, for I am sure none of my fellow officers would have bothered bringing alive a female who bore yet another inferior life."
The woman's tears seemed to have stopped. Her lips seemed to be murmuring prayers. She knew she wouldn't survive and did not get too disturbed by the fact. They had witnessed death in all its ugly manifestations being meted out day in and day out in the camp from the day they had arrived.
HE stood in the front row and prayed silently that it would be quick and she would not have to face too much pain - these were the prayers these days, but his God seemed deaf to even such small prayers.

"Gentlemen, this lady here has now proven yet again why we feel you people are the lowliest of low - for dishonesty is the most abominable sin."
The officer brought down his baton with force on her belly. She let out a loud scream and twitched helplessly, the string she was tied with cut through her flesh and few drops of blood dropped down from it.

HE watched it with pain, the dull pain and grief that refused to subside despite having been exposed to too much of numbing violence. HE closed his eyes, not caring if he would be whipped for it. He continued praying that it would end soon, that she would find peace. He realized his own lips were trembling and there were tears flowing down his cheeks. And then, HE watched in ultimate horror and infinite apprehension as the officer drew out a weapon. He would have been almost ecstatic and relieved if the weapon had been big, if its sharpness would have sealed her death immediately. But what the office drew out was a pen knife whose blade seemed blunt.

"Alas! What have we got here!"

The officer swung the knife in air, its minuscule size giving it a uniquely menacing look and bent down and tore at her belly, as she screamed loud, an infernal cry that muted any memory of sound from all our minds.
HE closed his eyes in shock as blood sprung up like fountain. An old man started crying uncontrollably to his left. A soldier spotted him and started lashing his chest as he continued to cry unabated. The old man turned towards the crowd and shouted.
"Watching this makes us as much a sinner! Do you hold your life so dear that you sell your soul for it? Shame on you!"
The old man spat out at the crowd.
And as the soldier who was whipping him removed his revolver, the old man spat hard at the soldier too and then died as the bullets cruised through his heart with pointed indifference.
The officer smiled with satisfaction as if this is exactly what he had wanted and continued to cut her, amidst the screams of the woman. He disemboweled her methodically, with the blunt knife needing repeated strokes for cutting. He did not stop until the remains of the dead baby and the flesh of her organs poured out on the ground.
HE watched it all with eyes wide open, for this was his punishment, not for being born in his race, which he would never regret, but for his cowardice, his need to survive and there, that woman's blood seemed to purify him of his needs and greed, and he knew his salvation lay in a retribution. HE knew instantly that death didn't matter - living did and he could hope for one moment of life, instead of mere existence if he could stand up against the animals and could punish them for what they were doing, if he could inspire fear in them, however temporary, if he could hurt few of them - in that one moment's courage and pride, he could redeem his soul of everything that had happened, and then his death would be a victory. And so he stood there, watching the flowing blood, feeling his own blood curdle in response and knowing that there was a faint vestige of humanness left in him that he could still save.

The only place where they could talk in hushed whispers was their chamber at night. But that night, all of them lay silent. HE broke the silence.
"The old man was right. We are all going to die in here - let's make it worthwhile."
All the faces turned towards him - there were thirty of them in his chamber.
"I wish I could be that courageous." A middle aged man sighed and looked down at the floor. HE shook the man's shoulders.
"Courage? It's not courage that is needed now - nor a sense of vengeance - didn't you hear what the old man said? Her blood is on all our hands. We'll rot in hell for this."
And HE cried, and in tears he found strength. They all were crying with him.
Another middle aged man spoke amidst sobs.
"When they caught us, they asked me to shoot my wife and two of my three kids. They said they'd leave the oldest one alive if I did. I did it - with my hands- I shot my lovely wife of twelve years and the two toddlers! And then... And then... That soldier shot my son too. And that bastard laughed about it."
The man cried hard and continued.
"After that, there is nothing left now - I sold my soul long back."
HE spoke with clear voice. HE had stopped crying.
"This is our only chance. This is for every one we lost - wife, kids, parents, brothers, sisters- and most importantly for that part of us we lost. Let us make the devils bleed!"
All their eyes shone with something that had long since deserted them - hope. They all knew that from then, the only reason they still breathed, the only purpose they weren't yet gone was to accomplish the revenge. They cried for long, cried their way into being human again, regaining their ability to not be numb - to feel pain and grief and anger. That night, amidst soul wrenching sobs, they all nurtured that dream - they started planning what they called 'devil's carnage'.

