The Descent of Soul

This world is a strange place. I could not ever understand how it worked. Why were people killed? Why did the innocent suffer? Why did you have to pay for the sins of another man? Why did people live in fear? Why did they talk about hell & heaven being different places than this world?

I was new in the city, fueled by hunger and thirst of ambition. I had left my family behind, and came seeking a brighter future. I loved each bit of the city, every corner, every inch, every speck of dust. The buildings were huge and dynamic, people were full of life, never stopping for a minute, the air around me was magical. It was as if one held their breath for too long and suddenly released the pressure, and oxygen went bustling into the lungs, giving respite of life. That was the feeling I felt as I walked into my office.

They all welcomed me and then went about doing their usual duties. I felt alive in this environment. I instantly forgot my family and how much they had sacrificed to make me what I was & send me where I was. Sometimes the human mind chooses to ignore certain things and takes them for granted. I took my family for granted. I took their sacrifice for granted. I took my happiness for granted.

I loved the way everyone stared at me. It made me feel important. I had never been noticed much & now all this attention was making me feel heady. There were both male & female colleagues. My father had been a little worried about this. He felt something bad could happen to his innocent girl. I wonder how he knew it.

There used to be parties every Saturday. The music… the darkness… the touch… the psychedelic aura… the laughter… the madness… it absorbed me & I drowned in it without much effort. It was as if I had been living in the wrong place the whole time. This was where I belonged. I didn’t mind working late nights. We had company of the big town guys who kept us entertained with their anecdotes. And one of them, was crawling closer to me.

I cannot say his name anymore. He was one of the few males I had talked to in my life. He looked sincere & his eyes told you that you could trust him. And we became friends. He joked with me about falling in love. I played along with his jokes. He helped me with the work I couldn’t do. The boss called us a great team. We ate lunch together. But something in me kept telling me to stay away from him, and so I kept this bond till the office boundaries. He didn't seem to mind.

I don’t remember much from that night. Only the darkness. But the details of the horrendous emotions I felt are etched into my mind by a red hot knife. All others had left. Only he and I remained till late. As I wrapped up, he came to me and said he wanted to show me something from the terrace of the tower. I saw a twinkle in his eyes and presumed that it must be a nice city view. He told me to leave the disturbance of our cellphones there. We locked the office and walked up to the terrace. It was dark. He held my hand and I followed. Few moments later, he showed me the beautiful dazzling city lights. I kept smiling all the while. He pulled out a bottle of wine from his bag & gave it me. I hesitated, for it was late. He told me to take a sip and I’d see a never before view of the city. He knew what he meant, I didn’t.

The first sip was my last as I transcended into drowsiness. He took away the bottle and made me lie down. I could hear unzipping. I suddenly knew what it meant. I tried to move but it felt as if had been tied down with heavy rocks. I wanted to shout but I couldn’t even whisper. I was nearly paralyzed. His hands ran all over my body, in places no one had ever touched. The drugged wine was doing its job well as I was as lifeless as a rag doll. He wanted to kiss me, but my body was beyond response.




A sharp bolt of pain seared through my pelvis as he entered me. My throat was choked but my soul was writhing in uncontrollable agony. He seemed to be in a fit of fury and kept bashing my innards until he had his fill. For a moment his eyes met mine. My tear filled eyes failed to see any guilt in his. The trust had long vanished; it had been replaced by merciless lust.

He propped me against a wall and picked up his bag. He started walking and before leaving, he turned back and smiled. I shall not forget that smile. An unforgivable smile.

It took me hours to catch hold of myself. It was a Sunday and I was locked up there. I tended to my wounds where he had left me sore. Each cell in my entire body was dying a slow death, as the consequences of the incident dawned upon me. I was trembling with a sting… of shame. This city certainly had a different view.

I have seen my best friend going through the same fate in college. I know things are not going to be the same. I’ll be condemned as a victim, even a slut by some. My father might die of a heart attack when he knows about this. Like my mother did long ago. Things will move on as usual.  You’ll find the same smiling faces in the same bustling places every day. You might not even notice my absence after some time. And you’ll find him sitting on the 5^th cubicle on the left on 13^th floor of this building, befriending some guileless girl, with those trustworthy eyes.

If only he had asked me if I loved him, you wouldn’t be reading this.

Though he had been trained to be calculative and emotionless, the forensic expert shuddered the moment he finished reading it. He had cross-examined the blood stains from the paper of the letter with the cold, tattered, lifeless blood soaked female corpse that lay outside the tall office tower. A fall this high ensured that the soul left her disgraced body before it hit the ground.

He cleared his mind of the unnecessary thoughts and scribbled in his frigid handwriting on the inference sheet. Match positive.

