A Tacit espionage of Time
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Stirring up the past in a pursuit for the lost subtlety of
my life is something weird you may wonder. The clock is now ticking down fast
while I’m turning to the pages of my diary. You know, I always loved the smell
of old as it had some hidden traces of the past. It is the nostalgic feeling
you get when you open a book used by your great grandfather. Nostalgia an
unexpressive feeling which is unbound to push you to the ages and gives you
experience of a life time. Like exasperation you get when listening to music;
it takes you down, under the abysses of space and time and through the
sepia-tinted glasses it creates an pleasant experience of a gentle breeze embracing
our faces on a mid-summer day.
Time travelling has not been proven yet, nonetheless being
nostalgic produces similar kind of feel. Long ago, in the ages where the mobile
phones were seldom used, I met a guy with dark blue shirt and tattered jeans. Having
lost in a dense forest amid the trees tearing out the clouds to reach the sun
hiding beneath, where following the wind was the only way out of the mazes for
him. So he bent down gathered some dry leaves, crumbled into powder and let fall from the
hand detect the direction if the slightest air is stirring, and he made the
approach accordingly. Nor were any sounds heard save the occasional chattering
of the parquet in the dense forest across the river, a mile distant, and
yet they appeared to be in the immediate vicinity.
He had been in such a solitary confined quest for three days
from that day, yet I don’t understand the cause for it. He ate the last piece
of bread which he had bought last night and now his stomach churning for food
and mouth was longing for water as his eyes had begun to glisten with stress
not than the will power which keeps him on the sail. After ages and ages he had
reminded me of someone with ultimate confidence.
The forest shows its enigmatic side after dusk that even the
clitter-clatter of minute insects appears dreadful, he adopted to live along
with me however that night was terrible, wolf wolfing howling out symbolizing
the premonition of paranormal abstraction of the place and his heart throbbed
with a strange icyness which I had ever seen in the previous days. Blanketing
his coldness he burnt the remaining leaves and slept embracing the warmth. The
prolonged rattling of that endless night had come to stop as he heard a sudden
gush of panting closer to his ears. He opened his eyes in one clean movement;
neither closed his eyes nor shouted, yet continued staring at the crimson eyes of
the great lion of all jungles.
For the first time the hallucinations of his mother cuddling him
with love, boundless love of his wife and daughters that had overshadowed his
desire, he blinked his eyes. In no time with a great force the lion impinged
its foot on his head. He started bleeding; blood oozing out of his head had now
filled the rock crevasse. Confluenting the empty noises of the dark forest,
Lion roared in ecstasy of being victorious once again. As the silence had begun
to occupy the place, lion strolled towards the guy and sniffed for his living.
The young fellow who accompanied me for the past two days was now lying with no
life and later some moments he would be assimilated in the giant’s digestive
tract. I had no other option rather to observe the scene with a cold heart.
Lion stretched out its
arms, opened its mouth wide and decided to mince the young flesh before nipping
down his head. Probably that was the first mistake ever the great lion had done
for ages. Like a thunder jolt from the sky, the young man with all his power
pulled out the knife from the scabbard stabbed the almighty lion of the jungle,
multiple times. Either I or the lion had recovered from the shock, the commotion
before coming to a stop, the beast refrained accepting the defeat again violently striked him whilst he got a
tight hold of its jaw and began tearing it apart.
Echoing across the woods was the painful yelling of the beast
and the crimson glow of its eyes had begun to fade as he threw its bifurcated
jaws apart. He was standing near the dead corpse of unfathomable Lion and the drops
of hot blood animal were tripping on the pool in the crevice. His eyes started glistening
on fire. As the saying goes “to understand the beast you ought to be a beast”.
He stood beneath the abysses of the
dark sky with the breadth of his chest of a seasoned delver, shoulders like the
knotted boles of mountain pines, and powerful
hands on arms that rippled with strength which
carried me to nostalgia of my master who intoxicated himself with a lethal
poison. With the power attained after achieving supremacy over his mind, he
gained the full control over me and churned the poison to lose its efficacy.
And I, the Rudra chakra, the cause for the good and the bad, birth and death,
sometimes people call me fortunate and other time they call me bad yet I’m an omnipotent
silent observer eyeing them from Inside.
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