Parched

It hadn't rained in a long time. The broken path was dusty - brown like powered clay - just not as fine. It was coarse and unforgiving. His footwear was battered and tried to cover an even more battered foot. The right big toe was red and swollen - septic. It slit in two places in long gashes from where the blood silently oozed out, mixed with the dry dust his feet kicked up as he dragged his emaciated silhouette of a body which was barely hoisted upright.

The landscape was barren, arid and forlorn. The once fertile land looked adust, baked in harsh daylight with a network of crevices running wild far and wide like veins on a leaf. But there was no green in sight - only brown and yellow and shades in between for as far as the eye could see. No soul in sight - many had given up - died with mouths agape lusting for water, some were hiding in anxious shadows of rocks while a select few were hoarding as much as they could for tomorrow.

As he dragged on to a pointless, possibly non-existent destination, his chafed lips ached, his tongue begged for moisture. The dry heat made his brain beat against his skull - a loud throbbing that forced his eyes to roll in their sockets. Just then he saw it! A brown and yellow insect, with a glistening exoskeleton reflecting the sun's rays, had emerged from a crevice (lost its way maybe) and was looking to duck back into the depths of darkness away from the scorching sun. Without a thought, he dived with a vigour especially bred in famishment. His fingers like pincers with uncanny precision, jubilantly extricated the struggling insect as he opened his mouth wide. CRUNCH! CRUNCH! And a munch and a few more laboured crunches - his being revolted with the foul taste - abhorrent! Like nuts that had gone really bad. He waited for the poison to kill him. Better luck next time. This one was all good protein.

He had lost track of days long ago. The sun's strength told him that it was a bit past noon which meant another five hours of day. He kept going. Finally he saw with hopeful eyes - faraway, almost at the horizon, some structures - perhaps temp settlements? It was probably the remains of an industrial town. Metal skeletons of mills decaying at myriad places - corroding, weather-beaten but brave - receding visages of Man's might and testimony to his able inventive spirit. With renewed vigour, he quickened his pace - a destination at long last, his heart was pumping blood faster than it had done in days. Soon enough he had covered most of the ground. Almost there... almost! 

And then... It all happened in quick succession. A few clouds appeared out of nowhere, eclipsed the sun a bit relieving him of the direct exposure. He tried to look up but his neck denied the unusual movement. A tantalizing thunderclap ensued and the sky poured rain in big droplets. A pungent odour engulfed him and the raindrops hit his face and hands and it stung! It singed him like concentrated acid! Gasping, he bolted to the closest shelter in the run-down town he could find, running on heels as his toe was a goner.

He examined the new burns on his dark brown, wrinkly skin. His skin appeared so thin, stretched so taut over his bones that he feared it could tear like paper. The shelter had a small mirror hanging on a nail in a wooden pole. He went closer to examine the state of his face and, to his horror, saw that he almost looked like the cross between a gorilla and the first cavemen he had seen in history books - dark hairy face, extra large upper lip, exposed nostrils, black eyes! His heart started beating out of its place, he clutched at his chest unable to believe his state as he heard a piercing sound inside his head. 

A mad ringing awoke John. With a massive yelp, he sat up. He frantically patted his face, chest and legs, checking for burns and wounds. He was in his bed, fine white linen enveloped his fit body. Slowly it came back to him. Today was his keynote address in the seminar on post-apocalyptic literature. He had to get ready. All was well even though the dream had felt so real!

With a wry smile, he put on his glasses but they slid down from his face owing to a missing nose bridge. That had never happened before.

The End Beckons

He who spoke out without a care

or he who could not even force out air.

He who bore a spotless mind

or he who lived only on rewind.

Through a furrow starts a cave

winding down in muddy waves,

tunneling in grime, slush and mud--

Bend not or you fall without a thud!

Within the deepest caverns of this mind

lie stories that were never timed.

Through crests and troughs, no matter--

Trouble, it does, even The Creator!

Of bounty, of desolation, of courage and cowardice,

of smiles, of cries, of sniffles stolen betwixt these.

Of banter, of reticence, of friends and foes, 

of freedom, of tranquility, of life that never grows.

Of love and care... From love and care

starts this pain. Grow it does, it does not pare.

Pining, a mortal, does not dare

and leaves this cave without the fare.

Suicide is never the answer. 

Yet those who bow out this way have some reason beyond human measure of grief. 

A sudden slash is all it takes but the terrible outcome is for the ones left in their wake. 

I am neither a prophet, nor a priest, not a philosopher, not even much of a poet. But I do know that "the end" is not for our choosing.

