I do not wish this upon anyone. Not normally. It is the most cursed of all curses that I know, and it has been said that he who has been afflicted by it will die.
I mean, they all will die when afflicted by curses or not, but before the death, he will suffer a fate worse than a fate worse than death. That was what I was told by my guru as he was telling me the dark side of our faith, the one side that gurus do not always tell their followers unless they are fated to be gurus themselves.
There was always a need for the gurus to provide for new gurus in the future. Such has been how things were, such will be how things will be.
I am now a guru. Not by my choice since it involves the notion of fate, which I barely have limited control over, but I'm not bitter about it at all. Being a guru has its perks -- all the respect that the people give me due to the perceived power that I have over them -- but it also has its downsides; when the people are in trouble, it is my duty to be there to help them, whether I like it or not.
Even if it means that I have to cause the death of whoever or whatever it is that is threatening the people.
That man was a foreigner. White skinned, aquiline nose. Different from the rather tanned skin and muted features we have. He came with a small group of his own people. Said he wanted to trade. We did our best to work with them -- they had some interesting herbs that the people have not seen before but they weren't completely alien to me because of the knowledge my guru passed to me.
How he knew, I'll never know.
The herbs were useful. Not addictive like opium which we use sometimes to help heal over the inner fuzz in the head, but having a similar effect. They needed some food. They said they had run out of stores when their boat capsized and needed some food to help them tide over.
Our chief was cordial. He talked with them via gestures and gutturals that both sides seemed to have a common understanding over, with the help of our elders. An agreement seemed to have come about.
But that man, that white skinned aquiline nosed man, he turned. He suddenly whipped out a metal thing that looked like some kind of blowpipe, except that it had a wooden stock on it. Aimed it at our chief.
There was no time to react. I heard that the accompanying foreign peoples also pulled something similar and threatened everyone present. A young warrior was shocked and angered and leapt onto one of them with a dagger drawn. A loud bang was heard and the warrior was suddenly bleeding. But he was brave. He didn't back down -- he slashed and stabbed furiously at his target.
The rest of the foreigners seemed shocked at the warrior. The loud bang drew more warriors in, and seeing their fellow comrade hurt and attacking, they got berserked and attacked.
Our chief was quickly pushed to the ground by some of the elders and warriors, while the white skinned foreigners were making a retreat, with our warriors charging at them. Ever so often one of them would fire at us with their version of the blowpipe and some of the warriors were forced to retreat from their wounds. Our own blowpipers did their best to poison the retreating men, but they managed to only get one or two of them in the necks. The rest were wearing materials that couldn't be breached by our poison needles.
I was told only much later about the whole event. Our chief said that the leader of that band of foreigners must be cursed with our strongest curse as revenge for his duplicity. I listened calmly to our chief the way a guru should, and got more descriptions of the person.
I understood the situation. I assured our chief that it will be done.
He thanked me and left my hut.
------
A few days later, our scouts reported finding the remains of a white skinned man, horribly maimed and in pieces, with parts of his red flesh covered in weird green and purple ooze. The one part that was more or less intact was his aquiline nose.
Sunday, 25 October 2015
Sunday, 9 August 2015
Hold on to your love
A tear escaped from the corner of Xing's eye as he gazed upon the faded polaroid he held in front of him underneath the solitary desk lamp that provided all the illumination in the room.
Three of them---Xing, Katy and Karen. K²X, they had called themselves. A picture taken back in the late eighties at one of the gigs they had just played at. He played keyboard. Katy was on the guitar and provided vocals, while Karen was the drummer. It was a bar that a mutual friend owned. They were performing there as a group for the first time, despite having jammed with each other for a while before that. There were some minor equipment set up issues, but those were quickly resolved. Everything went well. They played a fixed set, then took some requests here and there from the patrons. Everyone had a wonderful time. Then the polaroid was taken.
Xing rubbed his thumb gently over the faded smiling face of Katy and felt emotions welling up in him again.
Ten years.
It had been ten years since that polaroid.
Katy was the best vocalist that Xing had ever heard sing. Her voice spanned different genres as K²X experimented to find their sound. Power ballads, progressive rock, even metal screams---Katy could deliver them all. On the guitar, she wasn't as impressive, but was still of acceptable quality.
