Sifar ... A Journey to Nothingness

Story 5 - Azaab

In Mahishmati

The wind howled all around as he stood there, his head bowed, his beard unkempt, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Resting since times immemorial.

To rightfully slice off the tormentor's head.

But he knew he would not do so. He could not do so. After all, his loyalty was tied to the highest seat in the Kingdom, the royal throne.

And he hated himself, every day a bit more for feeling this impotent. For acting like one. For almost believing to be one.

The King sneered at him, as he loosened his hair and back-brushed it, his fingers, long and lean as they ran through the thick mass. Now salt pepperish with the passage of time.

The sand from the arena whirled around them as the wind picked up; the grains sandy and brittle against the skin.

The King looked at the fallen beast with disdain, a smirk resting on his lips, as his eyes swept all over the arena. His gaze flitted for a tad too long at the lone figure, now huddled at the base of the very pillar to which she had been shackled. Her inscrutable gaze, through her flowing matted hair, scalded him all over though. But he turned away, acting unaffected. He was after all in control.

In feigned ignorance.

...

The howling persisted as she moved around in the dead of the night, gathering broken twigs. The leaves murmured incoherently as she pushed on relentlessly; just how it had been for all these years.

She had been relentless in her faith and belief that her son would arrive at Mahishmati one day. Such had been her love.

Like how she had been relentless in her love for her now departed husband, her soulmate. She existed because he did, in the hundreds and thousands of atoms that comprised the atmosphere all around her; he existed in every one of those one-millionth of seconds in all her thoughts.

She existed because she felt them all around her - breathing, laughing, teasing and ultimately loving her with their being.

...

Katappa stood there in the shadows watching the woman stumble. A thorn maybe, he thought. Another one to add to the millions which had pricked her dust coated and bleeding soles over years.

His vision blurred as happier times spilled over.

There was Baahu now smiling and extending his arms to rest on the bank and the boat so that she could step on them and cross.

There was Baahu now pulling a thorn out of her feet, as she leant forward, a slight tinge of pain on her face.

There was Baahu now, smiling, as he picked his wife up from the ground as he walked up the garden path, to their abode. Her arms wrapping around his neck as they smiled

A sharp crack of lightning blitzed across the sky, as Katappa looked up and then back at the woman, now stacking up the twigs.

He knew what this meant.

But he also knew that he could no longer watch her like this anymore. Everytime he had requested the King for her freedom, he had met with a strict order to kill her instead.

But how could he kill her! Kill the person who had seen him as a Father figure, willing to place her newborn on his lap.

How could he even think of harming the person who was Baahu's life. His love.

A dry leaf scuttled across his face, breaking his trance.

He smiled bitterly. Life was so damn ironic. Didn't he, the great Katappa, kill Baahu and live to see this day? Live to see Baahu's love in chains? Lived to see Baahu's son dead? Live to see Rajmata Sivagami Devi dead?

My fate, he whispered.

She had once again refused his entreaties to run away from Mahishmati, in the middle of the night. Kattapa knew - she would always say no. She would always stand for righteousness, and never besmirch Baahu's name.

Further, her wait was not yet over.

Katappa nodded his head, his old rheumy eyes filling with tears. He silently lamented at Mahishmati's fate.

The woman who should have been their Queen was in fetters; the woman who should have been allowed to lead from the front was humiliated day in and out as she waited, all alone, braving all elements, oblivious to everything.

Would she find redemption? Would she find peace at the end of this road? Would her faith in her belief hold up?

Would this wait ever end? Katappa thought as he sat down on the bale of hay, far removed from her eyes. He did not want her to know that like every other night, he was on guard.

Not that his presence would save her from anything anymore.

The questions played around in his mind faithfully, as it did always, as he prayed.

And prayed. And prayed.

He prayed for the road to end for her, knowing that Baahu was waiting at the other side patiently.

Twenty-five years of torment for the ones that Katappa loved best, transcending realms.

Would this torment ever end? Would this torment never end?

The End

Note : Azaab is an Urdu word, which means agony/ torment [Source: rekhta.org]