The Ring of Life

Rope

“Believe in me, Rajeev. Just hold the ropes and fall forward slightly.” Asha gave measured instructions to Rajeev whose legs were shivering from fright stationed on wooden planks which rested on two parallel iron wires 20 feet above the ground. His hands were clammy inside big, rented gloves. His helmet was awry atop his head which was thumping harder than his pounding heart. Asha was perched on the platform at the end of this ropeway - her words confident but expression eager. 

They were part of a big group spending a weekend getaway organized by their company. A high rope course meant to overcome your fears, forget the world, lose yourself in the serenity of nature. This course was testing Rajeev in manners he hadn’t imagined - one obstacle after another. The sun, which was especially scorching this February afternoon, didn’t help matters.

Rajeev believed in Asha; hesitatingly released the stiffness in his frame and fell forward as his hands bore most of his weight. Some of the nervous tension found its way out and he managed to walk - one heavy footstep at a time. When he finally reached the other end, Rajeev began to hug Asha out of relief but stopped midway. Asha jumped back in response, tucked a lock of her hair behind her right ear and scanned her surroundings. They hadn’t gone public yet. 

Rock

Asha’s modest sandals slipped as she tried to navigate her way up a rock on the sea shore. Rajeev was quick to grasp her mid-fall. She smiled at Rajeev, who still had a full head of hair albeit grey. Evenings of retirement can be comfortably spent in one’s balcony or garden sipping coffee and complaining about the dismal state of affairs in the country but the Khannas were an adventurous duo. It was Asha’s idea to see the sunset at the beach today. They had visited this spot - their spot - hundreds of times in the past. The memories still echoed through time and the charm in either pair of eyes still shone bright.

Rajeev’s faithful umbrella provided him support as they climbed a little towards the top of the rock - just enough to avoid the waves drenching them. The sea’s calming face inspired a sense of peace as if someone had pressed the mute button on the traffic noise behind. The waves lashed against the rock face, sometimes pleasant and on other times, ferocious as if they mimicked the travails of life interspersed with joy and sorrow in varying measures.

Asha and Rajeev hadn’t any complaints about life. They had both retired from their jobs having saved up a small fortune for themselves. They were healthy despite some ailments that befriend old age. Their son lived and worked in another city. While they had a lot of friends and family around, they spent most days in each other’s company. They were each other’s magic - all very usual; all very middle class - not in the least the stuff of stories.

Responsibility

As usual, Asha and Rajeev returned home from the office together. Rajeev preferred his old motorbike to a car. It was easier to wade through rush hour traffic on a two wheeler.

“A car is so much safer. We should get one. Monsoons will begin soon too.” Asha quipped into Rajeev’s ear while they waited for the traffic light to turn green.

“This is much more romantic. Hold on tighter.” Rajeev joked side-stepping one more grown-up conversation. He revved the engine and they zoomed home.

Even though exhausted after a full day of work, Asha usually made tea for the both of them - a usual time to learn about each other's day.

“We are having a baby.” Asha let out; no preface, no easing in.

“WHAT!” Rajeev almost spat a mouthful of tea. He was flabbergasted. He couldn’t tell if it was happiness exactly. While he battled with his emotions trying to form a better response, Asha’s face had already turned redder than before.

“I knew it!” She said. “I knew you were not ready yet. Relax, bozo. We are not having a baby. I wanted to start this conversation with you.” 

Rajeev’s face was more quizzical than before. Asha suddenly seemed mature to him. He still lived like they were dating or had extended their honeymoon. He felt responsible towards her but hadn’t given “family” a big enough thought.

“Rajeev, we should have our baby. It’s the right next step in our combined lives.” Asha came closer to him and held his hand.

He felt slightly cornered but Asha wasn’t wrong. “Ok, let’s think about it.” Finally Rajeev used words instead of facial expressions.

“Sure. Let’s.”

“What, now?”

“Of course.” Asha said, slightly losing her patience. “Let’s discuss it. A baby brings a lot of responsibility and it’s right to talk about it.”

“Exactly, why go through so much trouble while enjoying the prime of life?” Rajeev rebutted.

“Because this can’t be done when we are past our primes.” Asha reasoned.

“Then why do it at all?” Rajeev said it. He felt lighter and tense at the same time.

To Rajeev’s surprise, Asha wasn’t indignant. “Baby, a small child is the most precious gift from God - our one true creation - a part of you, a part of me. A mini human to cherish and rejoice with, see them grow, guide them as they bloom into young adults.”

“I understand what you say. But look around us! Aren’t we already seven billion plus? Isn’t this world already shouldering enough human beings? Why do we want to subject a gentle soul to this harsh, unforgiving world? Why do we just jump on the bandwagon? Only to fit in? Many couples nowadays are not having children.”

Asha realized that this conversation needed more time. Rajeev needed more time. “While there might be umpteen reasons not to, just one reason is enough for us to take the jump.” Asha closed out the topic for now.