______________________________
Every step of the operation was suicidal. They made calculations about how many men they would lose at each leg of the operation and hoped that they'd still make it till the end. For a week from then on, each of them kept counting steps as they made their way in the queue to the work hall, to the food room that eternally smelt of rotten rats which could very well have been rotting human bodies. By the end of a week, they knew the exact dimensions of the quadrangle, the long corridors that formed its perimeters and most importantly of the fuel room. They drew floor plan of the building in the walls of their chamber with pieces of coal, straining to see it in the light seeping from outside. HE calculated that they had to finish it in less than two minutes. HE calculated the probability that the thirty of them would last for two minutes amidst a rain of bullets, pouring in from all directions. It would take the soldiers a full minute for to raise the alarm which would alert the other soldiers from the other side of the building to rush in to this part. The plan seemed impossible due to its naiveté, but it was the simplicity that gave them some mysterious hope that it could be done.

There was a weekly meeting of all the officers at the quadrangle every Tuesday at 6 PM. The inmates would be ordered to go to their chambers from the work place at 5:55. The officers would assemble at about the same time. There would be four soldiers guarding the corridor near their chamber. There were three doors that led to the quadrangle from the corridor. That was the only way to enter or exit the quadrangle. And there were 2 soldiers guarding each of the doors. The fuel chamber was on the corridor opposite to the one that led to their chamber. The plan was for the four of them to rush to the four soldiers near their door and to try to snatch the weapon and prevent the soldiers from attacking the others (and dying in the process was the unsaid next step), eight would do the same to the soldiers at the other doors, three of them would try and close the iron gates to the quadrangle, Ten of them would bring back barrels of fuel from the fuel room within a minute and pour it into the quadrangle through the gap between the bars in the iron doors and one of them would lit it. Few of them had been to fuel room carrying the barrels of oil. They had noticed that the floor sloped from the doors downwards to the quadrangle and hence were sure the fuel would flow down pretty fast to the center. Moreover they were planning to take three barrels and would effectively be pooling in the oil from all three sides. they would also leave a trail from fuel room so that it would go up with all the fuel once lit. But there were few obvious flaws which made the plan impossible - the sound of the first gun shot would alert the other soldiers and probably make them shoot out wildly. Second problem was that all of them were emaciated with months of hard labor without proper food - they would not be able to run fast enough to the fuel room and back even if there wasn't a rain of bullets. Third was the obvious problem that they could not rehearse the whole thing before nor could they hope for things that weren't in their control to go as per their plan. So they deliberated over what more they could do to make it happen, what was the missing element that could make them succeed other than sheet luck which had deserted their lot long back. They counted the time as they marched in from work room to their chamber each day and mentally played the scene they'd one day stage and each time, they'd find that it was not possible to be fast enough. Some of them began to think of this as suicide without fruit though they'd never dare tell it openly.

The next Tuesday was decided as the day. They all worked with their hearts beating so fast that they were scared the soldiers would hear it. Nothing out of the ordinary happened that day except in their minds. When work got over and they all started to march towards their chamber and exactly when they were crossing one of the doors, one of their men walked out of line and swayed a little bumping on a soldier.
"What do you think you're doing?!" The soldier started and pulled the man aside. One of the officers from inside the quadrangle saw it and said.
"Bring him in!"

That previous night in the middle of yet another silent spell of contemplation of the plan, one of them had spoken up - it had been the man who had been forced to kill his own family.

"A diversion - our plan lacks a diversion."
HE had looked up along with the others at the man.
"What do they enjoy doing most? When have you seen them lose their alertness and relax fully?"

All of them had felt the trace of hope resurfacing.