The End of Road

The train had slowly stopped at the last station. It was evening, dusk to be precise; when the tired rays of sun turned orange, the blushing sky turned deep pink and lazy the September clouds turned red. This place was serene, near the mountains and had a laidback air to it. The backdrop of the hills made it picture-perfect. It induced the feeling of doing nothing and watching as time passed by. The kind of place everyone dreams of, but never gets to live at.

He got down from the train and looked around for his host. He looked tired but his eyes twinkled. His appearance could have been confusing to some, but the locals were familiar with foreigners coming to their town in search of something. His stubble and spectacles gave away the fact that he was an unkempt geek. He wore the Rudraaksh bracelet around his right wrist. A simple orange kurta and old denims made him look like those fabled travelers who left home to search for the truth. He had travelled thousands of miles through air and then hundreds of miles through land to reach where he was. This was the Abode of Gods, and he was searching for Them.

He checked his cellphone. There was a text message; it said “I’ll be late. Got flat tires. Be there ASAP”. He sighed. He had nothing to do but wait in this unfamiliar land. He felt strangely peaceful as he saw the huge Himalayan range guarding over him. Maybe, They are the Gods. He smiled inwardly as he thought of his peers back home, who had tried everything from vodka to weed, from cocaine to meth to find their centre of peace. How daft they were! They had been looking in the wrong spot all the time.

He traveled light, but carried books all the time. He checked his inexpensive watch, and sat down at the rusty bench to read his copy of The Alchemist. This was the sole reason that had led him to initiate this journey. He felt inspired every time he touched the cover of the book or read Coelho’s life story. When he had first read the book, he couldn’t sleep for many nights. His soul had been literally shaken from ambitious slumbers. He wrapped up his career as junior research associate at 28, gathered what he needed and embarked on a journey to he knew not where.

As he read the text slowly, letting each word absorb, as did rainwater to dry Earth, he felt his attention diverting. He focused on each syllable more, looking at the shape of each single letter. But he felt as if some unseen force was trying to pull his face up. He gave in and looked up and around. The sky had grown darker and clusters of stars were beginning to shine, but that wasn’t the thing that distracted him. The station seemed deserted except a few tea shops and their distant noise. But that didn't distract him either. Then, he saw a woman sitting on the bench on the platform across the tracks. An Indian Bride.

He adjusted his spectacles to see more clearly. He could see the traditional attire of the Hindu bride. He was spellbound at its utter beauty. He couldn’t recall the name of that dress. He had seen something similar back home at the marriage of an Indian colleague. This was way more real. He then noticed her face, and gasped for breath. In his entire existence, he had seen innumerable women, talked to many and slept with some, but none so divinely gorgeous. He could have sworn he saw a glow from her face. Her brows and her eyes seemed to be sculpted with perfection. She was wearing a heavy necklace with intricate design of jewels. Her attire, he thought, was quite extravagant. Her arms had a huge number of bangles, which seemed like gold. He could even see the striking brown colored designs on her hands and upper arms that looked similar to a tattoo, but exuded tradition and not rebellion.

He could not take his eyes off her now. Her skin was too smooth to be real, and as white as clouds in Spring. She wore a nose ring, giving her a rustic appearance. Her chin had a dimple in the middle, and her lips seemed naturally red. She even had a few strands of hair falling over the left side of her face. Her visage did have an expression of melancholy, but that somehow made her even more beautiful. Her hands rested lightly on her knees, and her long fingers were still. The elegant attire she wore accentuated her ample bosom vividly. Her waist was slightly visible, and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Her feet, strangely, were bare.

He was fixated. The mountain air began to grow sweetly cold, but he felt warm and comforted. He held the book, but couldn’t feel it. He was aware of the time, but couldn’t register it. He was breathing, but somehow his existence seemed to be unsure. He stared as if someone held his eyeballs to the scene. She was a hypnotic sight. He felt a huge amount of varied emotions wash over him.

He felt joyous to have found her; joyous beyond any mortal could have ever been.

He was filled with curiosity of a different kind. He could not make out the reason for both of them being there at exactly the same time. But he was sure it happened for a reason.

He felt deep respect. It looked as if she was a Goddess. She was too perfectly chiseled to be real. He wanted to lie down in reverence at her bare feet.

He felt immeasurable attraction. It seemed as if she was the sole reason for his existence; as if the breath he drew came from her.

He felt immense love. It appeared as if he had been searching for this one woman all his life; as if he was born for her.

He felt intense lust. Her appearance had the sensuality of Venus. Her skin made him crave for the carnal pleasure that could only be satiated by her.

He felt insurmountable anger. She was someone’s bride, that someone’s existence enraged him. If someone had her, he could not.

He felt gnawing fear. She seemed as near as his breath, but was as far as a different universe.

He was afraid he might lose her, without realizing he never had her.

And he felt a strange amount of peace. He was beginning to feel his journey had already ended. His pursuit of truth seemed entirely futile now. The truth he sought, sat before him, the most gorgeous and terrifying fusion of emotions.