Rajeev realized he had gone too far. “What would you name her?” he smiled.

“Avantika or Abhinav”. Asha smiled back. 

She knew he was only amusing her.

Repose

“Abhi, please eat just a little bit. We have a long journey ahead.” Asha was pleading with her 3 year old son. They were sitting on a blue bench outside an idli shop at a bus stand. The bus was about to start soon for the final leg of their journey.

“Asha, I can’t find the medicine.” Rajeev looked up from his bag aghast. Abhishek had been having a hard time in buses over the entire trip. The winding roads were wreaking havoc on the small child amping up his motion sickness.

“Ah, found it.” Rajeev extricated the medicine triumphantly from a side pocket of his bag. Abhi had a few small morsels of food and was given the medicine against violent protests. Both parents soothed their little baby down as the journey finally started.

An hour into the drive, Abhishek had drifted to sleep and the young couple began talking about their first holiday in three years, life in general and what the future held for them. “We shouldn’t have come for a holiday?” questioned Rajeev. He was distressed by the ordeal his son was going through.

“He is happily napping. We’ll be home soon with memories of our first holiday as a family.” Asha was her practical self. The past few years had seen a flurry of events - working parents with a small child in a city growing faster than a human. 

“Having a child is like the extra curricular activities schools advise apart from regular courses.” Rajeev joked.

“Yes, Mr. Project Manager. It is the biggest project you’ll handle in your entire life.” Asha added. “Don’t look for extra investment. Keep your head down and meet your deadlines.”

“And what about return on investment?” Rajesh looked towards their future together; joking yet slightly thoughtful.

“Love, respect and nostalgia.” Asha replied; comforting herself at the same time.

Recall

“Rajeev, come quickly. Abhi is calling.” Asha called out. It was late evening in India and Abhishek was video-calling his parents from the US. He had been away from home for quite a few years now. Strides in technology were helping overcome the growing physical distances of this little family.

“How are you both doing?” Abhishek, concerned, as always for his parents. He seemed to be sitting in a park.

“Son, never worry about us old folks. Enjoy life and look towards the future.” Rajeev reassured his son with his usual answer. Abhishek knew his dad all too well. He had never shared a shred of pain with his son in all these years. This had given Abhishek a positive outlook towards life, however a protected and polarized one.

“On that thought, let me share something. There is no easy way to do this...” Abhishek sounded slightly tentative.

Asha was quick to address his hesitation. “It’s ok, beta. Go on, tell us.”

A girl entered the frame. “Naamustay.” She grinned and folded her hands together in the best possible Indian greeting she could execute. 

“Papa, mummy. I wanted you to meet Katie.” Abhishek blushed but was comforted by his girlfriend’s sporting nature and self introduction.

Rajeev and Asha were taken aback at the sudden appearance of a fourth person. They looked at each other and both smiled. 

“Nice to e-meet you, Katie.” Rajeev, still smiling, used his son’s lingo. Asha nodded in agreement. 

The knot tightened in Rajeev’s stomach. He knew the long distance relationship with their son was here to stay.

Rendezvous

The doorbell rang announcing the guests at the Khannas’ residence for the evening. The house seemed ready for hosting - most of the lights glowed yellow reflecting off decor and furniture, old as their users yet sturdy and upright. Their house was always ready, always orderly - old folks’ houses always are. 

Rajeev opened the door and exclaimed, “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Rajeev Kumar! It’s great to have you over.” Rajeev entered, visibly amused and enthralled at the chance encounter that had led to this rendezvous. Asha followed him in tow, bigger than before - 7 months pregnant.

“Asha, meet our younger versions, another ‘Asha and Rajeev’.” He was smiling from ear to ear.

It was all very coincidental. Rajeev was looking to sell his old car as his son, Abhishek insisted they switch to a safer, modern car. Among the interested parties was the younger Rajeev - Rajeev Kumar. Both Rajeevs shook on the deal. When they initiated the paperwork, Rajeev Kumar came to know that the car’s title was in Asha Khanna’s name. The pleasant coincidence of namesakes led to a hearty exchange of notes and a dinner invitation.

Asha hugged the younger Asha delightedly as if she was meeting her daughter. While they shared some anecdotes from their past with each other, the topic eventually moved to children. Rajeev talked about his son, Abhishek - living so far away. While he was hopeful for his son’s future, the lament in his tone was somehow conspicuous. As much as he was proud of his son’s station in society, he would have loved it if they could dine together every evening too. Still, Rajeev knew they were not the only lonely parents in the city or the country.

