The Trojan Horse and the Great Loss

Author Introduction:

I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com

I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore.I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday.

Story Title: The Trojan Horse and the Great Loss

Story:

What follows is a story with a lot of names that would require you to perform some gymnastic acts with your tongue to get them right. So for now, let’s ignore my name.

Being a soldier in the Spartan army, my duty usually ended up being on guard outside various royal chambers – those occupied by the guests, princes, princesses, monarchs, their mistresses and so on and so forth. It was not easy to stand in the same position, without any expression on your face, in that horrendous armour and ridiculous suffocating headgear, but it had its own benefits. No one in the royal clan found it necessary to speak in hushed tones when discussing important matters. Even in such instances they would not abstain from displaying their genetic trait of bellowing like an elephant with a gastric problem. How would gossip not spread?

I knew Paris had all the makings of a trouble-maker, the moment he landed in Sparta with his brother Hector from Troy. Who else would offer king Menelaus, a donkey’s brain soup as a gift, no matter how famous it is in Troy? Menelaus was shamelessly gorging on it anyways as if famine had stuck Sparta.

He only came to his senses when he found Helen, his wife missing. It was the day, the Trojan princes departed! No one in Sparta ever fathomed what he had found attractive in her, despite the squint that she had and the snorts that she let out every now and then. When Paris smuggled her out, the question became all the more baffling. “I would say good riddance”, one of my comrades had commented. Menelaus looked terribly comical almost like a raging rhino when angered but none of us dared to even smile. He stormed out into the palace corridors, tripped over a carpet, fell flat on his face and broke his nose. When Agamemnon the king of Mycenae and his brother, saw him with the plaster around his head, he burst out laughing. “I warned you” he giggled “Your poetry is absolutely beyond tolerance. I asked you not to recite those awful lines to her. Who do you think you are, Homer? I knew she would flee if you continued to regurgitate all that non sense to her in the name of romance.”

I am not very sure what instigated Agamemnon (I did warn you about the names) to attack Troy. He did not seem to give much importance to Menelaus and his stolen wife. Someone told me, he wanted uninterrupted supply of donkey’s brain soup that was very expensive in other parts of Greece. Eventually he prepared his army to launch an attack on Troy.

The next day Achilles and his cousin Patroclus landed at Agamemnon’s door to join him in his quest. Apparently Achilles had gone to his mother for advice. As part of an experiment to invent a new beauty potion, she had consumed some drink made out of shellfish which had pushed her quite far away from sobriety. In an attempt to say “Good Day”, she kept repeating “Go Die” and Achilles took it to his heart.

I had heard many rumors about certain strange obsessions that Achilles possessed ranging from tooth picks to swords and daggers. I became quite convinced of the truth in them when the Greek army attacked and desecrated the temple of Apollo. Briseis, a member of the Trojan royal family was breathtakingly beautiful. I really have no idea why of all the things he whisked off her washroom slippers. She in turn seemed to have the same brain impairment. Charging like a grizzly bear, she followed the returning Greek men to retrieve her washroom sandals and ended up being captured. Achilles had started wailing like a child whose lollipop had been snatched, when he heard that they had taken her to Agamemnon. He was quite a sight sitting in his tent in his spiky armour and blowing his nose and sniffling. There was one thing about Briseis that no one in the Greek camp knew and proved really really costly. Her voice that resembled a symphony of a thousand peacocks. When she was presented before Agamemnon, she let out such a piercing cry, the tables and chairs started cracking and the chandeliers started falling. Agamemnon became immediately prepared to entrust her to Achilles. After all, his heel was the only sensitive part in his body, not his ears.

While the Greek camp was trying to save itself from the fury of Briseis’s voice, Paris challenged Menelaus to a duel. The only act of valour he had committed until then was the throwing of the fly that had fallen into his donkey’s brain soup. All of us were baffled what gave him the courage and motivation to fight our raging rhino. Helen? Nah! Not with that sort of squint! Anyways, if love can be blind, it can be squint too. Actually, he only had to do a little bit of research to win in the fight. Menelaus had a major weakness. If one slightly touched him on his left hip, it tickled him so much that he would drop his weapons and roll on the ground laughing. Paris was not aware of this. How intelligent would someone be if he drank only donkey’s brain soup all his life? He was squashed by Menelaus like a mosquito on his thigh. Hector somehow had come to know of these facts and rushed to his brother’s rescue. Menelaus was also pea brained in some aspects. Having such a weakness would anyone wear armour with an opening at the exact spot in the name of fashion? Slaying him became a piece of cake for Hector and that’s what finally happened.

