Ritual

In the clearing of the forest, a man was lying almost dead. Age has forced him to be in this body not for long. His family members count the last moments of his life.

A crowd has gathered around the body of the man eagerly waiting for his last breath. It has been a ritual for all the people of the tribe to see the last rites performed. They believe that this vision is holy and on seeing this, they would gather courage and strength to fight the other tribes in the fight for supremacy.

The old man lay there writhing in pain, difficult for him to breathe. His eldest son steps close to him. The silent crowd stood gazing at the son. It is now time to carry out the ritual. The son gets hold of his father's right hand, The hand which has fought vigorously over the years to establish the supremacy of his tribe. With monsterous strength the son twists and wriggles the hand until it is broken. Then with a knife he cuts through the flesh of his almost-dead father's right hand and brings out the radial bone. By this time, individual chantings are heard from the people around.

He lifs the bone aloft for everyone to see and a cheer from the crowd fills the air. Then suddenly the son starts chewing on the bone until it is crushed to pieces. Astonishing is the maxillary strength of the man. The crushed bone is then buried in the ground and the body left to rot.

Everytime a man of this tribe dies, the same ritual is performed by his eldest son. The pain the dying person suffers in his very last moments reminds him of the pain endured in his lifetime. It is believed that he will die a very peaceful death now that the pain has gone away along with his body. The soul will now be free from all bondages and will no longer undergo the pain received in his lifetime. The burial of the crushed bone signifies the bondage with Mother Earth. And the body left to rot shows that his memory will slowly fade away in the minds of his tribesmen as his body rots to nothing.

---- this is the first short story in this blog... dunno if such things really happen... this was a dream....

On the banks of Benaras

Without a loin to cover him up,

Just a stick to help,

Inhaling with utmost intent

The smoke of his God.

Days has he given up

The love for his life,

Sleeping on the ashes

His stick very close by.

Nobody turning towards him

Even to bother,

The smokey view manifests

The time for him to shudder.

The time for him to journey

Through the lands under spell,

Like a drowning pearl

In this world so knave.

Unfazed by soceity,

Like a firefly in the night sky,

Using its own faint light

To fly the shadowy 'Tundra'.

People take a dip

In the water so holy,

For him just a gaeity

Caressed by the chill.

Never feeling the raindrops

He so wishfully numb,

Not having to feel the incineration of hunger,

Not having to constrain his senses!

Like a sedentary cocoon,

Metamorphosed from a catterpillar,

Never wanting to remember those days

When soceity never conferred him a comforting healer.

The 'Rudraksha' reminded him

Of those who were so near.

Not having to leave them

But left in the hands of Death!

His life, a mere coral

In the deep blue ocean,

With the rays of the sun

Flickering with the brightest grace!

---- There's a long story associated with this... He haunted me everywhere, in dreams in real life, everywhere...

Traumatised

Killed many men

Whose face I've never seen,

Never did want to hear

His historic ancestry.

Only I knew

I had to kill

The soldier draped in black.

All is set here---

Of who's to win,

This battle is a meagre offering

To the God of Mercy!

The feel

Of inhuman torture suffered,

Unknown to me;

Thanking my God

For the marvel performed.

The stench of rotten flesh,

The lacerated wounds,

Make thy haven.

Thinking of those golden days

When I never knew fear,

This fear has overhauled me now---

The Fear of Death!

Looking at those innumerable stars above

I count the endless bodies.

A stomach filled with hunger,

A heart packed with fear,

I rage against death

Like a burning splincter

Hurled into the vast sea.

Never knowing a way

To breach these high walls

My mind has created;

Praying not to endure

The agonies of those dying souls.

The effect of morphine

Isn't enough to subside the pains

The soul has suffered,

I gaze at the setting sun

To know no more bequest has been offered!

Photograph

The cherubic smile,

The only beatification

In the distant mile,

The reign of the ricochet hex.

Veiled by the cryptic obscurity,

The chimerical eyes

Glowing like the aureole,

Parching the black roses of autumn.

Serving as a chauvinist

The priest has no answers,

The avaricious mind

Wants no more kinship!

The life so perturbed,

The past so hideous,

The onerous dilemma

Seems to fade away.

The want, to gaze forever,

The hypnotic effect

Erasing the chagrin,

Looking for a lifetime--- at this photograph!