Since the topic was palpable, the younger Rajeev continued the lament. “Few years of courtship. Few years of living the DINK life. Then your life revolves around a small child for a few more years, ensuring their upbringing, their education, prepping them for the big bad world and their futures - giving them wings. Wings so they can fly as they become adults.“

“And then, wait -- near the phone for a call that always seems to end too quickly or for those half-yearly or annual visits during festivals. Most parents undergo the same fate. What do they get in return?”

“Love, respect and nostalgia.” The younger Asha said, transfixed.

The Khannas fondly remembered an old bus ride.

Parallels

Act

It felt like electricity - coursing through her being, tantalizing every inch of her - making her whole yet broken. Nerves working overtime, signals shooting off at thrilling speeds - heightened senses, giving in, yet holding back. With an elevated sense of touch, his fingertips felt every meander on her taut skin - familiar yet new. Rhythm had given way long ago to a frenetic pace. Dizzy and delirious, he held on tight as she feverishly drew small, eager, warm and wet circles on him. He finally lost all control as she gushed a long yesss answering an unasked question.

It felt worth it.

House

Puja’s hands were working in overdrive - decluttering the bedroom before Rajeev got back. His last meeting for the day had been cancelled. I’ll be home soon. - He had called. The bedroom needed to look absolutely in order. Curiously - the rest of the house already was - save the wooden stool near the main door. In this expansive opulence, Puja was enjoying the freedom that Rajeev had bargained for. I earn enough for both of us - he had offered. Her married life had been easy but somewhat dull off late. She had her brand new red lingerie on under her inviting dress. It was a special day.

The door bell rang announcing Rajeev’s arrival. Puja got up, hurriedly scanned the room one last time and made for the door. She straightened the stool near the entrance and answered the door.

Night

“How could you, Rajeev, how could you?!” after all this, after so much time. Puja sobbed. She had found maroon stains on the insides of Rajeev’s shirt - lipstick marks irrefutably.

Rajeev stared blankly into space. Puja looked ravishing in her black dress. She was everything he had ever wished for. Yet, somehow the growing distance between them had pushed him over. However, he had always been very discreet. This had been brewing for over a year. He couldn’t tell how this little detail had evaded his careful manner.

“It’s over, Rajeev! I had thought you’d at least plead.” Puja stormed out of the bedroom she had ordered so frantically a few hours back. Rajeev started after her. Their marriage seemed over.

Yet, all this while, the telling snag in Puja’s red thong from the act earlier that day went unnoticed and unquestioned...

Co-Accidental

Sunday had dawned, sunny and bright. The sleepy neighbourhood welcomed the dashing rays as a brilliant start to the day of trade after the Sabbath. Paolo was already up and about in his slow and measured manner, humming a tune under his breath as he brushed his hair back - black and sleek - the years didn’t show on them! He looked out of his balcony - the Mediterranean shone like a sheet of gold.

Paolo had spent his long life here growing from the grime on the streets to the mezzanines of fame - fame and notoriety. He was a king to many, father to a son, wanted by the police but loved by all.

He had a long list of enemies whom he ticked off a pad as he pleased. No one could have possibly ousted him anyway. Yet he had exercised power and control - managing a firm grip on matters to the day. A recent entrant on that list was a new boy - Hans - a rookie straight out of a bad action movie - jackets and dark glasses. But, Paolo didn’t consider him so. He was covering ground quickly with his fancy tech and gadgets - something Paolo abhorred and never understood - he had his old school methods. Still, a recent and important heist had gone awry - thanks to Hans. This had not gone down well with Paolo’s men.

Paolo never brooded on failures, a trait that had kept him in the game for so long. Sunday mornings meant a walk to the church and the local market. Since this was the second Sunday of the month, it also meant a haircut at Dimitry’s. Dimitry was Paolo’s oldest friend and confidant. He visited him every other Sunday - a habit that had continued for forty long years. In recent times, the salon would be checked for security leaks before each of Paolo’s visits - methods deemed necessary by Paolo’s son for a vulnerable rendezvous spot.

Paolo alighted the stairs from his balcony in slow and measured steps and walked to the church. He had needless, young men escorting him all the way. Per his orders, they maintained a good enough distance. “I am not a dandy and don’t need protecting!” Paolo would roar. His son had made him swore on his long-lost wife to allow it.

The general public was always in respectful awe of him. He had done enough good for almost every family in this small suburb - a quick redressal system like a King’s court. Memories didn’t fade easily here - good or bad. It was usual for Paolo to walk with a smile on his face as people would wave out to him, call his name or tip their hats to him. Especially on his way from church, one or two would sometimes break restraint and approach - mostly looking for a favour. Paolo never sent anyone away empty-handed.

Dimitry had moved up in life but hadn’t let go off his trade. He personally attended to Paolo even today. Like a custom, the salon would be in apt readiness for Paolo’s visit - the shop, which was a favourite spot for daily exchange of latest gossip, cleared of customers, employees and onlookers; the scissors, straight razors cleaned and organized and Dimitry himself in his whitest best!