Xing and Katy, they had a thing for each other. Each knew the other, but neither would make the first move. Karen was pissed sometimes, but she understood the delicate balance required to keep K²X together. Three was an unstable number---prone to shifting sides with a majority oppressing a minority.
Karen was a first rate drummer who was mostly self-taught. In another life, she was an unassuming researcher working at one of the many branches of the national lab. It was her idea for the K²X---she had been friends with Katy and Xing separately for a while before thinking of introducing everyone together to jam.
Ten years...
Xing held the polaroid tightly in his hand, his tears flowing freely now, his other hand resting on the legs that would never move on their own again.
It was horrific. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, except for a sharp and persistent pain and fainting from it. When he next came to, he was already lying on a bed in the ward of a hospital, with police officers attempting to take his statement. He was loopy from the sedatives, and it was only much later when he learnt that he was not going to walk ever again.
He asked for Katy, then Karen, but no one would tell him what had happened to them. He screamed, he pleaded, he yelled, he cried, but to no avail. The doctors tranquilised him as much as they could, citing his need of rest, while the policemen would lounge about, always eager to interview him, but never having the medical clearance to.
Ten years.
Xing thought time would heal the wounds he had in his psyche, but it didn't help at all. He hadn't wanted to look at that last polaroid of K²X, but felt guided by an invisible hand to do so. Now that he had looked at it again, he couldn't help but feel the same strange sense of loss that he once felt a long, long time ago.
Xing placed the polaroid on the silver ash tray that he had in front of him, already half-filled with the legacy of many burnt out cigarette butts. He whipped out a lighter from his shirt pocket and struck the flint with a smooth motion, aiming the flame at the corner of the polaroid.
The relic of a time past caught the flame and burnt itself up into a crisp, its ashes falling silently into the ash tray.
Three of them---Xing, Katy and Karen. K²X, they had called themselves. A picture taken back in the late eighties at one of the gigs they had just played at. He played keyboard. Katy was on the guitar and provided vocals, while Karen was the drummer. It was a bar that a mutual friend owned. They were performing there as a group for the first time, despite having jammed with each other for a while before that. There were some minor equipment set up issues, but those were quickly resolved. Everything went well. They played a fixed set, then took some requests here and there from the patrons. Everyone had a wonderful time. Then the polaroid was taken.
Xing rubbed his thumb gently over the faded smiling face of Katy and felt emotions welling up in him again.
Ten years.
It had been ten years since that polaroid.
Katy was the best vocalist that Xing had ever heard sing. Her voice spanned different genres as K²X experimented to find their sound. Power ballads, progressive rock, even metal screams---Katy could deliver them all. On the guitar, she wasn't as impressive, but was still of acceptable quality.
Xing and Katy, they had a thing for each other. Each knew the other, but neither would make the first move. Karen was pissed sometimes, but she understood the delicate balance required to keep K²X together. Three was an unstable number---prone to shifting sides with a majority oppressing a minority.
Karen was a first rate drummer who was mostly self-taught. In another life, she was an unassuming researcher working at one of the many branches of the national lab. It was her idea for the K²X---she had been friends with Katy and Xing separately for a while before thinking of introducing everyone together to jam.
Ten years...
Xing held the polaroid tightly in his hand, his tears flowing freely now, his other hand resting on the legs that would never move on their own again.
It was horrific. He couldn't remember exactly what happened, except for a sharp and persistent pain and fainting from it. When he next came to, he was already lying on a bed in the ward of a hospital, with police officers attempting to take his statement. He was loopy from the sedatives, and it was only much later when he learnt that he was not going to walk ever again.
He asked for Katy, then Karen, but no one would tell him what had happened to them. He screamed, he pleaded, he yelled, he cried, but to no avail. The doctors tranquilised him as much as they could, citing his need of rest, while the policemen would lounge about, always eager to interview him, but never having the medical clearance to.
Ten years.
Xing thought time would heal the wounds he had in his psyche, but it didn't help at all. He hadn't wanted to look at that last polaroid of K²X, but felt guided by an invisible hand to do so. Now that he had looked at it again, he couldn't help but feel the same strange sense of loss that he once felt a long, long time ago.
