* I End * Its getting colder by the second. I am shivering like I never have before. The cold is piercing my soul and making me feel really sick. I dont know for how long I will be stuck in this box. It has already been a day and I am still waiting for someone to take me away from here. Okay, I hear some noise. Someone has unbolted the door. I now hear people walking in. Some of them are crying. I think that thin voice is my little daughter. I am glad I have been released from that cold chamber. It was so dark in here. Now I am being lifted onto a vehicle of some sort. Now I hear my son crying. The siren has been wailing for half an hour. The residents of this city dont seem to give way to ambulances. This isnt good. Though it doesnt matter to me any more, a sick or injured person can really suffer due to these traffic delays. My covers have been removed and I am being given a bath now. The incense smells nice. Rosewood has such a refreshing fragrance. Someone is rubbing sandalwood paste over my face. I wonder if this make-up was really needed, since my show will soon be over. I hear people chanting some prayers. I also hear a loud thud. My wife seems to have fainted. I hear she isnt hurt, thank God for that. I can smell fresh ghee. I think its now time for the final act. I am being lifted onto a high pedestal, most probably a pile of logs. They are loading heavier logs on top of my body. A few hours ago this pressure would have hurt me real bad. But now it doesnt feel anything. More ghee and some spices are being poured all over me. I hear more chants and the sound of something getting smashed. I hear my sons soft cries too. Its hot now, and despite my closed eyes I can feel brightness all around me. The fire is swallowing whatever now remains of me. I wonder when this will all end. I hear some people shouting. It seems that my torso has burned away but my skull has remained intact. They are now trying to smash it into smaller pieces. I am no longer a whole now, but just bits and pieces. I feel ash all around me. I feel someones hands pick my pieces up. I am inside a clay pot now. I hear my son crying again. This seems to be the final journey. A few hours have elapsed and I can hear the sounds of a bustling river. I hear my wife haggle with a priest. The priest has now agreed and I hear some more chanting. I feel my sons hand scooping my pieces and ash out of the vessel. I fall into the river. I flow away. I end. ~ © Abhijit Chakraborty 2014
Posted on: Tue, 02 Dec 2014 14:28:11 +0000
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