I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. Is this a dream? a fantasy? a nightmare? what is this? Whatever this is, I want it to stop now, enough, I want back my life, it was MY LIFE, my damn life…
The winds here are really sharp, and the night, too dark to see, the grass too cold and the silence around me is deafening. Cold, black and soundless - the surrounding is an appalling manifestation of death itself. I look into the darkness and can feel someone, or something looking back at me, but I cannot see it, who is it? what does it want from me? leave me, please, go away, who are you? I am sorry for whatever I have done to you, leave me, please, please, please. Oh God, spare me, I cannot take this anymore, what great test is this, and I know I have failed miserably, so please now end this. Tell me, tell me this is just a test, and now get me back to my earlier life, I beg of you, God, please, get me back to my daughter, my lovely little doll, how she used to play with her father’s fingers, how she held them in her sleep, how I could never withdraw my lips from her soft pink cheeks, and why should I, I am her father, oh my God! where is she now? Tell me she is there somewhere, still playing and smiling, oh yes, she is, there, I can hear her laughter, she is here, yes, yes, my love, I am coming for you, there, just a moment dear, here I am, here I come, but where, where are you, oh this darkness around me, WHO PUT THIS VEIL HERE? AH, WHO PUT THESE BLOODY TREES HERE BLOCKING MY WAY? AND THESE SLOPES, damn it, I WILL KILL YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE, aah, this stone why is it so heavy, oh my leg, my leg, oh no… But my daughter, where is she? where’s her laughter? where did she go?
Hang on, what was that? A bark, a dog’s bark, it sounds angry, and hungry, and wounded, and it sounds so similar - there, I can see it, slowly coming towards me, measured steps, paws towards me, his eyes radiating anger and revenge, but how can I see him, it was so dark a while ago, and is this real? He is really close now, there is blood dripping from his soldiers, I can see the dark hollow on his back. He was my pet dog, Bruno, but how can he hear now? He is dead, yes, he was dead like a slab that night. Is this his ghost? Has he come to kill me, to take his vengeance on me? No, no, NO…
Oh, what am I thinking? Am I going mad? Or am I already a madman walking the earth? Oh, my leg, it hurts, somebody helps me remove the stone. Wait, am I alone here, is there no one else left in this world except me? or has everyone just abandoned me? And this darkness, is it really dark or have I turned blind? is it just punishment, or am I confined to only darkness now? Even I cannot scream or shout out for help, only a hollow whisper fights it way up my dry and cough-full throat.
I give up on my leg, and just lie down, tired, exhausted, and look up, still darkness, and if some wild animal comes and eats me up now, who would care that a lonely and helpless man died tonight? Would anybody even bother? Am I even worthy of their attention? I am such a miserable being, such a misfit in this world.
Suddenly, there is that cold sensation near my waist, a sharp pinch of something. I know what it is, and I take it out - even in this deep and impenetrable blackness she shines so magnificently, oh just look at her, her curves, the sharpness along her edges, she is such a thing of beauty, crafted to perfection, but with time, she got some red stains over her, and amazingly, I can actually see them, yes, weirdly enough, but in my days of loneliness and madness, she never failed to seduce me, and strangely gave me the will and the power to move on, to walk on, to get over everything. Funny, how people do not associate this wonderful knife with beauty. If you ask me, she is something more than beauty, something more than just a knife, she is my life source, my inspiration, my love, my anger, my hatred, she be the Krishna to my Arjun, the sarathi to my chariot, my being me.
But why am I caressing her? Why am I running my fingers over her, like the way I used to run my fingers on the back of my wife’s neck? She is the very reason why my wife is no longer with me today. She has ruined my life, the core of all my problems. Earlier I used to own a farm of chickens, that I used to sell to the sellers who in turn would sell them in the market. Then one day, while undergoing one of the six annual cleanings of the farm, somebody found this knife hidden in some unknown corner of the farm. He gave her to me, and something happened, a strange excitement got hold of me, I started sweating, I could not sit in one place anymore, I grew restless, a sudden swarm of adrenalin ran in my blood, I could feel goosebumps on my hands and legs, my whole body became stiff with a sudden and unknown elation.
