Train was burnt and passengers charred to death. Desperate voices of women and children, crying to be spared. Bombs exploding and human ruthlessly killing their own with guns and swords. The old man sat on his knees, smoking a beedi and reflected on his paradise land where his people would die to protect each other from outsiders who attempted to divide communities on religious and ethnic lines.
|Image credit: Google/Reuters|
The Maulana, Pandit and Catholic priests would eat together, share a good laugh spreading the values of unity, mutual respect and teaching the virtues of religion to children, irrespective of faith. The man who grew old in the village recalls the days as a kid where he lived by the flowers, trees, mountains and lakes in the paradise. He would tend the cattle who would wander faraway, fearless and without the worry of being attacked. Nature encapsulated his life with friends who has names like Ram, Rahim and Christ.
The children would sleep at night, outside the tiny huts, lazy on the green paddy fields. In those days, the fields were more comfortable than the modest mattress inside the hut. How the children would chase each other and playing imaginary games. No strangers would scare them. The bell in the temple, azaan in the mosque and carols sung in the church would make them leap with joy.
One day, a group of vile men entered the village, taking over every pocket and divided the villagers, forcibly gutting wrong religious scriptures. It never existed. Fighting over supremacy of holy scriptures. The villagers fought among themselves while the rulers sat on the throne and smiled at their ignorance.
He feels saddened watching his paradise burn where men were tearing each other to death. It became a common sight to see men and women killing each other, huts burnt and children kidnapped. Fire and explosion wrecked the peaceful existence that was lost in translation. He couldn't recognize the paradiasical land where men and women looked with contempt at each other. Children and women running for their life in opposite directions and praying the almighty to relive them of this cursed life.
His wrinkle ridden face made a small prayer, "Lord! Save my village. Destroy everything and re-create the paradise filled with love and simplicity. Plant a new tree and let it bloom all over the place to create love and defeat hatred. Shoot the arrow of flow on those who throw bombs."
The cigarette slipped on the ground from the weak finger and the rush of wind forcefully burnt it into ashes. He lay still and motionless, in a squatted position on the ground and his face wore the grief, that took him in the paradise, that he longed for. His frail body abandoned the fight against the faces of evil and the almighty listened to his prayer, relieving him of the pain where his thought reached the dead end.
Spread love and peace. Live life to the fullest.