Xing placed the polaroid on the silver ash tray that he had in front of him, already half-filled with the legacy of many burnt out cigarette butts. He whipped out a lighter from his shirt pocket and struck the flint with a smooth motion, aiming the flame at the corner of the polaroid.
The relic of a time past caught the flame and burnt itself up into a crisp, its ashes falling silently into the ash tray.
Friday, 27 February 2015
Waiting...
Aaron leant against the lamp post, its cone of light illuminating him even as it kept his face in a shadow. It was late, for sure. No, he corrected himself, he was early and she was late. He looked at his watch again in irritation. They were supposed to have met up at eight, and yet it was almost nine. He couldn't understand the tardiness of some people, and she was definitely a chronic case of the procrastinating.
Damnit, Aaron thought as he slammed a hammerfist into the lamp post. The blow travelled along the vertical extent and shook the lamp shade above ever so gently, making his shadows dance in the gently oscillating light. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her words when she told him earlier in the day at school to meet up at eight---it was just too good to be true. But he liked her, and he was very sure she knew it too, and that was why he was now standing underneath a lamp post, loitering, and looking completely silly just slamming his fists randomly into the post itself to vent out the annoyance.
As he mulled for the umpteenth time on whether to just call it a night, he heard the pitter-patter of running feet. Small running feet. He looked up in the direction of the sound, and saw a silhouette in a knee-lengthed dress running towards him. It ran through the next nearest cone of light and he saw immediately that it was Janet dressed in a yellow sun-dress and running madly towards him, her long tresses flying about her wildly.
``Hey,'' Janet said as she rested on the arm that had braced herself on the same lamp post that Aaron was once leaning against. ``Sorry for being late. Uncle dropped by and wasn't about to leave on time due to that game of bridge. They were one short, and so I had to stay around and play with them. I tried calling your house, but your mother said you had already gone.''
``Geez Jane, catch your breath,'' Aaron replied, glad that his idiotic wait was finally over. ``Well anyway, you got to me in time. I'd left in another ten minutes. I knew that women tended to be `fashionably late', but this was just too ridiculous.''
Janet caught her breath and stood up straight once again, her hand unconsciously pushing off her hair past her shoulders. Aaron tried his best not to gape, but it was just too hard---Janet looked absolutely delightful in the sun-dress, with it hugging her figure tightly yet comfortably which, against the play of light and dark, seemed all the more exciting than he could remember. He forgot his annoyance and immediately slipped an arm into Janet's.
Damnit, Aaron thought as he slammed a hammerfist into the lamp post. The blow travelled along the vertical extent and shook the lamp shade above ever so gently, making his shadows dance in the gently oscillating light. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her words when she told him earlier in the day at school to meet up at eight---it was just too good to be true. But he liked her, and he was very sure she knew it too, and that was why he was now standing underneath a lamp post, loitering, and looking completely silly just slamming his fists randomly into the post itself to vent out the annoyance.
As he mulled for the umpteenth time on whether to just call it a night, he heard the pitter-patter of running feet. Small running feet. He looked up in the direction of the sound, and saw a silhouette in a knee-lengthed dress running towards him. It ran through the next nearest cone of light and he saw immediately that it was Janet dressed in a yellow sun-dress and running madly towards him, her long tresses flying about her wildly.
``Hey,'' Janet said as she rested on the arm that had braced herself on the same lamp post that Aaron was once leaning against. ``Sorry for being late. Uncle dropped by and wasn't about to leave on time due to that game of bridge. They were one short, and so I had to stay around and play with them. I tried calling your house, but your mother said you had already gone.''
``Geez Jane, catch your breath,'' Aaron replied, glad that his idiotic wait was finally over. ``Well anyway, you got to me in time. I'd left in another ten minutes. I knew that women tended to be `fashionably late', but this was just too ridiculous.''
Janet caught her breath and stood up straight once again, her hand unconsciously pushing off her hair past her shoulders. Aaron tried his best not to gape, but it was just too hard---Janet looked absolutely delightful in the sun-dress, with it hugging her figure tightly yet comfortably which, against the play of light and dark, seemed all the more exciting than he could remember. He forgot his annoyance and immediately slipped an arm into Janet's.
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