Savior

Quietly waiting
For the storm to settle,
Commiserating
The moments we've spent

And slowly, silently
The memories flood in,
I stay still, far away
The waves come rumbling in

Lying down I stare above,
The heavens shine 'pon me,
I think of you and smile
In spite of all the debris

And slowly, silently,
My eyes begin to cry,
I close my eyes, and touch you,
I start to feel so high

Why can't I forget you, betray you,
As you did to me?
Why I can't face you, hate you,
Why don't I still feel free?

And slowly, silently,
I wait for a savior,
For an angel, a light that
Will rescue me from despair

I know she will show up, wake up,
Just to reach out to me,
I know I will be rescued, forgiven,
For the things I never did,
But before that thank you, for making me
What I wasn't meant to be.

You Wish!

The attic door creaked open. Walking into the dark, it took a while for my eyes to adjust. The small room had a musty smell, which was quite suffocating. In the dim surroundings, I searched for the window and opened it. Sunlight burst into the room and revealed a dusty trunk snuggled in a corner. This was the object for which I had entered the dusty attic.

Shuffling through the various articles in the trunk, I looked desperately for the book. I had borrowed the book about three years back from my friend and had forgotten to return it. In the meantime our house was painted and so everything was messed up, bundled and dumped into the attic. Now, after three years, Sulagna wanted her book back desperately and had finally coaxed me into visiting the garret.

I finally found the book hidden under a wall clock whose hour hand was missing. As I dusted the book, a ring stuck in the mouth of a three-legged earthen frog caught my eye. I picked up the ring, but before I could examine it closely mom yelled from the dining room to inform me that lunch was ready. I put the ring into my pocket, closed the trunk and window and slammed the door behind me as I ran down the stairs.

“That’s strange,” remarked Sulagna, frowning at the peculiar ring. It consisted of a horrible face whose mouth had a greenish stone embedded in it. The eyes had a reddish tinge. “Why?” I asked. “No, actually I had seen a similar ring in some book on Chinese myths,” she replied. I raised my eyebrows questioningly. “It said that if you wore this ring then whatever you wished for would come true.” I looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t know. That’s what the book said,” said Sulagna, shrugging her shoulders. “Okay, let’s try it,” I said and grabbed the ring from her hand and slipped it down my third finger. “No, don’t,” protested Sulagna feebly. “Come on. Don’t worry, nothing will happen. If I wish for the Nimbus 2000 bicycle, will I get it? Don’t be silly.” “Still,” she said in a still weaker voice.

“Surprise!” exclaimed mother as she flung the front door open. I walked in and stopped dead in my tracks. There in front of me stood a brand new Nimbus 2000! “This is your birthday gift, as I had promised to give you after your exams,” said mom planting a kiss on my cheek. She was more excited than I was. I was, in fact, more bewildered than excited. I glanced at the ring fearfully. The green stone twinkled in the fluorescent light.

The history class was on and half the class had been put to sleep by the soothing voice of our teacher and the mind-numbing history of the Mughal Empire. “This is so boring,” sighed Sulagna. “Sure it is. I wish the school gives over now,” I yawned back. Just then a man entered the class and gave our history ma’am a notice and left. Mrs. Ghosh gave a puzzling look at the notice. After a minute of silence, which seemed hours to me, ma’am announced that the school would give over after the period because of some rally. Within the blink of an eyelid, the whole class was sitting up straight ready to take on the remaining Mughal Empire. Sulagna and I fixed our eyes at the ring on my finger. “You shouldn’t have done it,” whispered Sulagna.

“Why did you do it?” she asked furiously. “What?” I replied, trying to look innocent. “Why are you still wearing that ring?” “What happened today was just a mere coincidence. Yesterday it had been announced that today there would be a rally,” I tried to justify, “The ring has nothing to do with it.” She let out a sigh, a sign that she had given up. I took out the ring and stared at the monstrous face. As I marveled at the ring I held, she warned me, “Be careful, lest your wishes come true.” I so wish she wasn’t here, I thought frustrated. After I had finished my examination, I turned around to see that she had left.

I stood still outside the door to my room. I raised my arm and looking at the ring, I said, “I wish the door opens for me.” I stared at the door expecting something to happen. Nothing happened. Letting out a sigh, I opened the door myself and entered the room. I sat on the bed gazing at the ring. The magic has worn out, I thought sadly. I slipped it off and tossed it over into the wastepaper basket.

The phone rang disturbingly. I got up from my study table and ran for the phone. I picked up the receiver to hear Sulagna’s mother’s tensed voice. Sulagna hadn’t returned home yet. I looked at the wall clock to see that it was eight o’clock in the evening. I informed her that she had returned from school with me. Instead of comforting her, this made her more panicky.