"It's when they're torturing us, giving us pain - that is when they least expect to be attacked - for they feel that's when they're attacking us - physically and mentally. Have you seen the way their eyes fills with joy when one of us is butchered? When walking back to the room from work, I'll distract them, I am sure they'll torture me, they'll all be savoring the moment and that's when you guys gotta open hell and push them in."
HE realized being tortured to death was that man's idea of salvation for what they'd made him do.
They took the man to the center of the quadrangle. All eyes were focussed on him. One young officer came bent down over the man and stared into his face with interest.
"Why can't you walk properly following the line?"
The man looked up at the officer and smiled. HE watched in terrified silence as all of them had stopped marching and were transfixed to their positions.
"I am tired and weak. You never gave me food. How else you expect me to walk?"
The officer looked at the others in shock as if unsure if he had heard what he thought he heard. He lifted his baton and aimed at the old man's head.
"I'll show you how I expect you to walk. Stand straight."
The man slumped to the floor as if in response. All eyes were fixed on him. Few of the officers laughed which seemed to insult the officer handling the 'situation'. He brought down the baton on the old man's back.
"Get up, you filthy sloth. Or I'll make sure you never do!"
HE signaled to the others behind him in the line. The next moment was a blur. There was a sound of people shocked sounds of the soldiers, there was gun fire somewhere to his back, sound of doors being locked. The shock held the soldiers for four-five seconds and by then, they had been attacked and a couple of the inmates were shot at. But luckily, one of the inmates had wrangled the gun off a soldier's hold and started firing away at the other soldiers. HE did not notice any of this as he along with seven more men ran into the fuel room and yanked out a two large barrels of kerosene. He tilted the barrel to let the fuel leave a trail behind him. They ran out before a few soldiers caught up with them, the officers were yelling for the doors to be opened. They had never imagined the scenario of the inmates revolting and they had been shocked into inaction for first few moments. The eight of them ran out and a dozen other inmates shielded them, devouring the bullets that flew their way. The inmate who had the gun shot wildly at any approaching shoulder and led the way. They placed the barrel right in front of the iron doors. The officers had started shooting blindly in the direction of the door and the bullets pored holes into the barrel and the inmates toppled the barrels right in. HE looked around in sudden panic as he realized his mistake. He did not have any thing to light the fire with. The match they had smuggled out of the food room few days back was missing. He desperately looked around and saw that more of the soldiers were pouring in from other parts of the building. There were only three more inmates left now and as if to heighten the despair the sound of the firing stopped behind him as the ammunition in the gun the inmate held got over. That's when HE saw it. There was a cigarette lighter poking out of the shirt pocket of one of the soldiers who was shot. HE saw the innumerable faces of the soldiers running in from the other end, he ran to the body of the soldier and removed the lighter, and as the bullets cruised through him and the other surviving inmate, he lit the lighter and threw it towards the pool of oil. And then there was light. He saw a snake like fire spread out fast. He could hear a scream from the quadrangle. The fire spread through, engulfing anything in its path as its own. There was a huge explosion as the fire entered the fuel room and hungrily gobbled the tons of kerosene and gas. HE could hear them yell, he could feel them frying, and in the few faces that he could make out in the silhouette of the fire, he could see fear painted in bold strokes. HE could also feel all the moments of his life building up to this one grand moment, when HE was the victor, when the voiceless could have their say, when the wronged could pour out their wrath. The quadrangle that had witnessed the wrongs was now the place for brilliant judgement. HE smiled in triumph watching the devil bleed and thus, closed his eyes, knowing his soul was intact and would rest in peace.

About Poems

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Thu, 20 May 2010 13:51:00 +0000

Poems don't have to rhyme,
but in your heart bells they should chime.
Multi syllable words thrown from the dictionary,
do not make bad lines revolutionary.

Poems are not cooked, they are recorded.
Records of thoughts, emotions, sights and smell.
Anything at all that makes your heart swell.
It can be a single theme or thoughts that don't gel.

World is a paper and each life a poem,
The beautiful, the ugly both are literary triumph.
Music is but poem for the ear,
Seeps into the soul of any one who happens to hear.

Art is but poem for the eyes,
But for them, all art will just be lies.
Love is another poem of the soul,
that melts even hearts that are darker than coal.

It's an anthology - this life.
Oxymorons in it are rife.
Lines of a poem are locked in strife,
For ambiguity is every poem's ugly wife.

So set out poet, write those lines,
Dig your thoughts, for they're gold mines.
But don't write poems thinking doing so is cool,
for then, you're one idiotic fool.

Let me melt

noreply@blogger.com (Arjun) — Mon, 17 May 2010 06:33:00 +0000

Let me melt into the crescendo of a song,
let me vanish into the colors of the morn.
let me become a drop in a thunderstorm.
let me fly like a feather over a paddy farm.

I had been to heaven in many an evening hour,
when I was a kid, I could feel it on an outdoor walk.
When I was a teen, all it took was a friendly talk.
But then why, now it has become so distant.
That heaven, who moved it out of my world?

Who stole my eyes that saw the world as resplendent,
and gave me a pair that saw only the dirt and dent?
When was I sleeping so damn sound,
that he took away the gift, never again to be found?

'You're now an adult and mature' are things they say,
Once the world has stolen your life's magic away.
And the heart then begins to mechanically sway,
between desires, dreams and duties, oh my! life is sure a play!

I close my eyes and try to go back in time,
Please allow me to, for it's no crime.
To be innocent, to be foolish.
to be dreamy and to not try to be prudish.

Maybe one day I can unearth heaven again,
Maybe then this false illusion of imperfection I can slain.
Let me melt into the crescendo of a song,
let me vanish into the colors of the morn.