Corporate Social Negligence!

The accidental death of a fanatic

Posted in saffron by clash on February 7, 2006

Rain poured down….. Bare legs drowned in the slush, the carpenter with his thumb drew a red line on the forehead of him and clad him with a saffron cloth piece. It was drenched in the rain and the color had faded. It eased out the cruelties that always hover in saffron… That was the birth of a fanatic.

One dull evening when dark clouds shrouded evil attire for earth, walked in a mother and kid to the concrete bus stop. The walls of the bus stop were not visible with paper posters stuck on them, calling for lots of revolutions and strikes. The mother tore some of those big posters stacked them down in the damp ground and seated herself in that. The kid gazed at the relentless downpour. It seemed like no buses or vehicles passed through that slush anymore. We always travel to void, a void where we loose the sense of reality when we gaze innocuously at the nature.

This part of earth seemed to be totally aloof from the ruckus that gripped everywhere else. Kid gazed and gazed in to the sky, the trees around, listened to the creaking and croaking of insects and those wonderful toads. He devoured all those natural music but never a smile popped on his face. May be the sadness that he withheld made him refrain from loosening up those facial muscles to pop a smile. It’s really difficult to smile at times. He stretched his hands on which the water dripped from the concrete terrace. Water drops landed on his and splattered making his filthy clothes drench. He turned back and gave a blank stare at his mother. She seemed to be asleep long back, pulling the end of her sari and covering her head. He stretched his hand out and counted the drops of water that fell on his hand. Time and thoughts in him flew by and with his drenched hands he crawled and placed himself under the cover of his mother. He despised himself for not being a girl at that point for he did not have a sari to cover himself up.

Sun popped in the east and its ray struck the dark famished face of the kid, he turned himself to the other side and tried sleeping, as the heat started pricking him, he opened his eyes and rubbed it. The uncertainty of where to and what to never bothered him or his mother ever. Uncertainty always loomed over them always. It has been a journey through all the scum of the earth and they were termed the “scum of the earth”. Surprisingly no one came to the bus stop to board a bus neither did a bus come in that way. Water logged in the pot holes of the road. Some bikes passed through and some jeeps that carried some stuff which he could never decipher.

A bony faced person with a stubble passed through the way on a bicycle. He planted a wicked gaze at them. The kid never could understand why people always looked at them. He always wondered, but never could he find an answer for those unscrupulous looks. He had some tools which had hooked on to the carry stand behind. Days passed by and the red line on the forehead of the bicycle person became so familiar to the kid. He wondered why he drew that with the color of blood. Like temples being built in places where some insane person once lighted a lamp, the kid took for granted that the bus-stop was his home.

The bony faced person was so not any more a stranger to him. He never could speak to him for the higher power had not granted him the capability to express himself through words. For him actions never spoke better than words. He missed his mother in those rainy days, he was sure that she was around some where but that little heat he derived from her to keep him warm was missing. He wanted to maul the one who grabbed that heat which was supposed to be his. The inability to speak made him restless and all that food that his mother begged and gathered coupled with his genetics had made him nothing short of giant.

It is always the wish of the down trodden to visualize him with the best. The nearest respite is god, as he always knows that it is difficult to match with the richest. An easy way out, with his tool he speaks a different language to the the god. An atrocious way of serving the higher power. It mostly sheds blood and the disillusionment makes him euphoric about it. The morality, indecency and the wayward life that he leads is never over looked by him. The carpenter epitomizes this and the wayward life of him grabbed the heat from him. He could never regain it through words for he took to actions.

It took some time in him to accustom to the new change, but his speechless senses were euphoric with the new changes. He was never looked up on as the “scum of the earth”. There was always a fear that loomed when everyone spoke of him. He regained the lost heat through this fear for him and the fake respect that was offered to him. He thanked the thin vicious red line on his forehead and that saffron cloth which he has kept as a treasure.

He despised that red line that was drawn on his forehead and the saffron cloth he was clad on that rainy day by the carpenter while standing in court corridor for a life time sentence trial. He longed for that heat, but it was only a chill that went down his spine.

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