The Protectors of Kalki. Somewhere in Himalayan foothills, about 500BCE. The young man woke up with a start. His long hair wet with sweat, his forehead burning, the remains of a dream just about hanging from the corner of his eyes. At 29, he saw death. Inevitable, uncompromising, unforgiving. The great equalizing death. He got up from the bed; started pacing the room. His soulful eyes were sad. Sleepless. His heart was turmoil. His entire being in agony. He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at his friend, his partner, his love. She slept peacefully, a beatific smile on her lips, her hair framing her face, the contours of her breasts just a hint beneath the silk sheet. He was going to miss her. He walked over to the roof suspended crib and looked at Rahul, his newly born son, a son he barely knew and may not get to know now. He kissed his son on the forehead, bent down and kissed his wife lightly on the lips. He straightened, squared his shoulders, walked out of the room. He kept walking.
Posted on: Sat, 01 Feb 2014 19:44:57 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015