Repercussions

The elderly figure dressed in black ambled to his chair, as the whole room rose to honor him. The quiet resumed, and the man at the head of the hall began, “The jury has decided on a sentence for Rick Jordan. For his repeated and relentlessly cruel crimes of harming children and subjecting them to abuse, the court agrees with the jury that the accused is guilty.”

The people broke into hushed whispers, as Rick glared at the Judge, his eyes revealing nothing, just throwing silent daggers, at the man in black, who went on.

“The jury wished to allow the accused another chance at life, provided that he live in solitude, dying a bit everyday in a prison cell. The court does not deem that as punishment fit for a man who has committed such devious crimes, and has performed such inhumane acts. The court has decided to invoke the death penalty.”

The whispers returned, but only in the distance. Rick stood there, motionless, his eyes glassy; the lights of the chamber dimmed, and it was as though he was the only one present in the room. Like he was alone, just like that day; there was no one to comfort him, to wipe his tears, to feel his pain, to make him feel alright, again. Nobody to stop the blood, or to clean the gore, to lift him up, and to say that life would be fine again- nobody.

The gloom of that day returned, but the pain didn’t. He was satisfied, with himself, with life; it was as though he had obtained the revenge he had started out for; as though he was at the top of the world.

The darkness peeled as Rick walked down the lane. Whistling into the dark night, he walked into the drive of the last house. This was where the warden lived, the man who took care of him, and of the whole orphanage, where he had been for as long as he remembered. This was home for him, and the other children and the warden were all he had for family.

Getting to have dinner with the warden meant he was special, and it really did seem special, especially as the warden had called him alone, and that too for the first time in the 8 years he had been here. He would now look down at his friends, and with that thought, he raised his head higher, and his step took a new lift.

He slowly opened the gate, and walked towards the welcoming white door. A delicious aroma wafted from the open window, and he could see the warden walking around the kitchen busily. The haughtiness still in his stride, he knocked on the door, and waited for it to open. Seeing Rick, the warden’s smile widened, and he ushered the small boy inside, into the waiting chair, warm and cozy in the cool weather outside.

“Hello Sir, thank you for inviting me over.”

“It’s my pleasure Rick, which you shall realize as the evening proceeds. Can I tempt you to a cookie as the steak cooks? I’m a late eater, so I cook late, hope you won’t mind that?”

“I would love that Mr. Warden.”

“How do you like your steak, Rick?”

“I haven’t tasted it ever, so I don’t know. Maybe I could tell you after I have it.”

“Well, the trustees of The Home don’t provide that much for me to cook you all steak every day. Well, that’s why I call some of you over for a meal, some special ones.”

“Thank you Mr. Warden.”

“Oh wait, I forgot to get you that cookie. And how would you like some orange juice to go with it?”

“That would be just so awesome Mr. Warden.”

“I’ll just be back with the cookie and your juice, my child. I’ll also check up on the steak.”

As the warden walked back into the kitchen, his eyes twinkling with an emotion Rick did not know yet, a weird smell rose and tickled him in the nose. Following it with his senses, Rick got up from the confines of the soft chair and trudged towards the closed door, his eyes taking in everything between the chair and the door. Hearing the warden come back, he ran back to the chair, and sat down, impatient for him to leave him alone again.

Munching the cookie, Rick looked around and waited for the warden to leave him again, so that he could get back to exploring the closed door. As he bit more into the biscuit, he felt a strange heaviness in his eyelids and a new lightness in his body. He wished to just let go, and fall to the ground; to just close his eyes, and wander into the expanses of his dreams. The last thing he remembered seeing was the warden sneering evilly. When his eyes opened, there was just the excruciating pain, and he hoped that it would be the last sensation he felt in his life, he just wanted it to end. His eyes picked the surroundings, and he realized that he was in the closed room. With the realization, the darkness returned, and he lost consciousness. Again.

The sound of the gavel brought him back to the present, chamber as the uniformed men raced forward from all four corners of the chamber and surrounded him. He stood firm, the lines of his face shining in the light; his eyes, unblinking, taking in everything from the surroundings; his jaw set hard lined to resemble a smirk. As his captors reached him, he allowed them to cuff him, and with a mild smile, he began walking, as cool, and cold, as the South Pole. Marching to the awaiting van, he raised a hand to the throng, which broke away with shrieks and swears, and some of them shivered, and a chill went down their spine. The car drove away, as the people walked off, still discussing the cruelty and barbarity of the sentenced man.

