GOD, FORSAKEN

"SATAN MADE ME DO THIS, I SWEAR!"

He was born on Friday, the 13th. And as if on cue or maybe taking offence to this obvious provocation, fate took a special liking to him. His troubles were not a consequence of human malice but of a higher conspiracy of nature — so much so, that there could be no plausible explanation to most of what befell him; although certainly none of it was arbitrary.
The day of his birth was probably where it all started — and for anyone who knew better, that should have been the day where it all ended. Alas! The newborn had no way of knowing, did He?
For the sake of clarity allow me to explain.
He was destined to be a God — a product arising from the union of the Universe’s first couple. His birth was prophesied by seers and the holy books. But apparently, fate had a mind of its on — one that frequently gave in to whims and would succumb to an impulse to roll up its sleeves and punch our Protagonist below the belt.
For, on the day of his birth, his mother miraculously produced another baby from her womb — one that would out-race our protagonist by a couple of hours and it were these hours that relegated our much-prophesied hero to an after-thought of sorts.
The world, he was to learn the hard way, could only accommodate one God at a time and his twin brother was to fill in those Royal boots — although not simply because of his first-born status.
The Gods are born to rule and not to be ruled. Our Protagonist, by virtue of His untimely birth, found Himself to be a direct contradiction to the Holy laws that could not be altered to accommodate anyone —more so, a redundant Prince. The consequences of His birth were to last Him a lifetime.
By now, I assume the reader has firmly grounded himself into the story. So, I shall delve deeper.
Fate, obviously relishing the role of a glorified mid-wife, continued giving our Protagonist only rotten lemons — ones that no matter how hard He tried wouldn’t yield to become decent lemonade.
Even as our Hero made the much sought after journey from the womb to the cradle, his father had handed over the Empire to Rufus (the first-born twin) in the first look itself — despite the vehement protestations of our Protagonist who came out kicking and screaming. Yet, his first impression found no takers. A general myopia seemed to have descended over the world — one so severe that it would ensure that the masses have eyes only for RUFUS — the one who inherited not only the throne but also the hereditary baggage.
Our protagonist, unimaginatively or (to be frank) uninterestedly named DITTO was treated like an uninvited gate crasher for the rest of his unfortunate life. In fact, Ditto could have cocooned himself in his mother’s womb firmly refusing to come out and no one would notice. No, not even the queasy mother who was too busy cooing over the handsome features of her first born.
It was only after a few hours, when Ditto set out to mark his territory, that the exultant parents realized that they had a problem of surplus. You see, Ditto, by the very fact of his existence, had made the pyramid of aristocracy top-heavy. And, aristocrats seldom bother themselves with concepts like equality. That explains the names, RUFUS: befitting a king and DITTO: an after-thought. Talk about beginners luck!
But wait, there’s more. The prophets and seers, their prophesy about the birth of A prince so rudely upturned by the apparition of two kids in the holy womb, vowed revenge and got it instantly for they claimed that it was Satan’s handiwork because only Satan could have hoodwinked their inner eye and that this unforeseen addition in the holy womb was a perverse joke by Satan. To add injury to insult, Ditto lacked an Adam’s apple — an aspect that was to conclusively sound the death knell on Ditto’s ambitions. Lesser mortals like us would quickly dismiss the absence of an Adam’s apple as banal or superfluous but for the Gods it was a matter of prime importance. It was considered becoming of a God to have a well-endowed Adam’s apple — their scriptures said so. And here were a pair of twins who were a mirror image of each other except for a pointy Adam’s apple.
The king, perhaps aware of the presence of His own genes in this ‘anomaly-of-a-son’ and how poorly it would reflect on Himself, downplayed the eccentricities of His ‘other’ offspring. Both were treated equally, at least for the benefit of the public.
And at this point, Ditto’s life was to have its first happy ending albeit a temporary one since, you must be aware, misery repeats itself. Ditto’s life was screwed because of Fate’s denial to mind its own business.
And after this, ladies and gentlemen, the plot sickens.
And to be honest, I don’t want to delve further into the unfortunate orgy of events that befell Ditto. But you get the drift.
Ditto was to live His life in utter translucence, which was convenient for everybody concerned. In fact, He soon started referring to himself in third person thereby trying to distance himself from the curse upon his life. His ego had been dented so badly that he could no longer look into the mirror and think of himself. Instead he thought of his older twin — the heir apparent. And there, Fate got its moral victory over its provocateur. The coup was complete.