That night as I stood guarding Achilles’s tent I heard sweet nothings from inside. The Greek soldiers had been falling into a coma one by one on hearing Briseis’s cries. In an attempt to save his men, he had pulled her inside and the pair had grown fond of each other. Well if love can be blind and squint, it can be deaf as well I suppose.

At day break, I was trying to stop my drooping eyelids from closing when I saw a battalion leaving towards the walls of Troy. At the lead was someone who looked a little like Achilles. “I wonder who that is.” I told my companion on guard. “Can’t you see that pot belly in front? That’s his cousin Patroclus” he giggled. One of the most distinguishing features of Patroclus was a paunch that resembled the biggest of our Grecian urns. I must say he had done quite a good attempt at the disguise. Unfortunately he should have remembered that he was going to fight Hector one of Troy’s greatest warriors. With his paunch hanging like an oversized necklace in front of his body, running was totally out of question for Patroclus if required. It did not come as a surprise to me when I heard that he had met his end at Hector’s hands. I was also told that poor Hector had lost two of his swords while trying to insert them in Patroclus’s stomach. They had become bent and useless. Finally he had managed to slit the latter’s throat.

On seeing Patrochlus’s corpse Achilles was reacting like a mad wild wart hog. He had entrusted Briseis’s washroom slippers with him, and now that he was no more, there was no way for him to figure out where it was hidden.

“Do you have any idea how much those slippers meant to me?” Achilles thundered at Hector outside the Trojan fort. “Nothing fit my feet so perfectly ever before” he growled and kicked his leg in the air bringing his feet close to Hector’s face. While the spectators gasped in absolute disbelief and horror, Hector collapsed like a landslide and fell on the ground, dead. In order to safeguard his own life, Achilles had never washed his feet ever since his mother dipped him as an infant in the river Styx. The obnoxious odours proved fatal to poor Hector who was totally unprepared and defenceless in front of it. To avoid embarrassment, Achilles screamed out loud and diverted attention by tying Hector to his chariot and dragging him along.

Priam the Trojan king came that night to get back Hector’s body from the Greek camp. Achilles grabbed the opportunity to send Briseis away as well. His ears had won the battle with his heart. They were tired of bleeding everyday listening to the earth shattering outputs from her vocal chords.

After all this, many in the Greek camp felt it was best to just return to Sparta. But Agamemnon was adamant about the donkey’s brain soup. All the generals started racking their brains for ideas to defeat Troy. That’s when Odysseus came up with the idea of the Trojan horse.

Where do these men get all these ideas from, I don’t know. The plan was to make a huge horse statue and all of us were to hide inside it. It was poor soldiers down the order like me executing such ingenious plans. By the time we ended up finishing that horse we were all exhausted. Like all customers the world has ever known, Odysseus and his peers kept changing the demand and the design every few hours. Finally when they grew tired of redesigning we ended up bringing the horse to a shape. It did look like a cross between a bison and a giraffe but we nevertheless called it a horse.

We all somehow managed to get inside the horse and seal it from inside. A general in the close circles of Odysseus banged his head on an iron rod while climbing in. The blow ended up upsetting his mental wiring. Throughout our stay inside the horse, he kept singing “Horsey, horsey, Trojan horsey…You look like a buffalo but you are a Horsey”. It was pitch dark and stifling hot inside and there was no option of silencing him either. “Briseis was heaven compared to this” many of them murmured. Some started sobbing uncontrollably unable to tolerate the ranting. Some found it musical and joined to sing along as well. It was pandemonium.

As planned, the Trojans dragged the horse within the walls of Troy. In the wee hours of the morning we opened the secret door and stepped out. After crouching for a long time inside that ludicrous horse most of us had sprained backs and sore legs. The incessant chorus of ‘Horsey Horsey’ had also driven some of my comrades to their wits end. The Trojans on the other hand were scattered in a myriad of postures around us in a totally inebriated state. Imagine what would ensue if a battle happens between a bunch of totally drunk soldiers and a bunch of partially insane ones. I had no more energy left in me and did what I considered best. I stealthily managed to sneak into one of the royal chambers and hid myself in a huge chest.