“You have grown old, Dimitry” Paolo entered his friend’s shop leaving the door ajar. His escorts never wanted the door closed.

“So have you, Paolo.” pat came the reply. The two men laughed in unison.

Dimitry’s quick, practised hands notwithstanding, the visit was always prolonged because of their banter about the latest. Dimitry was a talkative sort who gave Paolo all the gossip he had gathered. It was then up to Paolo’s discretion to process the information. He was a treasured and dependable source.

“Hans seems to be making a quick move,” Dimitry continued, moving from the sides to the crown of the head.

“Bah, he is a young fool.” spattered Paolo. Dimitry didn’t know Paolo to disregard his enemies. Paolo meditated a while. Dimitry remained quiet.

“Anyway, keep a look out. He cleaned out Ludwig last night.” the friend advised and informed. Paolo didn’t know about this. Ludwig was an old timer on the other side of the city.

Dimitry was done with the haircutting and moved to shaving of the outlines on the back and sides. He generally used a razor for this.

“I got a new electronic razor, nifty little thing.” Dimitry offered.

“No new gadgets for me, thank you.” Paolo rejected.

Dimitry didn’t mind Paolo’s dismissiveness. He stropped the straight razor with gusto on the leather belt hanging near the entrance. Suddenly, he heard a faint, buzzing sound. A bee seemed to have strayed into the shop during the most unwelcome time.

“Ugh, get outta here,” he waved the razor frantically to get the bee. But, it wasn’t a bee. It seemed to be a rather big fly.

“What is it?” asked Paolo.

“Just a bloody fly,” complained Dimitry apologetically and moved back to the chair where Paolo was seated.

Paolo bowed while Dimitry shaved the lower back of his head.

“The time has come for me to retire after all.” Dimitry heard a hint of sorrow in Paolo’s voice.

“You have lived a blessed life, my friend, a full life. You can pass the baton on now.” Dimitry had moved to shaving the side behind the right ear.

And then -- it happened all too quickly.

Out of nowhere, the fly or bee shot straight for Paolo’s face and he reacted to get it away, forcefully moving his head back and his left hand out. Dimitry was right behind him with the newly sharpened razor ready in his hand and metal made sudden contact with skin. The force cut the delicate skin on Paolo’s neck probably severing an artery. Bright red blood gushed out as if a garden hose were cut loose and splattered on Dimitry’s splashy whites. Dimitry screeched, not knowing what had happened. The needless men ran in hearing the commotion. Paolo’s body rocked in the chair spewing blood all over the floor and then fell silent.

The plan had worked. Paolo lay disheveled in the chair in his friend’s shop. The drone retreated quickly from the bloody site.

Trapped

Jarring Orange

Amidst shrieks and wailings, Raghav opened his eyes to look up at weird plasticy tentacles. He couldn't understand what it was because he was all of 4 months old. This intervention was supposedly a device by his worried mother to pacify him. It was a dingy room with orange walls which peeled at multiple places. Accentuated by the dim bulb, the orange jarred young Anita’s head. Odds and ends lined open shelves engraved in the walls. “Why doesn’t he stop crying!” she spat.

It really was a mistake.

Melancholic Blue

Tut-tut-tut. Raghav knocked at his son's door.

A dull yet sturdy thud had interrupted his early morning musings. There was no answer. The blue walls of the swanky drawing room somewhat resonated with his mood. It had been awhile since his son had spoken to him in more than two syllables. While he had given up on any reprieve, he knew he was failing in his responsibilities as a father. He knew nothing about his 25 year old son's friends, work or habits. When had they steered so apart? The mad rush to earn money had managed to do what he had feared all along.

Raghav hadn’t yet opened the door.

Shades of Grey

Anny held Raghav tightly while their bodies throbbed in embrace. She hadn't been touched so ever in her life before. The pain was blinding but blissful; the euphoria only punctuated by the greyness of the ceiling she saw above her. They trailed to the edge of climax; almost animalistic in the throes of passion. "We should have used protection," said she, panting between heavy breaths. Raghav wasn't worried. She was not his first in this bed. He hated condoms.

Shroud

Loud music filled the unkempt room. Dirt on the floor reverberated in rhythm. Tiny specks of cocaine, as white as the walls around, slid from a packet on to the table. It had been a few years since his last time during college. According to his friend, this lot was the most potent he had ever tried. Raghav was eager and shivering from the lack of layers in the cold room. He made 4 streaks with a practiced hand and cleaned off every last grain on the glass top. It hit his head like electric. It felt different. Numbness empowered him and he fell to his death unceremoniously.