IGNORANCE and BLISS: A VENN Diagram

Relapse

“Stop. I can’t bear it anymore. I’m gonna fall. Move in. Please, stop pushing,” a man yelled at the top of his voice. He stood at the door and addressed no one in particular. I wondered what was wrong with him. The man suddenly collapsed on the floor as if hit on the chest by some force. I moved near to help him. He wouldn’t stir. I wondered if he was dead. He couldn’t be. Loud voices were coming from elsewhere. I got up and started walking towards the voices. A group of men stood in the center of another room. The mood was angry-inexplicably so. They thought someone had stolen their hard earned money. They were sure they had been duped.

“I want my money back,” one screamed.

“Me too. I trusted them. I gave it to them,” another joined in.

Then all hell broke loose. Everyone was fuming. They wanted their money-hook or crook. I wondered what this place was. Had the world gone insane? Was humanity falling apart?

A hand grabbed me by my neck.

“Are you God?” He had kept a knife on my neck. I looked into his eyes and I knew I would soon be dead. No voice came out. I barely managed to shake my head. He left me and caught another man’s neck instead. Only this time he slit it and laughed as blood gushed out. By then I was paranoid. People here would kill me for no reason whatsoever. I sank to my knees. I didn’t want to see anyone else.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a mob emerged. They lifted me to my feet.

Their question was fairly simple. “Hindu ya Muslim?”

Then one of them pointed at my beard. “Muslim, Muslim,” he cried.

They circled me. I was like a sitting duck. Before I could say something blows fell on me. I couldn’t see anything. I put my arms on my head and fell on the ground. They were relentless. Some kicked, some yelled abuses. There was blood on the ground-it was mine. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. Surely this was my end. I gasped for breath.

I found myself sitting on my bed and yelling as loud as I could. Sweat poured from my body. My eyes were open and yet all I could see was an uncomfortable blackness. All I could hear was my own voice. I was alone. I heard my door open. Lights were switched on and two men in similar white clothes walked in. I yelled harder. They would kill me. I knew it.

“Shut him up,” one of them said “or he’ll wake up the others.”

“What does it take to have a peaceful night around here?” the second one said looking at me in disgust.

In a few minutes I felt at ease. My head felt lighter. The lights were switched off again. Silence returned. I slept peacefully- until the next day.