The sharp steps reverberated through the corridor, and the light of the torch pierced a beam through the darkness. Bars clanged, and within moments, the shadows returned to haunt the long room, but the silence did not.

“The night is dark, and full of terrors; we do mistakes, but we make errors,” he murmured to himself, again and again, pronouncing every syllable with increasing energy.

Shouts rose from the neighboring cells, overflowing with anger and abuses, as he let the quiet refurbish the place. There was no way out from here; there was nowhere to go, no place to hide; there was no quiet, no peace; only disturbances, of life, of nature. He was stuck.

The Many Ways Of Life

The creak was followed by 2 hysterical shrieks and a thundering of footsteps on the floor as the brother sister duo ran towards the door.

“Grandpa who did you vote for? Tell us fast, please. We want to count votes and declare the winner of elections, fast..!”

“Hahah kids, let me sit down at least. Shumona get me a glass of water, and Vijay get my spectacles. Then I’ll tell you both a story. A true story about a boy of your age.

As the two kids ran off in opposite directions, the old man sighed and wiped his face with his sleeves. Closing his eyes, he smiled and waited for the two mini storms to return.

Settling onto his bed, he made the kids lay down beside him, and keeping one hand on each, he began his tale.

“Children, this is a true story. Today, you all can do what you want, and that is the freedom the nation, the world has given you. This story is about a boy, and how he had to make choices, he had to take the tough decisions, and not only him, but also the people around him, the country, and the world. His childhood was filled with sacrifices, and yet, he became old. From your age, he grew to mine.

“Do you know about how Pakistan was formed?”

“Yes, teacher had told something. We got freedom from Britishers, and then Pakistan got made.”

“That is not completely true, but yes. This story is based in that time, when food was scarce, and there were no buildings or electricity and even all this didn’t exist.”

“We’ll understand that later grandpa, you just begin the story.”

“So, one day…”

The three sat together pondering over the news that had just come in over radio. There was going to be a new country, for Muslims, for their religion.

“This is good in a way, and bad in another. What shall we do now,” asked Salman off his family.

“Do we have a choice? They are making a special nation for us, so can we deny them,” asked Fiza.

“Yes we can. They haven’t forced anyone to leave, have they?”

“But it is a nation for us isn’t it? Then why shouldn’t we go?”

“The trip will use all our savings Fiza.”

“Trip? Where are we going abba? Let’s go right now. Please,” spoke Javed for the first time in the conversation.

“Javed sit down. Don’t talk in between. Haven’t I taught you that before,” said Fiza stealing a stern look at their son, a boy of 5, who just looked away with a tearful look on his face.

As Salman began speaking, there was a knock on the door, and their neighbor, Champaklal Shah walked in.

“Salman miya, when do you plan on leaving? You should go as soon as possible. I just received word from my sister in Amritsar that the crowd near the soon to be border is increasing. We are one of the last to know of the separation. It was announced there more than a week ago. There are also reports of some violence. Do not risk your lives, please.”

“Champaklal bhai what are you saying? Is it a necessity for us to leave? Why can’t we stay on here?”

“No Salman, we can’t stay here. What is our future in this nation? We have our own homeland now. So we shall go and stay there. I am going with Javed; you can choose to come with me or to stay here.”

“Bhabhiji, you are right. Salman miya, this place isn’t going to be safe. I could hide you and your family till it all cools down, but what after that?”

“Then we shall all leave at first light tomorrow,” Salman said grimly with a nod.

“I shall tell Raksha to make you a filling lunch for your travels, and we shall come and drop you to the station as well.”

“Thank you Champakbhai.”

The next morning, the train clanged into the station, as the waiting crowd swelled as one. People clambered onto the train, and those who couldn’t, grabbed onto the doors and windows and even got on the top.

“Go home Champaklal bhai. If you come any further, you won’t be able to return. We’ll manage from here. Javed hold my hand tight. Let’s go Fiza.”

“Happy journey Salman miya. I will miss you here.”

