THE OUTCAST
The white-hot sky was a sheet of molten glass. Wind breathed out fire in delirious fits. Horizons vanished in the shimmering mirage. The earth suffered silently as ever. And there stood i, alone and stark naked, daring the ruthless sun.
Every day, at the cruelest hour, i walked to the outskirts of the city, to the barren wasteland. Daring the ruthless sun, bared my body, and cried my soul out.
I hated my coarse voice. I hated my indeterminate body. The squalor, the poverty, crime, drugs- the crudity all around. The perverted preoccupations. The grotesque dancing. The masquerading merry-making. Above all, i hated the god who condemned me to this life.
I was ever an odd person out- even in my outcast community. I really never belonged to anyone. My mates hated me. The society had long rejected me.
I roamed alone in the streets. Alone in the crowd. I never begged. Nobody had ever heard me speak. The day i became aware of my own strange voice, i became mute. The voice returned to me only by accident...
That day too i was treading the barren wasteland at that cruelest hour, when i saw a tiny pink flutter in that arid, hostile landscape- a flower! Obstinately alive.
My soul swelled with sublime bliss. My eyes could not contain my tears. How i longed to sing! To share the subtle joy with someone! Alas! Not even a cloud in the sky, not a bird around, nor a butterfly, nor a grass-blade. What loneliness! I had spent a lifetime in isolation, almost by choice. But now this burden of sublime joy was too much for me to bear all alone.
My heart wrenched out a cry of agony- my lost voice had come back to me. I hated it, and i turned that impotent hatred to the tiny pink flower. The crushed flower left behind a faint fragrance on my fingers.
Strange dreams, almost nightmares, haunted me. I loved my nightmares. My only companions of lonely nights. How i looked forward to them!
I saw myself buried under fathoms of earth. In finely embroidered coffins, lined with rope-thick cobwebs. On waking up, i could almost smell the moist, macabre soil. Could feel moss growing on my limbs, and bugs crawling inside my entrails.
I saw myself precariously hanging from a cliff, with a yawning abyss beneath. Stepping out of sleep, drenched in sweat, was the only escape.
I saw phantoms of men and women- with mutilated cocks and cunts. Mermaids wormed across the fog of my dreams- buxom babes with a topless torso, the lower half fishlike, scaly and slimy. I woke up, and did not know what to do with my body and mind. Was i a woman trapped in a male body, or was it otherwise?
Once i saw myself lying on the road, and a speeding truck come to a screeching halt just a foot away from me. On waking up with a start, i wished the dream continued and the truck-brakes failed.
Sometimes i saw myself back in my mother’s womb. Translucent reddish darkness, moist and warm, throbbing with life, insulated me from the real harsh world. I wished time froze, and i was never born. Or, may be, i could start life anew? A well-defined existence in a well-determinate body? Even dogs and cats have it!
So, that day, at the cruelest hour, i walked to the outskirts of the city to the barren wasteland, bared my body, and, as usual, cried my soul out.
‘What is this obscene, sexless existence? What is this curse, that wipes out every possibility of a human and humane life? Of a decent and honest living? Of self-respect? Of all that is lyrical and delicate? C’mon Master, what the hell is your problem with me? Say something, O cruel heavens, say something!’
Heavens gave me no answer. The sun gave me nausea, and migraine, made me giddy.
I collapsed. Dust covered me tenderly. The mellowed wind hummed lullaby to me. First time in my life, i slept. Soundly, unhaunted by dreams. Like a well-fed baby in mother’s lap.
In my sleep, God spoke to me.
‘Forgive me, my child. Don’t torture yourself with unanswerable questions. Your pain is my wound. All misery in the world is my burden. Help me bear it; be my comrade.
‘And do this for me- never let the lyrical and humane in you wither away. Preserve it. It is the bond between you and me...’
Hours passed by.
Peacefully, i opened my eyes.
God's word, distinct in dream, faded away, away, and soon were lost in the clutter of conscious moments.
The omniscient heavens never answered my cry. The humble, loving dust did.
Nothing around changed. The squalor, the crudity, crime, perversions, the dancing, the merry-making, the absurdity of existence - nothing changed.
But now i didn’t judge anything. I understood. I could not hate anyone. I loved. I forgave. Now i laughed away faults of others; i could not see any sin that did not lie dormant deep down in my own mind; any imperfection that subtly did not manifest in me.
I never plucked a flower. I never punished myself. Never ever i had nightmares since then. Neither i missed them.
The delicate and the humane in me, more than compensated for my physical void.
My body grew old. Obese. Ugly. Diseased. I did not move. Just sat there quietly. People placed edibles before me. Stray dogs took them away. I didn’t mind. Whatever remained, was enough for me.
My body grew older. Weak. Now, nobody knew my past. I was only too happy to forget it. I sat there, a kind, well-mannered, and somehow an odd oldie. Who never spoke. Just looked at the heavens, at the dust, at everything, at everyone, with a loving smile.
One day i died. Nobody noticed my absence.