The promiscuous virgin

It was a quite September night. The moon hung in the air, apparently dozing away the quite hours of the night to notice the masses of clouds that had come calling. The calm and peace of the atmosphere was to be violently shaken and disturbed by the errant rains. The weather was rapidly turning hostile as a girl walked on an empty street with quite but quick steps. Everywhere she looked around her there was a serene silence that reverberated in the air. It started raining- gently at first and then gradually the clouds opened up and poured their hearts out. Rain lashed violently at her as she walked on an empty street, her silhouette barely visible in a night enveloped by darkness. The gale was wreaking havoc around her. But this mayhem was nothing when compared to the turbulence she was facing within. She walked on undeterred, as if possessed. She had reached her destination and her wait had begun. It was a bar which stayed open late into the night. She had been there several times before; the fact that she knew most of the people working in the bar bore testimony to that. She sat at her regular table and ordered a drink. While she sipped her drink her eyes were on the lookout. Her desire had grown into an insatiable urge which was guiding her. There were a few men who were looking back at her but she spurned them with a casual frown. Just then the door opened and a man entered. There was something about him that pulled her in his direction. He was exuding a strange confidence which could have been a consequence of his purposeful demeanor. He had green searching eyes. As he walked in, oblivious to her stare, she kept her eyes fixed on him lest he turned out to be a figment of her imagination. She sat still, not moving a muscle, not making a sound. She had found what she was looking for. It would be him today. And then she wasted no time in the pursuit of her carnal desires. She had been doing this for years now and it was almost like a familiar routine albeit the fact that her companion changed according to her whims and fancies. In fact she had forgotten how many years it had been. Neither did she remember how many men she’d been with nor did she remember their names or faces. They had just been a blurred hue in the night that had disappeared in the morning. It didn’t matter to her. What mattered to her was her own pleasure. Her own satisfaction. Nymphomania had created a scavenger out of her. Yet she didn’t care. She’d been addicted and she couldn’t get out. She hadn’t even tried. She had risen and walked over to the guy’s table. As she reached his table, he looked up. She introduced herself and told him exactly what she wanted from him. The next few moments passed as if the whole conversation had been practiced a hundred times. Soon they were at her place. The man had been exceptionally quite during the ride back to her place. They had driven back in his car and throughout the way he hadn’t spoken a thing apart from asking directions. In fact, he’d seldom looked at her. The silence lingered even when they reached her place. He just stood there looking into her eyes but still not speaking. She felt like he was passing judgment at her. She found it strange that a man was judging her. No man, after knowing about her addiction, had ever been judgmental. They didn’t waste their time judging her because they all wanted the same thing, the very same that she offered to every man and the very same that no man ever had the inclination to deny. And this man had been no different. He too had reacted with surprise at hearing about her addiction and he too had accepted her offer almost spontaneously. She wondered why he seemed so hesitant and troubled now. But she didn’t care for what he was thinking. Her impatience was growing like a crescendo inside her. She decided enough was enough and went closer, close enough for their breaths to collide. And in the next moment she was in his arms. Then she lost track- of everything. All she felt was a haze that overwhelmed her- much like walking down a brightly lit tunnel blinded by the light or drowning in a massive body of water. She lost control. This had never happened to her. All the men she’d been with over the years had been her slaves but today something had changed. She was being enslaved today, not by her addiction but a man and she didn’t want to resist. She had submitted herself completely like a man would on his deathbed. A feeling inside her was growing so dominatingly overpowering that she couldn’t feel the man’s body against her, as if the feeling inside her was insulating her body. This had never happened to her ever before. All she felt was the touch of his lips on her forehead. And then she knew it, the feeling inside her that she couldn’t understand was for this man. It wasn’t insulating her body from him; it was the man who was making her feel secure by his presence. He completed her. She’d been like the portrait of a woman enclosed in a glass frame hanging in a museum; everyone could see the portrait but no one could reach past the protective glass frame and touch it. And then she said it. Those three words that she’d never uttered to anyone, those words which she had always felt were a blatant lie. She’d blurted it out before she could stop herself. He stopped. He backed away like he’d come across something infected. He eyed her, not with repulsion or shock, but with utter disbelief. His face was a contorted mask of contempt.
“You are lying. You don’t even know me.”, he retorted furiously.
And before she could gather herself he had walked out. She lay there on her bed staring at the blank ceiling. His face was still visible, like an afterthought. She got up and ran after him. But before she reached the door she heard his car backing out and speeding away. Never to be seen again. She searched everywhere, asked every bar worker she could find but to no avail. He’d disappeared with such ease that sometimes she felt that he hadn’t existed at all. But he did exist and she knew it. What hurt her most was not the fact that he’d walked away abandoning her but the look of utter disbelief on his face when she’d confessed her love for him. She could bear a man who didn’t love her back but what shattered her was a man who didn’t trust her love for him. All these years she’d declined the existence of love and propagated, more to herself than anyone else, that lust was the only emotion that a body could feel. Now that she’d felt love it had chosen to walk away from her. It left her like a shell lying on a beach which is empty yet has the voice of the ocean raging inside it. She was left with just a memory. A memory that remained with her till she lived; a memory which become a part of her existence; a memory which changed her forever.

A wait unfulfilled

It all began on a wet, bone-chillingly cold day. The rock, his mind in turmoil, sat still like a sage. His body had been torn apart by the piercing rain that continued to inflict pain upon him in tandem with the strong winds. Such was the brutality of it that even the rock, an intimidatingly imposing structure, was reduced to a shivering mass. But he knew relief would come, sooner or later. He had known it all day long ever since the first wave had caressed his feet early in the morning. More waves had followed, one after the other, each subdued in its efforts. A tiny strand, as if in rebellion, rose up in a wave and crashed against the rock where its flight was crushed. The rock had endured the pain because he was waiting for his salvation. He could see the wave, a tall, serene mass of water moving as easily as a serpent slithering on grass. His body had frozen but his heart was a burning crescendo. His patience was being tested as other waves touched him and sprayed his face with mist. But yet he waited, unflinching and undeterred, for the wave to arrive and touch him in the face. The waves had partially immersed him now. He waited with bated breath as the wave came closer. His wait had reached its climax. A song was playing somewhere in the distance. He didn’t pay attention but instead chose to stare unblinkingly at the sea which grew boisterous every passing minute. The song got even louder. The rock still chose to ignore it. The wave was all that mattered to him. The interlude since their last meeting had been painful enough but he knew he had no option but to wait. And he did, every fiber of him calling out to the wave. Just then a song jerked him out of his trance. A boy, in his late teens, had walked onto the rock itself and was sitting on his knees. The wave was surging ahead rapidly. The boy started bleating on top of the music. The wave was drawing closer, surging ahead in its own trance. But the rock couldn’t think of the wave. The boy had interrupted his meditation. Closer, even closer it came. The boy had started to cry. The wave, at last, had arrived. The rock felt two warm drops fall on himself which were soon swallowed by the wave as it immersed the rock in itself. The boy sat there weeping pitifully. But the rock felt no pity for the boy. His own wails were much louder than that of the boy’s. The boy, in his quest for solitude, had spoilt an intimate moment which the rock had awaited for days. Slowly as the water receded the boy left the rock alone to moan the quirk of fate which had soured its ecstasy. The rock watched the wave as it receded back to the sea. In his heart he felt an anger that he had never known before. But in the larger scheme of things it mattered not. What mattered was that in a few weeks the wave would come again. Till then the rock would wait, unfazed and undeterred. It wasn’t the end of the world and he knew it. He was accustomed to the long wait. In those moments of solitude he kept reminding himself that waiting for something is always better than waiting for nothing. This game between the rock and the wave had continued for ages. And it would continue-for eternity or till the day one of them would cease to exist. Till then the rock would wait, sitting patiently like a sage.