Putting the receiver down, I sat down on the bed, worried. I tried to recall the last time I had seen Sulagna. Suddenly, to my horror, I remembered the wish I had made unknowingly when Sulagna was with me. In an instant, the dustbin was upturned and clean and the ring was in my hand. Wishing that it would work, I held my hand at the level of my eye and chanted, “I wish Sulagna is back home.” I said that nine more time as if to strengthen the spell. After waiting for about five tensed minutes, I rang up Sulagna’s mom, ready to hear the good news. But the situation had worsened. She nearly broke down on the telephone. Her father still hadn’t come home and her mom was feeling helpless. So did I.

I collapsed on the floor, my hands covering my face. I felt more sad than guilty. What have I done? I thought desperately, I wish I hadn’t asked for that dreadful thing. I wish she were here. Suddenly, I heard a rustle in my room. Raising my head, I saw the loveliest sight in my whole life – there she was standing at the door in her school dress, just as I had seen her the last time! Sulagna looked questioningly at me. As I slowly stood up, my mouth wide open, she started firing away, “What am I doing here? Is that the time? Why am I still in my school uniform? Why were you sitting on the floor? Are you crying? Will you tell me what is going on?” I smiled weakly at her, relieved and replied softly, “You wish!”

The Storm: Part Six

Previous: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

John turned his cruiser around the next corner and came onto the Wildrow Bridge. The bridge ran over Orin River which was the lifeline of the city. The countryside lay on the other side. Wildrow Bridge was considered as the city limit. No one generally travelled on foot across the bridge. It was a highway made especially for trucks and goods vehicles.

John drove his cruiser to the entrance of the bridge and slowly parked it near the narrow footpath, which was rarely used. He climbed out and started walking towards the low railing. It was cold. He tucked his right hand in his police jacket, a torch in his left. He looked over the railing and shone the torch down at the murky river. A strong current was flowing.

It must be the storm.

As he was about to turn around towards his vehicle, he had a sudden intuition that he should walk the whole length of the bridge. He had no idea, but he felt that he really needed to do it. His intuition had always been trustworthy to him, and he heeded. He started walking along the bridge towards the other end, shining his torch in front of him.

He noticed a figure near the middle of the bridge.

What the hell was someone doing here in the middle of the night in such bad weather?

He shuffled his torch to his right hand and slowly drew out his revolver, readying it with one hand. He had learnt the trick from Uncle George. As he slowly edged nearer he saw that it was a teenage boy, and he was standing on top of the railing getting ready to jump.

What in God’s name!

He quickened his pace, screaming aloud, “Freeze!” He seemed too preoccupied to listen.

“FREEZE!”

The boy slowly bent his knees, ready to jump.

God dammit!

He ran towards the boy and aimed to lunge at his legs, planning to knock him over in such a way that we would topple from the railing onto the highway and not on the other side.

The boy jumped backwards onto the highway instead of jumping forward. But John was already at full sprint and couldn’t possibly stop from colliding with the boy. The boy suddenly turned around, noticing John for the first time, and that too at a charging John, his eyes wide in surprise.

John hit him hard on the chest instead of his legs as he had intended, and he saw the boy fly about a meter or so before collapsing unconscious on the road.

Shit! John regretted that he hadn’t lost his touch.

***

The Story of a Hero

A poem dedicated to my grandfather, who was a freedom fighter for Bangladesh.



It had been long, since someone came along;
But certain was the change, and fate was yet to arrange;
A hero to valiantly fight, the eternal war for the right;
And then he arrived in the darkest hour, a nation finally had another saviour;

But being a hero has its price, a price he paid in sacrifice;
Sacrifices unknown, peace forlorn, hearts torn, but a vision strong;
Who did know how freedom's passion, could overshadow family for nation;
And it was never a compulsion, but a choice for one's own people's salvation;

He fought and battled his way through, with enemies more and allies few;
But never did he tire or rest, until he had given his best;
It was tough, it was rough, but he always felt, it wasn't enough;
He never gave up the fight for the youth, and never did he stop respecting the truth;

And as the moon rose up and the sun went down, the battle was over and victory was won;
He laid his shield still sword in hand, on one knee he kissed his land;
Now he could lay down for a bit, and look up at a calm sky starlit;
He closed his eyes never to rise, his motherland embraced him to a salvific demise.