Tut-tut-tut. Raghav knocked at his son’s door...

Hereafter, Forever…

The radiant sun, the grass green,

The flirtatious breeze under the infinite blue,

The chirpy birds, the lake’s sheen,

The evening sky with its rosy hue,

The somber twilight, the wet rain,

The cold night breeze, the white moon,

The countless stars, the aging pain,

The empty terrace, the expectant room…

They wait with me, hold my hand,

Caressing it, try to explain.

Getting up, I take a stand,

“Bring her back,” I complain.

Amidst the hustle and bustle,

A loud report blows supreme;

The Gray Beast draws into the castle,

Its followers — still in sleep and dream.

The sun’s slanting rays

Peer through the billowing smoke.

Steering me from my daze

Is another whistle’s loud croak!

I turn my gaze away from the sun’s rays—

There I see her — looking expectantly on.

Oh! It’s been so many days—

And towards her, I am magically drawn.

Enveloped in magnificence,

Is she in her lavender gown—

The world, as if in cognizance,

Looks on, mute, yet without a frown!

The fling of the arms, the meeting of the eyes,

The unsaid words on either lip—

The gentle showers from the skies

Complete a candid, perfect clip!

Hand in hand, we walk together

Into the velvety sunlight —

In our hearts will remain forever

This consuming delight…

This poem is a sequel to a much older piece: "Separation or Union?". 
Follow this link to read it: http://theindigeniusden.blogspot.in/2008/07/separation-or-union_15.html

अच्छा, मैं चलता हूँ...

We are but travelers, much like birds who build temporary nests and move on seeking better... While we move from one station to another, we meet new people and build new bonds. But, each time, we leave little marks of ourselves and little fragments that just cling on, never to let go. These fragments serve as reminders of the days that were.

The following poem tries to capture these thoughts…

खाली है कमरा, खाली ये अल्मारी,
खाली है मन मेरा, खाली ये तन्हाई|
भर गया है ये बक्सा, काफ़ी भारी हो गया है...
यादों का ये बोझ, क्या इससे कभी उभरा हूँ मैं?

कुछ छोटी-मोटी चीज़ें यूँ ही बिखरी पड़ी हैं--
इनको साथ ले जाना मुम्किन नहीं|
बहुत सारी यादें ज़हन में छिपी पड़ी हैं--
सबका ज़िक्र हो पाये: ये मुम्किन नहीं|

सपनों की किरकिरी आँखों को सताती है,
सपनों की ये डोर हमें दूर खीचें ले जाती है|
सपनों के इस सफ़र में...
हम मिले थे इस प्लेटफोर्म पर --
साथ पढ़े, लड़ें, जियें, मुस्कुराएँ --
मेरी अगली गाड़ी का announcement हो गया है,
तुम्हारी भी आती ही होगी...

यादों के इस बोझ से क्या कभी उभरुंगा मैं...?

Point-blank

Lt. Raghav was still trembling; reeling with those images in his mind, reliving the moments when he had stared imminent death in its face; the gory details sharpening with each passing second.

Still and red, lay Ajay beside him: the reason why Raghav was still breathing. Even Raghav’s leg needed immediate attention. But, he was too numb to feel the pain yet.

The ambush was quick and sudden, perpetrated by trained men; men who knew what they were doing, even to trained soldiers. Post Kargil, such events had become quite frequent, situations under which Gurkhas have always been known to thrive.

Distant yet strong, Colonel Tiwari’s words filled Raghav’s ears.

“You young boys are too young and foolish. The horrors of war have fettered many brave men; men rendered incapable of a normal life thereafter. Tell me. What, according to you, is the worst that can happen in the battlefield?”

“I can get killed,” Raghav had answered bravely.

“Haah! That’s where you fellows go wrong! Boy, you would be lucky if you die. Seeing the man next to you take a bullet are the images which will haunt you for the rest of your life…” the colonel had said, staring ahead of him, the lines on his forehead deepening.

Five of them had constituted the Wednesday patrol party. Their task was to check for infiltration at the foothills near the camp. Four men had attacked them. Two were gunned down, one escaped while the informer had been captured alive.

They had returned to camp with Ajay propped on Vishal’s shoulders; the informer dragged, tied strongly with a rope. Ajay had lived up to his reputation in this inconsequential battle, fighting bravely and securing his friends.

An eerily stunned silence engulfed the camp; a camp which was generally abuzz with foolhardy chatter by this time of night. Men walked briskly attending to their jobs. Major Singh had sent out a search party to catch the escaped militant. The informer was being questioned to gather intelligence about other militant groups operating in the region.

Subedar Rana walked into the makeshift tent. He had been with them during the unfortunate incident. His left arm was heavily bandaged. “Sir, Major Saab has asked for you. He is in his tent.”