Birth and Death

Birth. Death. The only certainties in life. Birth and Death are as connected to each other as a brother and sister sharing the umbilical cords from the same womb. While birth and death are contrary notions they still co-exist in every man’s life. Because a man is born he will die. The only difference is the time gap that exists between these two phenomena.
For some birth and death are separated by decades. For some it is a matter of mere seconds.
To many people, these intricacies of life matter not. Niall Dutta was one of them. As he nonchalantly lay asleep on his bed, insulated by the cozy walls of his well furnished home, life continued- as it always does, the drone of machines interspersed with the voices of men.
An alarm beeped somewhere in the distance. Niall’s head jerked up instantly and he looked around. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. His younger sister was standing besides the window, her pensive face looking outside. Sunlight fell on her face and lit up every facet of it. Her gleaming earrings, touched by a soft breeze coming in through the window, danced in her ears. Every morning Niall woke up to the same sight. He sometimes wondered what fascination the world outside the window held for his sister.
“Any interesting guys outside, Tua?” Niall asked grinning.
“Couple of them. Winking and whistling,” Tua replied humouredly.
“Hey, where are mom and dad?”
“Off to work. Mom tried to wake you up but you were busy dreaming.”
“She did? I didn’t feel a thing,” replied Niall as he walked into the bathroom.

*****

Half an hour and a bath later, Niall finally felt awake. He made himself some coffee and opened the newspaper. He was scanning through the paper when his eyes fell on the date. 15th may. The day seemed to have an odd familiarity to it. Niall couldn’t quite place it and then in an iota of a second he remembered.
“Hey sis, today’s the 15th right?”
“Yeah”
“Happy birthday, sis”
“Thanks bro”
Niall gave Tua a giant hug. Niall knew Tua liked being hugged by him. It gave her a sense of security. A feeling of being loved. Of being wanted. He liked the wide smile which spread on her face whenever he hugged her.
“Did mom and dad wish you?”, Niall asked pulling back and looking into her eyes.
“No”, replied Tua nonchalantly, in a tone that suggested both hurt and defiance.
“What! Really? How could they”
“That’s ok”, Tua said trying to sound unfazed although her eyes were brimming with tears.
“Tell you what, sis. Forget mom and dad. Let’s just celebrate your birthday. Only the two of us. Have a cake, a few candles and some good music.”
“Thanks bro”
“Don’t mention it”
*****
Another hour later a small cake sat handsomely on the dining table in the living room. A small red candle was placed like a cherry atop it. Tua always preferred a quite birthday. Niall was the only one who bothered to wish or buy a gift for her. This face irked Niall but he never could summon the guts to ask his parents to celebrate Tua’s birthday with the same enthusiasm and fervour that they displayed on his birthday. He was always pampered like a lone child. Tua’s birthday always passed with a strange gloom lingering around the house. His dad maintained a stony silence while their mom always seemed irritated with something and seemingly small incidents managed to piss her off. Niall knew well the reactions of their parents if he even dared mention the name of his little sister. He felt an underlying sense of guilt that tortured his heart. His guilt, coupled with his affection for his younger sister, manifested itself through his insatiable urge to make his sister feel loved and to make up for the apathy of their parents. So he had taken to celebrating it alone when their parents were off to work. Every year they celebrated Tua’s birthday within closed doors like a secret ritual. Niall took special care to ensure that their parents wouldn’t have a clue of what was going on behind their back. Every trace of their secret party would be removed and everything in the house would be returned to its position as inconspicuously as possible.