Life then was good, really good, for I had a family, a loving and beautiful wife, and acute and frolicking little daughter, and a permanent job. A peaceful and happy life! BUT THAT WAS NEVER WHAT I WANTED. I sought adventure in my life, I wanted thrill and excitement, I craved for some riskiness, some rush of adrenalin. I felt suffocated. And then there was this knife, lying in the drawer of my cabin, that was kind of a wand to me, she had some power of calming me down, she could understand me better than my family. I conversed with her, and astonishingly she said all the right things that I ever wanted to hear. She was so nice, so very loyal to me, so much like me. I never left her alone after that, I tugged her to my left wrist with a rubber band; slowly that part of my body got wounded and infected, but I did not mind, those were the love bites of my newly found love - the best affair ever.
I once used it on one of my hens, just an easy and nice stroke through its neck, and spurred out the flow of blood. I pinched the hen with the knife, and with that blood oozed out of its soft white body, that eventually became red. The hen died after a few moments of struggling with the pain, twisting and turning and moaning. I sat there, silently, admiring the beauty of my love. She was just the one I ever wanted, I thought, as I kissed her red lips.
Funny, is it not? Thinking about her love had made me so feel better that I no longer feel any pain on my leg, she is such a wonderful partner to have, and to hide too!
Well, it is not the first time that I hurt my leg. A few years back I cut my leg with a rusted piece of iron, I needed tetanus. My doctor friend came in the evening with tetanus and after doing his job, as a sign of friendship we hugged, and automatically, like being in the possession of some magic, I tugged on my knife and plunged it straight into my friend’s stomach, he quivered and groaned, tried to leave me, but my knife twisting in my hands went in so smoothly and was so swift in her work that it did not take long for my friend to lose his grip on me. I buried him behind my farm in the wastelands. The police came after a few days but due to my good rapport with them and my being recognized as a nice and respected man in the locality, I was saved, and my friend was claimed to be missing.
He was my childhood friend, we schooled together, and he was always there when I needed him, and this bloody knife, I do not know what dark magic it played, what kind of witchcraft it was that I murdered my own best friend. Oh, God! Can you ever forgive me? Can anyone ever forgive me? I hate this knife, I so hate it. But this is something of a boon to me, for it gave me my much-needed relaxation. Otherwise, I would have gone mad someday? But am I anyway not mad right now? I tried to laugh, but nothing but some heavy breaths came out.
The night I killed my friend, I felt a bit more relaxed than any other day. I knew I had committed an ignominious crime, instead of feeling sad and scared, I was happy and full of thrill. I felt light. I had unknowingly grown a liking and belief for the knife. I felt powerful and unconquerable every time I held it in my fist. I was living in my own simulation.
Soon the area where I lived got itself a bad name. Stray dogs and poor dirty beggars would be often seen lying dead on the streets, with blood pouring out of several holes in their body. Even I started to feel scared and ordered my wife daughter to not stay out of home for late. I started coming back home from work earlier than usual. I was not really turning into a psychopath, I was just enjoying my part in the play. And as a role of my character, I started keeping my beloved under my cushion every night before going to bed. One such night my wife mockingly exclaimed that this old knife of mine would do us no good in case of an attack on us.
I could not sleep that night, I turned and twisted on my bed as from underneath my pillow I could hear my love sobbing at the insult my wife made to her. I got up, took the knife, and one sharp and swift cut on my wife’s neck was all that was needed to show her the might of this old knife.