As he stared at her, without blinking even once, he felt that she knew he was watching. At that very instant, she slowly turned her gaze towards him, as if she read his mind. Their eyes finally met. What he felt was far beyond any expression. His throat went dry, and gasped for breath. He struggled to keep himself from falling over. The entire universe ceased to exist. The mountains and the breeze, the stars and the moon, the station and the bench, the book and the bag, her body and his body… they went into darkness. And all he could see were those dark enchanting eyes that smiled and twinkled.

He woke up with a start. His host had woke him up from his sleep.

“You must have been very tired. You were sleeping with your book and your mouth, open” he chuckled and held out a hand to shake.

He shook hands and tried to make sense out of what had happened just few minutes ago. His mind said it was real and helplessly resisted the thought of it being a dream. His brain suggested calmly that he had fallen asleep and just had a weird dream. He stood up now and took a deep breath. His host had a knowing smile.

“Did you dream of something? Or more precisely, someone?”

He was startled. “Well I’m not sure if it was a dream! It was too real to have been a dream. But how could you know about it?”

“I’m making just guesses here. Do not forget what land you are in, brother. Here we know things before they occur.”

His host smiled again as they walked out of the station towards his Jeep. He stood puzzled at how things were turning out. They both sat in the Jeep. There was a newspaper lying on the dashboard.

“Perhaps you should read it. It might bring you back to reality.”

He opened a random page, not too interested in the news but to get back to his senses. His eye was caught by something familiar. He looked at the image for a long time as his host drove slowly. Every single feature on her face was exactly like the bride he had seen moments ago. It seemed that she was looking right back him through that photo and smiling again, seductively. The date on the newspaper was nearly a week old. He then noticed the page title. Obituaries.

The Night of Love

It looked black. It had always been black. Deep endless black. So black that it felt as if no other color existed. There was a thickness, a strange weight in the black, like a heavy burden being pressed upon something. The depth of black was so intense that, at some moment, one would feel dead. The reality merged with dreams, leaving no corner untouched with black.

It was strange how black and death were synonymous. Black meant the end, where all ceased to exist. Black meant life was left far behind. Black meant there wasn’t going to be another morning again. It was difficult to swallow such blackness with your eyes.

All he could see was such black. He had not seen any color ever, and ironically did not know what black actually looked like. But if you could get into his head and see through his eyes, you’d probably suffocate under the black. He was not sure how the rainbow looked. Nor did he know how red was the rose and how yellow were the tulips. He had no idea about the marvelous Eiffel, Sphinx and Taj. He had never seen the innumerable shimmering stars or the white blotch of the Moon in the night sky. Vast stretches of picturesque landscapes meant nothing to him. He had not seen beautiful women, handsome men, expensive cars and massive mansions. The exorbitant masterpieces of Van Gogh, Cezanne, Da Vinci or Picasso were as good as plain black walls to him. He had not seen Ram, Allah or Christ. He had not seen his parents.

He was not dead, but every bit alive. His body absorbed life every moment. He could smell every season in the air when it arrived. He knew how freshly baked cake smelled like. He could make out the scents of women and colognes of men. His feet knew the feeling of walking on dew strewn grass. His hands knew the touch of a newborn. He could make out the difference between the cold marble floor and the warm bed. He had a silent blank sleep on most nights, but sometimes he had dreams. Dreams full of sounds. His father shouting, his mother sobbing, some neighbor sniggering, the swing he could never ride, repeated sound of metal clanging against metal, and a lot of other noises.

He had felt the sharpness of the knife cut against his flesh and smoothness of molten chocolate sticking lazily to his fingers. He listened to the million sounds, the ones you’d easily miss. He relished the crunch of chips and the slurp of tea. He had not seen any birds but had heard every sound that they could make. The cackle and the caw, the chatter and the chirp, the flap and the flutter, the trill and the tweet…

He liked the smell of his little cottage. It had memories caught in its air. He loved the fragrance of wet Earth right after rain. The same raindrops pattered against the windowpane at nights, saying things only he could understand. The whistling wind bashed against his frame when he stood on his porch. He knew when breeze turned into wind and wind turned into gale. The murmurs of trees told him that something was coming. Even the lull before the storm had a sound only he could hear. The sound of thunder made him happy. There were other sounds that made him happy too, like the rusty gate of his cottage. It meant that he had a visitor.

She visited him every now and then. For him, she was the sound of laughter, the touch of care and the aroma of coffee. They sat on the carpet by the fireplace and relish hot steaming mocha in porcelain mugs. They told each other stories of places they had never visited and people they had never met. They played the symphonies of Mozart and Bach and Beethoven and danced slowly till late in the night. Their bare feet liked the soft furry rug. Sometimes they just held hands and sat in silence. Sometimes he’d just sit there and run his fingers through her hair. That texture reminded him of something sweet. He could do that for hours without saying a word. She would just lie there, silently letting his long fingers touch her hair. She made him feel comfortable. He though if beautiful could be a person, it would be her.