*****

The gloom of the night had replaced the joy which morning had brought with itself, much like the stoic darkness that replaced the last receding rays of sunlight. Niall sat on the couch, his mind in turmoil, absent-mindedly staring at the floor. His mom had confined herself to her bedroom and his dad was reading a newspaper. Tua sat on a chair, her knees drawn up to her chin. She had a penchant for being unnaturally silent around people. So much so that people didn’t even notice or acknowledge her presence. Tua never talked to anyone except Niall. In fact she didn’t even talk to him in front of anyone, not even their parents. The silence reverberated around the room. The journey of life had come to a standstill to make way for the chariot of the past. Niall’s dad sat staring at the newspaper but no words penetrated his mind. He tossed it aside and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and stared in the mirror. It had been 13 years now. 13 long years. He could remember it as vividly as it was just yesterday. He had endured it all in silence. Just like his wife had. He stared at his own face, white with self-inflicted agony.

*****

5 year old Niall was excited. As he sat on the dining table eating his breakfast, he could barely keep himself from gulping down entire morsels of food without chewing. This earned him a few rebukes from his dad who sat besides him but today it hardly mattered to Niall. He had waited for this day for almost seven months- since his mom had told him about her pregnancy. His excitement, since, kept growing with the bulge on his mom’s belly. He had wanted a sibling ever since he had known what it meant. His mom would have to be admitted at the hospital and Niall was told that his sibling would be born soon. He was expecting the doctors to give them the baby as soon as they entered the hospital. But as his dad explained to him the baby would be born in a few days. This delay was something Niall was unprepared for and his excitement soon gave way to restlessness as he got into the car. His dad sat in front while he and his mom sat behind. Soon he would be joined by a small kid, he told himself. The half an hour drive from his house to the hospital was more than what Niall could take. He couldn’t sleep the previous night in his excitement. A few minutes into the journey he dozed off. He didn’t see much of what happened in the ensuing minutes. All he heard was a loud crash.
When he woke up next his dad, clothes bloodied and a few rips on the face, was sitting next to him. Niall himself, miraculously, had survived without any major injuries. A nurse came in and after ensuring Niall was fine asked his dad to accompany him outside where a somber-faced doctor stood. The door was ajar and yet Niall could not hear their conversation. He caught a few words like ‘Daughter’ and ‘Dead’- but he didn’t know what dead meant. He saw his dad crying into his hands but didn’t understand why. He and his dad returned home the next day and his mom came home a week after that but the baby never came. Niall waited on the door when his mom came back from the hospital. But she was alone. He repeatedly asked his parents where his sibling where his sibling was but he never got any replies. His mother buried herself in her room for many days after returning home. His dad spent most of his time doing anything but talking. But Niall’s little baby still hadn’t come home.
Then one day she did. When Niall woke up early one morning he saw a small girl of about five years standing next to his bedroom window and staring outside. Niall asked who she was and she replied that she was her sister. She didn’t have a name. So Niall named her Tua. An elated Niall had rushed to his mom and dad to tell them. But they gave him pitiful looks which turned into looks of anger when he tried repeating his story. But, even then, Niall didn’t care. He had what he wanted all his life. He had his sister. His own sister. And he stopped caring for anything else in this world.

*****

A sharp car horn brought Niall’s dad back to reality. He realized he had fallen to his knees in the bathroom. Tears were running from his cheek to the cold floor. He had just been visited by a memory which had tormented him for 13 years. He had tried to move on but he couldn’t. Just like his wife. He stood up and splashed handfuls of water on his face as he examined it in the mirror. He saw the scars from the horrific accident. The water had washed away the tears but the scars remained. Just like the scars on the mind of his son. And yet, he walked out, to face his son and the world. He knew that his daughter’s death had been an accident but he still felt guilty. After that fateful day, he hadn’t been able to see his son in the eye. He wished he too had died in that accident. But he couldn’t die yet. He had his son to take care of. His son, Niall, who had been affected the most by the death of his sister. Niall had started seeing weird things and more often than not his parents had seen him speaking to nobody. Two months ago, they had consulted a specialist. The specialist had used just one word to explain all of Niall’s actions. Just one word had been sufficient to summarize Niall’s love and affection for his sister. Just one word. Schizophrenia.