I came back to my place on the bed, and I kissed my daughter. I loved the way she slept at night, so innocent, so sweet, so calm. I loved kissing those soft and bulging cheeks of hers. I playfully ran my finger over her cute little face, she sleepily pushed it away. I smiled and did it again, and she again pushed my finger away. I was loving this little game of ours. I did it again, and this time she held it in her small soft palm. I kissed her on the forehead. She is my life, my love, my everything, my queen, she is MY daughter, MY blood runs through her veins, she is mine and I am hers. Then slowly her grip on my finger loosened, her breaths became faster and then got lighter and lighter as my knife pressed harder and harder on her stomach, as blood spurted out from her body and she ceased to breathe anymore. I felt tired and dozed off.
I woke up suddenly, feeling cold, the whole bed was wet with blood, and at my feet I could see our pet dog, Bruno, tugging at my feet. I got up and washed. I was about to go out when I heard a soft bark behind me as if Bruno was calling me back, tugging on my trousers. I tried to pacify him, but he just would not listen. Maybe he had sensed that I was going to get into a lot of trouble. Sudden happiness gripped me as I sat down beside him, and patted him on the back. He licked my face and I was just so happy at that moment to see my love for Bruno being reciprocated to me by him. But I needed to go, I needed to run. My knife, my beloved knife was urging me to get out of there as fast as possible and the only option left to me was plunging the knife into Bruno’s open mouth and a harsh and soft bark was all that Bruno could do in protest. It coughed out blood, and the barks were slowly becoming fainter, yet deeper. I could feel the impossible pain he was going through in order to bark, but barking was all that he could do. He tried to run around the room and collapsed right in front of me. Then what he did was true in every sense mesmerizing to me. He pulled himself with immense effort and rested his head on my lap, like a kid coming to his mommy even if his or her mother was the one scolding them, perhaps because they know that their mother’s lap was the safest place for them in the world. I was overwhelmed by the love Bruno showed me. I do not know for how much longer I sat there, stroking his brown puffy back.
I went to the station and boarded a haphazard train, got down at a haphazard station, and from there again I boarded another haphazard train. I have been travelling like this since. I do not even know where I am right now. I just know that I am alive.
I had been travelling on foot too a lot lately. I used to kill people to get money to buy myself food. I visited villages and there too I killed the people who did the mistake of being compassionate towards me and letting me stay at their place for the night. Killing for me had by then become a habit that was next to get rid of. I was walking devoid of any feelings, ambitions or destinations, like a walking dead. At one point of time I craved for adventure, now that I had the scope for it, I could not taste the flavour of a cliffhanger.
And that knife, it was magic, it is still magic, how it changed me from a family man to a mere waif, how it still manages to look as shiny and young as ever. It feels like a rope that had bounded my entire body, my hands and legs, my mind, my every part of the body feel tired, and this rope gets tighter and tighter every time I try to break it open.
Wait, what is it there in the sky? Is it some other magic? Oh please, no more magic, I have grown sick of it. Even if the real world was an illusion and the continuum of the irrational was the truth, I want the fiction of the real back.
I see there in the sky; the stars are slowly revealing themselves to me. I am not blind! This is not a cage! And, oh, see there, do you see her, I see her, there she is, my lovely daughter, smiling down at me from the skies, there I touch her nose, her cheeks, her lips her chin, I kiss on her forehead, I blow my hands over her head. My daughter has come to her daddy. I cannot restrict my tears, it's been ages since I cried. I think of you, always, my love, and trust me, I had not been able to sleep since the day I left you. I thought that I could, but I could never forget you, I love you so very much. My body goes around many places, although my heart stayed still with you, it refused to move with me. You are always in my head and heart. The fact that you came to see your daddy today in his pain and suffering, is enough to make me realize that I am chosen out from the rest.
I take the knife out again, and I look at it. It is not the young and shiny one only here, I am too, my heart is ready for another adventure, an adventure to restore my place in the face of the earth. The scars on my skin tell a haunting tale about me and my past, but so do they remind me about the story of my valiant survival.
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