As the three searched for a place to hold onto, the train began moving, well ahead of schedule. The remaining crowd on the station rose and began running haplessly for a single hand hold in order to get to their destination.

The Pathans somehow got onto the train, hanging precariously on the lowest step of one of the compartments.

As the train picked up speed, Salman said, “Good that we managed to get a place.”

“We should have come earlier. Then we would have gotten a place to sit too. What of our land?”

“Champak bhai will take care of it till we can return to sell it. If not, it shall be inherited by Javed, who can come and sell it or even live on it later in life.”

“He will not live on that land, he shall…”

The rest of her words were drowned in a scream as Javed’s hand slipped from the handle of the door, and he fell, a veil of darkness overpowering him, as he screamed for his abba and ammi.

The curtain of darkness slowly lifted to reveal the two people staring down intently at him. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get to his feet, which felt as though they were made of lead. As his vision cleared, he saw the faces of his neighbors, Champak bhai and his wife.

“Javed, just sleep for some more time. The fall from the train has hurt you and you need time to heal,” said Raksha.

“Where are ammi and abba,” Javed asked her.

She just bent her head and turned towards her husband who said, “They tried coming after you, but there was an angry crowd at the station…there was a riot too…they couldn’t make it.”

“But how…kaka,” the boy whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes.

“I would have waited to tell you this. At least till you were fully fit and healed. But since you ask I must not delay. There was a clash between Hindus and Muslims at the station. The sounds you shall hear during the day will be the same. People are barging into houses just to see if anyone is hiding any Muslims.”

“Then what about me?”

“Do you want to live my child?”

“Yes…but…”

“Then there is just one way…”

The old man paused and began getting up.

“Grandpa, what happened? Where are you going?”

“Kids, let me have some water.”

“No! Tell us what the way was!”

“Take a guess. The one who does it correctly will get a chocolate from me,” the old man said with a twinkle in his eye, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket.

“We don’t know,” the two kids screamed loudly, urging the old man to begin again.

“Then I’ll have the chocolate alone. Is that fine?”

Shumona looked at Vijay, and in unison, they began batting their eyebrows, their expression changing from impatience to that of unbearable cuteness.

“You seriously think I’ll do anything without you two?”

With a smile, the two jumped onto their grandfather, who smiled and sat down again on the bed.

“So…”

“What way kaka? What would I have to do?”

“Don’t call me kaka from now on.”

“Then? I don’t get…” Javed wondered aloud as a wave of understanding swept through him.

“I don’t have a choice, but I wish to live. I must wipe all this away; I must wipe away my tears; I must wipe away my past; I must wipe away all that happiness; I must wipe away my sorrow. Okay dad? And mom,” he went on, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

The husband and wife looked at each other, and smiled weakly.

“That can’t happen! Why didn’t he just run away Grandpa,” asked Vijay in his sweet voice.

“You have no brains only, idiot,” Shumona taunted her older brother.

“You both will never stop fighting, will you,” asked their grandfather, laughing slowly. “Wish I’d have had someone with me.”

“You didn’t have any brothers or sisters, Grandpa?”

“No Vijay, I was a lone child. So, what did you understand from the story?”

“What? We had to understand something as well,” Vijay asked cheekily, looking at his younger sister and waiting for her to speak.

“You’re older, brother. At least try to use your brains. Oh sorry, God didn’t give you any.”

“Shumona, you shouldn’t say such things. Vijay is older to you, you must respect him,” intervened their grandfather.

“Touch my feet, kid,” Vijay said, keeping them in his sister’s lap and mocking her.

Before she could answer, her grandfather said, “She is your sister Vijay. She doesn’t have to be at your feet, but in your arms, with you. You have to support her forever. And Shumona, as you said, God maybe didn’t give him brains, but he gave him you.”

There was a moment’s silence as the children sat, wondering what their granddaddy meant, and then Vijay went beside his sister, and held her hand.

“Idiot only you are Vijay. He didn’t mean it literally, mad,” Shumona retorted with a smile, feigning mockery. “And dada, what was the moral of the story? Even I didn’t get that part.”

“Every story ends a good way. And if it is bad, then it surely isn’t the end,” Vijay said as his sister’s eyes widened.

