The
Man Who Lived the Hundredth Cut by Tahir Mehmood(JR116TM01)
The girl was twittering, the old man was brooding, the
night was spreading, life was nowgiving way to the engulfing slumber, and the
dark was thickening. So far, there were no signs of the train that were to take
them to the remote town of their destination.
…………………
They had just begun a river-side night errand. It
had become their routine for the last few years since they had met. She used to
work at a local radio station when he had first met her on a cold December
night. He was charmed by her spontaneity and vivacity, and she by his sombre
manners. She was never to forget the night of December 16, once they met on an
isolated and almost empty platform of the otherwise busy city railway station. It
was a quiet night and she triggered the conversation as most of the time later she
had to do it. He was a quiet companion and hardly spoke. However, his calm
manners did exude anunusual deadly peace that strangely she had fallen in love
with in coming years. To begin the conversation, she just pointed towards the
big watch at the platform that was showing both date and time but somehow the
date was not properly visible from her position. He replied, it was December16,
and she could not ignore the sheer pain in his low voice, once he uttered,
December16. His face darkened too for a while, and then he appeared normal. The
conversation transitioned from cursoriness to curiosity, and gradually turned
soul-absorbing. She became a pupil, and he the lost Master. That one night led
to many nights full of conversation.
…………………………….
“So when will we find justice and peace?”
“Look, nomads travel from mountains to valleys, from
oceans to deserts, and from known to unknown.In this motion lies the life. The
rivers mostly flow from high mountains, and this flow is the power that gives
life to many species but yet tramples, too.”
“The one who gets what he wishes, never questions
the injustice.A deprived soul shall always seek easy compensation through
justice; usually the goal is pursuit of self-desire. Nature is manifested
through the expressions of power, and power is rarely seen bent towards a just-order.”
“Should this mean abandoning the effort?”
“In effort lies the essence. If power cannot be
contained, it can be constrained.”
“There is a need to transform the desires: both individual
and collective. In old times, priests and preachers taught to master‘abstinence’.
In present times, the abundance can somewhat reduce the deprivation.”
“Dominance and greed?”
“For that, the man shall have to wait for the change
in its genes and codes.”
“The animals survive; the man is busy in continuous
struggle to preserve.”
“The flow can be channelized, power can be regulated,
wild can be tamed, diffusion reduces the intensity. Despite all, you will need
the hot sun of power to harvest your food and fruit. The Nature adores power.”
“And, the life goes on?”
“Where is my freedom?”
“My question, too.”
The approaching train blew the whistle, and they
hurried to embark on the new journey.
…………………………………………………..
It wasn’t long before she fell in love with him.
………………………………………………
“Must not stay separated for long?”
“When love is explained in terms of gender impulses
and instincts, its longevity is in question.”
“I need…?”
“I do not like…?”
“That is enough….”
“We know our desiresonly. Self-love is a good reason
to live but it is gullible, too. It ignores our narrow streams, and works on
self-fulfilment.”
“Where do I go?”
“My way.”
………………………………
“We are the soul mates; we do not seek union.” They
met again and again!
………………………………………….
It was yet another December 16 night. The man had
gone out and had not returned so far. Time and curiosity led her to read his
unfinished piece of writing. This was a letter to one of his old comrades. The
man’s words were full of pain and sorrow: “Dear one, you know, I can never
forget the pain and the loss. I had gone to the East Wing with a hope and
pride. I wanted to heal the wounds and to nourish the old bonds. I knew the
time was less and work was more. The East and West were one, but now too much
self-love was causing complaints and quarrels. The enemy was adding salt in a
way that palate and palatial hid the poison.There was so much fog that the path
carved years ago dwindled in tears and cries. I can never forget the mutilated
bodies of men and women who had gone from the West Wing to serve the East Wing.
Their body-parts cut, burnt and thrown on the streets where they used to live
joyfully, is an unbearable burden on my soul. I still remember the small infant
of a fellow West Wing poet whose dead body cut into pieces was placed on a heap
of dead bodies of the father, mother, brothers and sisters. The natives
suffered too, but why and for whom? I wish to go back to tell them that love
could still be revived.
“A well-intended disagreement should never be pushed
to the valleys of bitterness. In disorder and discord lie the seeds of anarchy
and conflict. We must never forget that one of the attributes of conflict is
destruction.”
………………………………………………………………..
On that December night, the conversation mostly
remained one-sided. The man kept out pouring his heart filled with love and
pain. The white snowflakes thickened as the words turned intense and black.
There was a painful melody of love and remorse, separation and desire for reunion.
The ambers were getting dim and cold, but the two hearts were warmed by the
magic of love. The night grew dark but dawn was not out of sight. In those
magical moments, she fell asleep. She slept unusually long on that long December
night.
…………………………………………………..
In that nostalgic beautiful morning, she opened her eyes,
and found two beautiful red roses beside her pillow. Next to her laid a piece
of paper that had a line scribbled on it, which read: We are soul mates; we do
not seek union.
She looked around, but found no trace of the man.
……………………………………………………..
The writer is a traveller and student of human
history. He can be reached at tmabbasi@yahoo.com
and tweetsat#tmabbasi1