The earth was relieved of quite a few souls that night. Glaucus, Priam and Agamemnon to name a few. While I was waiting inside the chest I heard some noises outside. When there is a choice between saving one’s life and curiosity the latter always takes precedence. I lifted the chest lid inconspicuously and peaked out. Andromache, Hector’s wife was standing in front of a huge mirror her arms spread out flanked by Helen, Paris and Briseis.

“This is where the secret passage his. Hector had shown it to me. We should be able to get away safely.” The others nodded. “Hector Hector Abracadabra” she yelled. Nothing happened. “Wrong Password!” she muttered under her breath. “Hector Open Sesame” she tried again. No reaction again. “Let me try” Paris offered. He took a deep breath and screamed “Donkey Brain Soup”. The mirror did not budge. They all turned and looked at Briseis who nonchalantly responded “Alright” and stood before the mirror. I knew what was about to come and pressed my hands close to my ears with as much force as I could muster. She let out her quintessential scream and the mirror burst open revealing a passage behind.

Andromache went in first followed by Helen and Briseis. “Wow! Look what we have here” a voice was heard. Achilles came charging in brandishing a menacing sword. Paris stood in front of him, took aim with his bow and arrow and fired. The arrow managed to travel two feet. Huffing and puffing like a bull, he fired another ten arrows while Achilles stood with his arms folded and grinning. Not one managed to brush even a hair on his body. That’s when Paris’s eyes grew wide and his face developed an unprecedented expression. He had spotted him! His arch enemy! A fly that buzzed around and landed on Achilles’s heel! Ever since one had fallen into his donkey’s brain soup he had developed a blood thirty vengeance against their entire clan. Before Achilles realized what was occurring he snatched a fly swatter nearby and brought it down with a vehement force. Achilles let out a cry like a yelping dog and fell flat on his face. The Greek soldiers found Achilles the next day with a single fly swatter on his heel.

The saddest part of the story is all the men and women who knew the secret recipe of the donkey’s brain soup perished in the war and the delicacy was lost forever to the world.