Picture - By Debopriya Danda

The Storm: Part Five

Previous: Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

The trees began to sway as a light drizzle took over the dark city. People started scurrying off to safety waiting for a cab to show up. Generally the traffic remained heavy all throughout the night. But even the traffic had gone scarce not because it was late but because of the impending cyclone.

Sam pushed through the chilly wind which had gained some speed. He silently debated whether he should go back to his apartment or not. But the park became visible and he instantly rejected the idea of returning.

The park was situated in heart of the suburb surrounded by tall worn-down buildings all around. This was one of the few places in the city where one could see plant life. The area wasn't very big compared to the parks in the main city but it was big enough to get some privacy at any time.

There were benches strewn all over the place. Some hidden under trees, some out in the open, some around the fountain but most lining the unpaved walkway. The thing that Sam found most remarkable about the park was the freshness of the trees. They always looked too green. Sam wondered whether it was the soil or the weather because it was definitely not the pollution.

Sam walked silently into the park and suddenly the yelling of the wind ceased. It was taken over by the spooky rustling of the trees. But it didn't spook Sam anymore. It had become quite common for him now. Sam walked slowly along the walkway nearing the central fountain. He chose a cozy bench beneath a huge tree in front of the small lake, placed his bag by his side and slumped down on the seat.

He rested his head against the backrest and closed his eyes. He loved the deafening silence.

All of a sudden, a loud bang echoed through the park. Sam sat up straight, bewildered. It seemed like a gunshot.

As soon as he stood up, he heard running footsteps in the vicinity. He couldn’t actually locate the exact direction but it seemed to come from his right. Without thinking, he ran towards the footsteps.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a gigantic figure barged into Sam and knocked him over. The man, or so he seemed, lost his balance but regained it as promptly as he had lost it, and before Sam could recover from his daze and take a look at him, the giant had run away into the nearby woods.

Sam lay there on the grass for sometime before he could get up, and when he did, he didn’t know what to do next, whether to chase the escapee or to look for the victim. The man had appeared too big for him handle on his own, so he hurried towards the direction from where the guy had come.

His eyes searched furtively around as he paced across the wooded area. Not a being could be seen or heard.

Finally he came to a clearing among the trees. And there in the middle lay a figure smeared in blood.

Sam hastened towards the body.

It was a girl. And the blood wasn’t hers.

***

Next: Part Six

The Storm: Part Four

Previous: Part One Part Two Part Three

John drove his police cruiser slowly around the block; his eyes transfixed on the road, but his mind floating away in a familiar reverie.

His life hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped for it to. Since school he had been an exceptional student; brilliant in studies, amazing at sports and equally active in extra-curricular. His teachers believed that he might one day even run for the President. He never did.

His dad was a police officer, and he loved his son. “Someday you are going to make your mother and me very proud, son,” his dad used to say, with a grin. His mother had passed away while giving birth to him. He had no siblings. His dad was only family he had, and he was his dad’s only family. He loved his dad, but he knew his dad loved him more. “Two against the world” was his dad’s favorite quote.

His dad was the one who had encouraged him to play rugby. And it had become his second love since. His tackle was well known among his teammates and feared among his opposition players as the “Iron Hammer”. Soon he had become the captain of his school rugby team and even led his team to many a victory, including the State Championship. On passing out from school, he was awarded the Student of the Batch honor.

But things were about to change.

It hadn’t been long after he finished school when his father met with an accident. An armed drunken driver shot his father when he tried to arrest him for drunken driving, unaware about the hidden firearm. He could never forget the night.

The city was being blown away by an oncoming storm when he reached the hospital. All his father’s friends and fellow police officers were waiting in the hall. He had rushed to Uncle George, his father’s childhood friend and partner, “Where is my father? What happened? Please tell me.” Uncle George had given him a sad look, his eyes full of tears. “He wants to speak with you.”

“Please let me see my dad,” he had pleaded the attending nurse. “Ok, but make it fast, he is very unstable,” the nurse had said.

He had kneeled beside his father’s bed, his father looking down at him. His eyes seemed to have lost its life but still full of love for his son. He had smiled weakly and had opened his mouth to say something, but words hadn’t emerged. John had brought his ears closer to his father’s lips to hear his last words.

“Son.”

The monitor screen had gone dead; nurses had started to run around; a monotonous beep had rung across the room; people had escorted John out of the room; Uncle George had driven him home through the raging storm; the rain had battered at the car window through which he had stared blankly outside; Aunt June had hugged him tight on arrival at Uncle George’s house; he had laid silently sleepless on his uncle’s bed the howl of the gale outside echoing through the night.

But nothing registered in his mind. He had lost everything.

***

Next: Part Five