“No. I must tell your mother to reduce your television time. And, I wanted to say to you two that there are some times in life when you have to make tough decisions. You do not have a chance at that time, but you must make them, for yourself; or for others. If Javed wouldn’t have made that decision, he would have lost his life, and so would his neighbors.

“People didn’t have the choices at that time to decide what they want, but they just had to do what everyone was doing. But today, I chose who I wanted to lead our nation, to lead us. Times have changed children, and they always change. We must just adapt to them, and must adjust our lives so as to live through them. Always.”

“So who did you vote for finally,” asked Vijay, his initial question coming back to him.

“There are some rules, and one of them is that you must never tell anyone who you vote for. Not before, nor after.”

“Ignore him dada, he is mad only,” Shumona interjected, coming out of the trance she had gone into after hearing her grandfather speak.

“Now go on. I need some rest, and you’ll have to do your homework too. And send your father in too.”

“I’m here dad. Go on children, your mother is waiting for you in the kitchen with your favorite snacks.”

As the children went out of the room, he went on, “Javed’s name was changed to Jatin wasn’t it?”

His father looked up, and with a smile asked, “You are still as cheeky as you were in your childhood Rajesh.”

“I heard the whole story dad.”

“I know you did. I’m your father, I know every time you breathe son. And, how did you guess that?”

“My grandfather had told me the same story, and it was the same except that it was about a man and his wife who got their son that way. I just linked up your visiting the mosque on every Friday, and asked you.”

“Go on to work son, I need to rest,” the old man said, slowly wiping his eyes and lying down on the bed.

Time Loop

The roar echoed across the Estadio do Maracana and resonated across the whole of Rio. It was pandemonium as the players walked onto the field and took their positions. It was a very big moment for the nation, and adrenaline and excitement levels were at their peak.

Holding up my pass for the final, I crossed the street and slowly went to my place. There was the whistle, and the game was on. The crowd cheered and jeered, and hooted and booed as the game progressed; the reactions getting more and more pronounced as the clock ticked on.

“Hey kid, you enjoying the game,” the man next to me asked, as I turned towards him.

“Kid? What do you mean old man? I’m thir…”

“Teen,” he completed.

I looked at my hands, and noticed that the scars from training and my tattoos were missing.

“What the…” I swore as a whistle sounded and one of the Selecao fell to the ground clutching his ankle.

The players formed a huddle as one of them walked in slowly, looking a bit disoriented and shaken. His eyes bore into mine, and I saw a twinkle of recognition.

“You lost somewhere kid? Look there,” my neighbor called out to me as he shook me from the shoulders.

I screamed as I lost my footing and fell to the floor.

“Hey Ped, you okay idiota?”

“Ow,” I said rubbing my head on the floor beside my bed as Neymar looked at me with a curious look in his eyes.

“Just a bad dream tonto el culo,” I continued.

We both rushed to our feet as the coach stuck his head in through the door.

“Team meeting in 15,” he said and vanished.

The dream got lost in memory as the game plans fit themselves hastily in my mind.

“This is it boys. The moment we have all been waiting for. We can and we will do this. Todo lo mejor, mis hijos,” said our coach as we walked out of the dressing room and onto the field.

I was exhilarated as the whistle sounded. It wasn’t a dream after all.

The crowd was going berserk as the clock ticked on, and the ball jumped from one end to the other. All off a sudden, the whistle sounded as Thiago Silva went down clutching his ankle. We ran to form a huddle around, and to catch our breaths.

The dream came back to me and I noticed the similarities in the moment. I looked around, and there was absolute silence. The shouts vanished, and it felt as though I was alone. Not alone, there was someone with me- a boy in the stands. I turned, and looked, my eyes staring right into his, absorbing his entire stature. A wave of recognition passed through me as Neymar threw the ball at me, and I lost my footing in the wet grass. In the background, I noticed someone else dressed in yellow as well- white haired and smiling.

“Pedro, you alright darling? It’s time to get ready. We need leave for the final,” my wife said as I looked around, disoriented.

I ran a hand through my white locks as I pulled on a yellow Selecao jersey.

PS: This is not what I had entirely in mind. It’s a first trial at something like this, so please put in your comments at the bottom so I can do better at such stuff.

PPS: Personally, I didn’t like it as much as some of my older posts.