The white-hot sky was a sheet of molten glass. Wind breathed out fire in delirious fits. Horizons vanished in the shimmering mirage. The earth suffered silently as ever. And there stood i, alone and stark naked, daring the ruthless sun.
Every day, at the cruelest hour, i walked to the outskirts of the city, to the barren wasteland. Daring the ruthless sun, bared my body, and cried my soul out.
I hated my coarse voice. I hated my indeterminate body. The squalor, the poverty, crime, drugs- the crudity all around. The perverted preoccupations. The grotesque dancing. The masquerading merry-making. Above all, i hated the god who condemned me to this life.
I was ever an odd person out- even in my outcast community. I really never belonged to anyone. My mates hated me. The society had long rejected me.
I roamed alone in the streets. Alone in the crowd. I never begged. Nobody had ever heard me speak. The day i became aware of my own strange voice, i became mute. The voice returned to me only by accident...
That day too i was treading the barren wasteland at that cruelest hour, when i saw a tiny pink flutter in that arid, hostile landscape- a flower! Obstinately alive.
My soul swelled with sublime bliss. My eyes could not contain my tears. How i longed to sing! To share the subtle joy with someone! Alas! Not even a cloud in the sky, not a bird around, nor a butterfly, nor a grass-blade. What loneliness! I had spent a lifetime in isolation, almost by choice. But now this burden of sublime joy was too much for me to bear all alone.
My heart wrenched out a cry of agony- my lost voice had come back to me. I hated it, and i turned that impotent hatred to the tiny pink flower. The crushed flower left behind a faint fragrance on my fingers.
Strange dreams, almost nightmares, haunted me. I loved my nightmares. My only companions of lonely nights. How i looked forward to them!
I saw myself buried under fathoms of earth. In finely embroidered coffins, lined with rope-thick cobwebs. On waking up, i could almost smell the moist, macabre soil. Could feel moss growing on my limbs, and bugs crawling inside my entrails.
I saw myself precariously hanging from a cliff, with a yawning abyss beneath. Stepping out of sleep, drenched in sweat, was the only escape.
I saw phantoms of men and women- with mutilated cocks and cunts. Mermaids wormed across the fog of my dreams- buxom babes with a topless torso, the lower half fishlike, scaly and slimy. I woke up, and did not know what to do with my body and mind. Was i a woman trapped in a male body, or was it otherwise?
Once i saw myself lying on the road, and a speeding truck come to a screeching halt just a foot away from me. On waking up with a start, i wished the dream continued and the truck-brakes failed.
Sometimes i saw myself back in my mother’s womb. Translucent reddish darkness, moist and warm, throbbing with life, insulated me from the real harsh world. I wished time froze, and i was never born. Or, may be, i could start life anew? A well-defined existence in a well-determinate body? Even dogs and cats have it!
So, that day, at the cruelest hour, i walked to the outskirts of the city to the barren wasteland, bared my body, and, as usual, cried my soul out.
‘What is this obscene, sexless existence? What is this curse, that wipes out every possibility of a human and humane life? Of a decent and honest living? Of self-respect? Of all that is lyrical and delicate? C’mon Master, what the hell is your problem with me? Say something, O cruel heavens, say something!’
Heavens gave me no answer. The sun gave me nausea, and migraine, made me giddy.
I collapsed. Dust covered me tenderly. The mellowed wind hummed lullaby to me. First time in my life, i slept. Soundly, unhaunted by dreams. Like a well-fed baby in mother’s lap.
In my sleep, God spoke to me.
‘Forgive me, my child. Don’t torture yourself with unanswerable questions. Your pain is my wound. All misery in the world is my burden. Help me bear it; be my comrade.
‘And do this for me- never let the lyrical and humane in you wither away. Preserve it. It is the bond between you and me...’
Hours passed by.
Peacefully, i opened my eyes.
God's word, distinct in dream, faded away, away, and soon were lost in the clutter of conscious moments.
The omniscient heavens never answered my cry. The humble, loving dust did.
Nothing around changed. The squalor, the crudity, crime, perversions, the dancing, the merry-making, the absurdity of existence - nothing changed.
But now i didn’t judge anything. I understood. I could not hate anyone. I loved. I forgave. Now i laughed away faults of others; i could not see any sin that did not lie dormant deep down in my own mind; any imperfection that subtly did not manifest in me.
I never plucked a flower. I never punished myself. Never ever i had nightmares since then. Neither i missed them.
The delicate and the humane in me, more than compensated for my physical void.
My body grew old. Obese. Ugly. Diseased. I did not move. Just sat there quietly. People placed edibles before me. Stray dogs took them away. I didn’t mind. Whatever remained, was enough for me.
My body grew older. Weak. Now, nobody knew my past. I was only too happy to forget it. I sat there, a kind, well-mannered, and somehow an odd oldie. Who never spoke. Just looked at the heavens, at the dust, at everything, at everyone, with a loving smile.
One day i died. Nobody noticed my absence.
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