Raghav looked up. Nodding his head, as he tried to get up, he winced with pain in his right leg. He looked down to find the bottom part of his trouser wet and dark.

Though taken aback, Subedar Rana sprang into action. “Sir, aap rukiye. I’ll bring the doc here.”

The shock subsided to be replaced only by pain; pain like Raghav had never felt before. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from howling out loud. He shut his eyes tight and clutched his leg above the wound.

A very short while later, Raghav heard heavy footsteps approaching him and opened his eyes. The doctor was at the door. Raghav’s eyes trailed from him to Ajay. Ajay’s face was absolutely clean and calm—untouched by the violence of the night. He seemed to be resting, even dreaming…

The doctor walked in briskly. He acknowledged Ajay with a sudden ‘Oh’ and turned his gaze to Raghav in a businesslike manner. Losing no time, he cut out the bottom part of the trouser with a pair of scissors and spoke as he examined the bloody wound, “Two holes – Entry and exit wounds. The bullet ripped through. That’s generally good. Still, you have lost quite a lot of blood. I’ll clean and dress it.”

The doctor helped Raghav remove his shoe. Even a slight movement of the foot sent waves of pain radiating through his body. And, each time, he gritted his teeth to overcome it.

After the doctor was done, Raghav’s right ankle and foot were completely covered in bandages to restrict movement of the joint. The wound had gone numb again; this time due to antibiotics. “That should do it for now. We’ll have to take care against infection though.” The doctor advised Raghav.

With this, the doctor took Raghav’s leave. At the door, he spoke softly to Subedar Rana, “Take the body to the medical wing.”

Raghav reached Major Singh’s tent with much difficulty; gathered himself up and saluted his senior at the door. Major Bhairav Singh was seated in the left corner of the slightly bigger tent; his legs on the table in front. Vishal occupied the chair opposite to him. In the farthest corner, on the floor, was the informer, quite curled up. He held both his legs tightly in front of him and buried his head in between his knees. His trouser was soaked in blood, probably a gunshot wound. Raghav could hear soft sobs. It seemed the informer had just finished crying out loud.

“Come in, Raghav, sit. Tough night for you boys…” Raghav didn’t quite understand whether it was a question or a redundant statement of fact.

“Yes sir. We were attacked suddenly. It was totally unprovoked and we were caught unawares. Though, I don’t understand why four men would give their positions away so near the camp.” Raghav answered in detail with no lament about Ajay’s death—the hardened soldier in him speaking.

“Yes, Vishal had similar questions and the bastard in that corner answered them.” Major Singh stated, emotionlessly, lighting a cigarette. Getting up and moving towards the corner, he continued speaking, “The three militants are part of a larger group which is camping somewhere not far from here. They had come here to map our location and gauge our numbers and ammunition. They were on their way here when they suddenly ran into you. Although, their task wasn’t complete, one dumb-witted fuck among them opened fire on your group. But, it’s fine. It has us forewarned and we have this slug to feast on.” He seemed to relish his last words.

Without warning, Major Singh bent down and extinguished his cigarette on the man’s bare forearm. The informer let out an ear piercing cry. Major Singh shouted loudly over the screams, his eyes menacing. “It was hatred that compelled that bastard to shoot first. Similar is the repulsion I feel towards these fuckers!”

The informer removed the ash off his skin and touched the fresh wound gingerly. Raghav realized that he was a middle aged man—a mere commoner from the nearby village. The left side of his face was cut in a gash and his lower lip was torn. It was bleeding slowly but constantly. For a moment, Raghav felt pity for his condition.

Apparently, Raghav’s moment of weakness was palpable.

Major Singh said to Raghav, “He sold Ajay’s life for a meager five thousand rupees. Such cheap death! Is that a price for our heads?!” Raghav felt threatened, not by the information, but by the Major’s demeanour.

Major Singh turned towards the informer again. He cowered in terror and in a reflex, covered his head with both hands, apparently expecting another blow from the Major.

“What else do you know? Which hole are those rats hiding in? Tell me!” Major Singh demanded.

“Sir, I don’t know anything more. Please let me go. I have told you everything. Please let me go. Please…” the informer pleaded, crying.

“Let you go?” Major Singh laughed loudly. “OK, I’ll let you go.” He pulled the pistol out of his holster and aimed it at the man.

“Sir!” Raghav blurted out. He couldn’t control himself!

Major Singh turned again. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Raghav. Raghav looked down at his bandaged foot. “Look up, Lieutenant” Major Singh shouted. “How dare you question my ways?!”

Raghav didn’t utter a word. He merely stared straight slightly to the right of the major’s left ear.

Major Singh spoke with a reduction in pitch and decibel. “Vishal, hold the guy’s left hand and legs.” For a split-second, Raghav expected Vishal’s grasp on him but realized that he was moving towards the corner executing the command.

