Chasing The Mirage- 2

The beads of perspiration propelled on my temples again and the constant prattling of my heart kept me disoriented.  It was the time when I went on to agree on the terms that I am really not at peace with my life and must introduce sessions of meditation on a daily basis. My earlier attempts on this sanctimonious practice went all in vain but I seem to be adamant. It was time to make the imperative amendments to control my flickering mind and every possible positive step now seems incumbent.

Early in the morning, under the shimmering tilted rays of the newborn sun, I sat down like any other Buddha in progress with my hands straight resting on my knees and rickety Index finger tenderly in alliance with the middle finger. Oh! What a sight that was. My mother would have swooned had she seen me with that stature and aura. This time I made sure not to fanaticise about a nude nubile, with her fully grown breasts and in an act of seducing me. I cannot afford this perversion, I thought. Customarily I shut my eyes closed and swallowed in the saffron shade on my closed lids due to Sun rays being directly over it. Not a thought lingered this time.

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With my eyes fully shut, fingers slightly in alliance and spine straight like a rod, I eavesdropped the surroundings. Birds chirped on my left and a gush of wind making a splash sound passed through my right. The sound of women chattering came from the back, probably from the terrace joined next to my house while the clear voice of morning Azaan also ran across my auricle. I invited Azaan to be my guest.

Azaan incarcerated me for a couple of minutes until my mind drifted back and forth, to and fro and everywhere to everywhere on completely odd subjects of religion, Allah, Lord Ram, Jesus, Nelson Mandela, Napoleon Bonaparte, Lord Mountbatten, Warren Hastings, Adolf Hitler, my father and soon clasped my concise to the event passed yesterday. The past encounter between me and my mother repeated itself in my mind with every minute detail to the same. I lay on my bed, watching unconsciously the white ceiling of my room, filling that empty canvas with all the creativity that I could muster when my mother entered the room for some work. She concocted her face in a disappointed countenance and busied herself with the work in hand. I still lay as if dead.

I could sense the heat of the slanting rays becoming oppressive nevertheless I continued that mental drift of visions. I envisaged my mother giving a disappointing click sound of her tongue, manoeuvring her face in the sheer bafflement and questioning me on account of my lethargy and sloth. I face my head in her direction this time. Her sermon seemed endless. She questioned my lethargy, she questioned my restlessness, she questioned my career, she questioned my intellect, and she questioned everything. How dare she? I shouted at her but she seemed unperturbed. My body went livid, my eyes went furious and my desperate hands searched for a weapon. Oh! Just stop now, I shouted at her again and she looked bewildered but continued. I was thumping by now, bouncing on bed and eyes searching for the tiniest weapon. I opened the drawers and found nothing but a pair of small green scissors and charged on her with that. I held the braids of her hair with my hand and I asked her for the last time to shut her overcharged mouth. “Will you stop now?” I asked with my eyes red with blood. No sooner as she asked me back “Rahul, are you mad?”; I pushed the scissors deep into her stomach, pulled them out and again did the same thing until it went deep into her intestine. “Now speak” I challenged her. I felt her eyes drifting close slowly but I pulled the scissors again and tugged it onto her right shoulders and then on her left, again on her already damaged the stomach and stabbed her till the blood-besmeared scissors fell on the floor and It shut open my eyes.

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Not just my temples but my whole face was now propelled with beads of perspiration. I gasped for breath as if someone has stabbed me deep in my stomach and a mysterious dizziness covered my eyes. All my stature and Aura seemed inconsequential and I could only muster the limited courage to ask myself “Did I Just Stab my mother?”

 

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