Towards Redemption

Answers To The Riddle

Siddhartha awoke with a scare.

The red ropes, the belt whips, the lashings, the sounds, the cries, the black ribbon, the fresh cuts, the wounds, the red marks on wrists..and..and..the trauma!

Argh! They are too fresh!

He shook his head, it was an attempt to shake off the dizziness and a part of the abrasion on his mind that had been lurking behind his intentionally carved image of a recluse for years. His hair had crept past his ears, they had not been trimmed since the last few days and he hated how his unclean scalp itched and tingled.

A month ago Siddhartha could never fathom a disaster as this, he was a respected man with a good salary to back, a good looking, smart wife to brag..

Respected man!

Wife to brag?!

My foot!

And now?!

Now he was a wandering vagabond, kicked out of job, sent packing with a termination letter in hand.

Shit!

Shrestha had left before he could break the news of his firing to her, it was his fault though, he lacked the courage.

To be honest, he had always lacked courage. Being a recreant who hid behind outward boldness, exercising his masculine choices on the fairer and comparatively weaker sex, the females, he wrapped his vulnerabilities with a well crafted ego.

However, did he intend to hide the news from her?

No, never.

She was his wife after all! That much entitlement she had.

She had more.

Yes, he was aware, she had more rights that she ever exercised and he allowed her to. She was more than she ever had shown him and he intended to notice. She manifested varied qualities which was in stark contrast to people of her class and surprising for a fake chauvinist as him.

She definitely was more than he gave her credit for.

Might be he too was more than he ever let people believe?

Just..might be?

A wry smile escaped his bruised and dry lips, the wound cut open giving out blood. He squinted in displeasure. Self-loathe was playing havoc and there was hardly a place he could be by himself.

He hated his existence, regretted the way he would act and behave, abominated the very reason behind his birth and mourned at the origin of all those darkness..the day it all started..that day..that very 15th of May when he had stumbled upon the woman who changed his life forever..when, to escape one reality he bumped into another.

Situations can be transformational. On some days one could feel like the ocean, on others you feel like you're drowning in it. Siddhartha had forgotten when he last felt as vast as the ocean but he definitely knew what drowning in it was.

He sat distressed, head bent, face covered with hands. Under his pillow, a quarter of the letter peeked through, the writing still comprehensible in spite of its worn out state.

'I know what happened in your teenage, but hurt people continue to hurt others and there's no grace in passing the pain.

Acceptance is tough, denial is easy.'

Siddhartha exhaled a hot gust of air, it was deep and resonated his inner turmoil.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!