Major Singh placed his pistol on the table and walked slowly towards the informer. He got hold of the man’s free right arm and twisted it to reveal the cigarette-burn. The wound was still open. The informer had already begun screeching fearing the worst. Inhumanely, Major Singh pushed the index finger of his right hand into the cigarette burn slowly. Dark blood started oozing out from the periphery of the wound. The man yelped louder than ever and his limbs flailed about uncontrollably. Vishal did his best to hang on.

Raghav couldn’t take it any longer. The sight made him sick. He felt he would vomit and backed towards the exit slightly.

Raghav’s shadow from the bulb hanging in the middle of the tent gave his movement away. Major Singh called out to Raghav loudly, “Come back here this instant and look into the man’s eyes.”

Raghav stood still, almost dead in his tracks. The Major stood up and whirled around. “You want to say something, tiger?”

“No sir,” Raghav lied.

“Out with it. Reprimand my behavior. Call this torture inhuman.” Major Singh dared Raghav, speaking fast and loud, his words running into each other.

Raghav said nothing. Major Singh spoke, this time overcome with emotion, “I have given the better part of my life to the army. It is because of these behenchods that we lost so many of our men, our brothers during Kargil. Even enemies are better than these two-faced fuckers. Bloody traitors! Selling the country to Pakistanis… It is I who will have to explain why we lost a man today during a mere patrol.” He ground his teeth while saying the last line.

He looked threateningly at the man who seemed to be passing out from the pain. Major Singh moved towards the table, picked up the pistol and gave it to Raghav. Raghav held the gun unwillingly.

“Take aim, tiger.” Major Singh told Raghav. He seemed to be enjoying it. Vishal had moved back to his original position. Raghav looked at Major Singh unbelievably.

“Vishal killed one. Our Ajay got one. It’s time you popped your cherry.” Major Singh laughed and looked at Vishal as if he were expecting him to join in. Raghav still looked at the Major in sheer bewilderment. Raghav was trembling exactly as he was when they had been ambushed.

“Go on, tiger. It’s a sitting duck. It can’t get easier; your first step into blood and gore, into manhood at the army. Point blank range.”

The unfortunate man in the corner had still not understood the fate he was about to get subjected to. He was merely looking at his wounds, whimpering in pain and pleading with the almighty.

“Sir, he is unarmed. He can’t defend himself. How can I shoot him in this condition?” Raghav found his tongue at last.

“Unarmed! Principles!” Major Singh laughed, his entire body shaking from amusement. “Vishal, give your gun to the beggar.” The Major mocked Raghav.

“Shoot the damn fuck or I’ll have you court-martialed.” The Major shouted loudly.

Raghav was startled to attention. He took aim of the man’s forehead. He wanted to make it as short and as painless as he could for the man. Raghav’s hands shook as he judged his action and contemplated his position. He suddenly remembered his father’s refusal to sign the forms allowing him to join the Indian Army.

The man saw the pistol aimed at him and realized the sealing of his fate. Almost automatically, breaking all restraint, he leapt for Raghav’s foot.

“Sir, please forgive me. Please forgive me.” He pleaded and cried. “I have two small children. I took the money because they were hungry; because I was hungry. Please forgive me. I’ll go away from here and never come back.” Raghav stepped back, a tear rolled down his right cheek. He looked to the right, away from the encroaching gaze of the Major.

The Major came to Raghav’s rescue. “Bloody motherfucker!” He kicked the man back into position.

“No country for old men.” Major Singh cracked another of his piercing jokes and laughed alone.

“Shoot.” He finally ordered; his voice heavy and determined.

The pleading man, somewhat resigned to fate, looked imploringly into Raghav’s eyes. Raghav looked away from those eyes and aimed at the wrinkled forehead; his arms outstretched into position, his fingers ready at the trigger. Please forgive me, he said under his breath and shot with the precision of a trained soldier.

The gun went off with a loud bang startling the dead of night. Raghav’s arms jerked with the recoil but contained it as they had done so many times in front of other cardboard targets. The man’s forehead registered a clean hole with a single streak of dark blood welcoming death to his troubled frame. The back of his head blasted like a ruptured watermelon and splattered and spewed blood all over the canvas behind him. His body slumped lifelessly against the tent. The glassy stare in his vacant eyes froze at Raghav, almost incriminating him.

“What a clean murder, tiger!” exclaimed Major Singh. “My first one was very messy, missed the head and hit the eye, busting open the head like a piñata!” The Major still joked.

Lt. Raghav said a silent prayer, kept the smoking pistol back on the table and stumbled out of the tent without looking up either at Vishal or the Major or down at those still and open eyes.