SRIJAN 2002-2003(1st Edition)

♦ CONTOURS OF THE MIND/Barren Scapes
STIE OF MY SOUL
By:
Pritam Nanda,
Second Year,
Mechanical Engineering.
Sitting lonely in the darkness, eyes half closed and head bent down, my sentiments ran down high. Hazy moments, I recalled with
great precisionfaces seen yet unseen, places known yet unknown, clarity undefined. But there was something definite in my mind,
something I tried to recapitulate, something that was coming to me in small spasm. Those glimpse unforgettable yet I was trying to
recall them, I regretted.
Mankind coming to an end. The Armageddon setting in. Why did I become a spectator to the holocaust, I regretted. They don't let
me have my peace of mind. They trouble me day in and day out. Those small babies being weaned of mother's milk even before their
teeth are out. Those pregnant women, distressed at the burden they were carrying at the time of fleeing. Those helpless men,
shouldering the big responsibility of the safety of their families, yet unable to do so, crying at their incapability. Those young children
playing with radioactive dust, occasionally eating them as we did as a child, handling used cartridges and exploring the inner depths
of their knowledge as to how to use them for playing. It wasn't their fault. Children are after all children.
Revolving at a rate, I had earlier not experienced my thoughts calmed at the broken and burned mud houses, their foundation
shattered by the terrible shock waves. The obliterated bodies of men, women and children lying not far away. The skin not recognizable,
whether it was a black or white race.
Not far away, the cattle lying dead, their skeletons revealed, and their flesh in shreds being eaten by vultures eager to satisfy their
hunger. The scorching sun, at its full fury looking down upon the destruction with awe.
A battle tank emerges from somewhere near the sand dunes and fires - the sound falling on dead ears. A remaining check post falls.
This was not the end. It was the beginning. The beginning of a trauma, I knew I was to experience for the next few minutes till I
open my eyes. Still I didn't open them. I wanted to recall them - recall them till I find hell in front of me - recall them till I burn.
The next glimpse I could faintly catch was that of a man, his legs blown off by a landmine, dragging himself on the hot sand with
the help of his hands. Reaching near the dead cattle, he tried to eat away the red sun burnt flesh, occasionally waving his hand at the
vultures whose share he was snatching. As the man and the birds tried to ward off each other, my vision took me to the far end where
I was looking into a dead man's eyes- eyes wide open and burning as the red sun rays fell on them. His chest pierced by bullet, he lay
there still. Besides him lay his wife, a month old child at her bosom. Her face was emotionless. She was dead.
Into the city, the population- a miniscule representation of the people who once lived here and bustled the streets- was stand still.
No signs of life though they were breathing, no anger though their senses were in order, no happiness that they survived- their
faith- and life completely eroded by apocalypse. It was now a life without life, world without relations- a dead world.
The only movement to be seen was.that of an old man in tattered clothes, drinking ale from a bottle and laughing away. Probably,
he had gone mad.
The race had been a cursed for one for no fault of theirs. They were being eliminated for no faults of their own. They had to see
their men, women and children die for personal whims of others. They had to experience brutality for the sins of others. They were
dying for the madness of others.
Death now seemed a boon to them. None of them wanting to live, they stoned their own bleeding foreheads, cursing their fate.
Love thy neighbor, but pull not down thy hedge.