Though he had never known any colors, but she filled those unknown hues in his life. They had been together for quite some time now. Her presence was an essential part of his life. For her, he meant the world. He rebuked like a father, cared like a brother, listened like a friend, respected like a son, loved like a boyfriend and protected like a husband.  They never told what they felt for each other but words were superfluous when actions did the talking.

If anyone would have peeped through the window of the cottage, one would instantly believe they were in love. They seemed so similar. And they were.

After all, even she could see only black.

Fallen Leaves

Winter was about to come in this part of the world. There was a slight chill in the air, the kind that you want to absorb every morning as you step out of the bed. It tingles your skin for few moments as your hand approaches the alarm clock and you swiftly tighten the blanket for the extra five minutes. Those are the happiest five minutes of your day. Winter had a strange ability to instill a delay in time & a delay in movements.

He did not take any extra time to sleep that morning. Something had been bothering him all night, and he couldn't sleep at all. It wasn’t unusual though. There were nights when too many memories wouldn’t let him sleep and there were nights when a certain emptiness couldn’t let him sleep. His profession was deeply connected with good rest. It relaxed his nerves, something that was most crucial to him. They said a sleep deprived brain could not control the body well. And for him his fingers meant his life. He stared at the mirror for a long time. His reflection was piercing into his soul through his eyes. He looked away.

Today he did not feel composed. He took a deep breath, thinking about the consequences of the job that lay ahead of him. For a fleeting moment, he felt himself shudder at the thought of doing it. He recalled some entrepreneurship coach saying that one should be very confident of one's actions when one wakes up, which led to a purposeful day. He almost smirked mentally. Giving lectures was easy. Doing it, was difficult.

He remembered the old days, detailed down to every single moment. He could almost see that demonic dimple on his own face. A familiar old feeling of unrequited Love and sharp shards of betrayal cut through his mental fabric. He shook himself instantly. He wouldn't have imagined back then that he would become what he had. And more than that, he would do what he was going to do. He felt a surge of seething anger jab through his innards. His head throbbed suddenly and he clenched his fists. His body was beginning to show signs of a resolve of steel. This was going to be the full stop to an old tale. He feared the beginning of a new story. He took a long cold bath that soothed his uncertain mind. It is my destiny, and I shall not flinch.

***

She took her time to wake up that morning. It was a Saturday and the Bank where she worked wouldn’t open before eleven. She lazed in her bed. Life had been sweet. Her boyfriend was loving, owned an S-Class Mercedes and had a high cheekbone, one to die for. She remembered the nights they were away and couldn't sleep. And the nights they were together and wouldn't sleep. Her mind slipped in and out of slumber and reverie. She walked to the window and inhaled the misty morning air, stretching her arms wide..

She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her own beauty. She couldn’t help but smile, exposing her little dimple on the right cheek. Her boyfriend loved it the most. Suddenly she was reminded of someone else who wrote a million words of praise for her dimple. That single thought brought a mix of sad and pitiful emotions. She almost smirked mentally. He had been so naïve to give her his collection of poetry on the Valentine’s Day. Words are just mere words, she thought. Love, if it existed, had to be a measurable thing, not an intangible emotion. She felt sorry for him.

The next instant, a strange fear enveloped her. She had stopped smiling now. It felt that she wouldn’t be able to look at her beautiful reflection ever again. She quickly pushed away the silly thought and went to take a long warm bath that added to her sense of satisfaction. A light filled her head that consumed the small dark dot of doubt that lurked in the recesses of her mind. She took her time to get ready for the work, grooming every inch of herself, removing every wrinkle, moving her hands over her marble textured skin. Her life was like a bestselling novel, she thought, and someone must have written it brilliantly

***

The buildings were so high that merely looking at them for a while made you dizzy. The all-weather glass exterior reflected the sunrays to an eye pinching extent. This is why people generally did not stare towards the tall skyscrapers. The Gods of Architecture had made sure that nobody could look them right in the eye. One such glass monster had many uninhabited upper floors.

The Dragunov sat on the dusty windowsill, perched like an eagle. The early December sun glazed over the chrome finish barrel, much like the predator’s shiny feathers. It was silent, waiting, still as a dead clock. The lens of the detachable optical sight shone, like the sharp vision scanning the area for its target, the busy Bank Square. It was high above the ground, much high, and hidden from view. Its prey, somewhere in the crowds below.

The eye on the other side of the lens, blinked.

The dimple and the reflection were going to embrace the end. It reminded him of something poetic. The last few seconds of the prey’s life.

The bullet of revenge seared through her cold heart as she fell down lifeless.