The Wind, the Chimes and the Beast

Author : Jayashree Srivatsan  Author Introduction: I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore with my husband and my little boy. I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. Though it was initially for fun, blogging has now become an integral and serious part of my life. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday. Story: Boochandi:  The sun should have disappeared by now at the horizon behind the vast expanse of the sea. I cannot see it from where I am lying but I catch the azure hue of the evening sky from the corner of my half closed eyes. I can hear the sound of the waves hitting the shore a few yards away from my seaside mansion. The palpitations in my body seem to be rocking me with a tremendous force. I feel sticky with sweat and something is trickling down my left ear, blood perhaps? A strong gust of wind blows and gets the wind chimes swinging. My wind chimes! They are hanging on my balcony right above me. Despite the shooting pain I feel near my heart, I let myself immerse in their musical noise. Then I hear that! Like it’s almost real! Laughter! Her laughter that used to dance with them every time I shared a joke with her! The searing pain emerges as muffled growls from my mouth. I have sent the servants away and not a soul can hear me. I can feel my lips forming her name – Karishma. Again! And Again! My eyes drift into darkness and images of my past and that specific day keep flashing rapidly. The day I became what the locals call Boochandi, the beast! My name is Raghu. I have never seen my mother. My father belonged to a royal dynasty that had ruled over the entire region in the past. Things changed with time and he inherited just the family surname, some land and this huge mansion. He breathed his last a few days before I turned twenty leaving behind our ancestral property and the successful business enterprise that he had set up. While our loyal accountant managed the assets with prudence I spent my time squandering my wealth. Our mansion was a perennial guest house for my friends from the city who enjoyed accompanying me in my drinking and gambling. With no one to force me to mend my ways and all advice falling on deaf ears, I was moving from bad to worst. That fateful evening three friends and I were lost in a game of cards and bottles of whiskey. Suddenly in a drunken stupor we decided to go on a long drive along the coast in my jeep. I seemed to be managing fine for a few miles. Then everything seemed to blur. My foot pressed on the accelerator with increasing force. I remember being hurled to the ground with a loud crashing noise. When I opened my eyes I found myself near the feet of her statue, Kayal-Aatha’s statue! My jeep had rammed into it after breaking open the temple doors. I had grown up hearing the legend of Kayal-Aatha. It was believed that around three centuries ago, a couple in love had jumped into the sea when the villagers tried to separate them. They lost their lives but the girl became a goddess and the temple was built in her honour. She was said to be very powerful with immense magical powers. Till then I had not believed in her powers. After that moment in my life I had to. A mist swarmed all over me and I saw a figure, no discernible features, just a figure in red. It was dazzling bright almost blinding me. I heard an angry voice “What you have done is unforgivable and you shall pay for it. If and only if true love finds you, will you stop reaping what you have sown”. Silence followed. When I woke up, my friends were missing. A huge crowd had gathered around me and were talking in whispers. I felt extremely weak but garnering as much strength as I could muster, I tried walking in their direction. “Boochaandi, run” one of them screamed. They traced back a couple of steps, turned around and started to flee. ********************************* Karishma: My father has gone out. With nobody else to give me company, it seems extremely quiet. This is an apartment housing many families and a whole lot of quintessential sounds reach my ears; the man in the house below giving his adolescent son an earful, the boy next door talking to someone on his cell phone, the ladies lost in gossip. “Are you going to eat or shall I call the boochandi?” a woman is telling her son in an attempt to feed him his dinner. “You know Karishma, I wonder what I will tell my son if I want to make him eat” he had joked in his deep voice; something the curse had not touched. I still remember that night we left our village; my father and I. Clashes had broken out between rival caste groups. What used to be just a war of words had assumed alarming proportions! The men were drunk and attacking each other without second thought. We had to leave to save our lives. The roads were flooded due to heavy rainfall and danger was lurking in every corner. Taking the sea route seemed to be the only option. Twenty of us left in the late hours of the night. Our intention was to reach the city and stay with some of our relatives till things calmed down. We were mid sea when the strong wind suddenly gained destructive fury and rocked the boat. It capsized hurling all the occupants into the salty waters. After a brief initial struggle, I had fainted. When I woke up, I was on a huge bed in a lavishly decorated room. It was his mansion. An old man who looked like a servant came to my bedside and said “Good morning ma. We found you on the beach. You had drunk a lot of water and were extremely weak. My name is Ramasamy, I am a servant here. Who are you? “ After hearing my account Ramasamy assured me that they would take all measures to locate my father. I was about to ask about the other occupants of the house when I felt dizzy and drifted into sleep again.. That evening I heard a voice outside my room. “Karishma right? I am Raghu; I own this place”. I tried to get out of bed when Ramasamy gestured me not to. It was a vehement gesture, almost like a warning. “NO. Do not get out of the bed” the voice continued in an alarmed tone. ”I will meet you later. Please feel at home.” The noise of rapidly retracing footsteps followed and he was gone. For the next two days the servants treated me like a queen taking care of my every need with utmost care. But he never came. I was mystified and confused. I came to know later that he was extremely scared of me; scared of facing the terror on my face. ***************** Boochandi: When the servants brought her to my doorstep, she had no consciousness. Patches of sand and sea weed were stuck to her wet clothes. Her eyes were closed but her face portrayed complete exhaustion. Her wet hair formed small curls around the fair skin of her face. The small maroon bindi between her arched eyebrows had somehow survived the onslaught of the ocean. I never had the strength to face her after my brief introduction from outside her room. What if she screamed in disgust? What if it subjected her to additional trauma? I did not have to ponder for long. Two mornings later I heard a knock and the jingle of anklets outside my room. I quickly hastened to the window and stood with my back to the door. “I do not have words to thank you for all the kindness and hospitality” I heard her voice. “No worries. Don’t praise me too much” I responded, without turning back. I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you look at me?”she asked softly. “No, you don’t know. You would scream if I do” I answered. “No I won’t. Ramasamy told me” she said. I turned around, slowly with a great deal of hesitation. She did not scream. No. She did not even wince. There was not even an iota of disgust on her face, only pity and empathy. She slowly broke into a gentle smile. There was nothing false about it, it was genuine and warm. Where would she be now? Someone seems to stand near the door. Is it you, Karishma? I stretch my hand trying to reach her and the pain soars. I feel like its ripping my sides. ******************************* Karishma: I hear the windows rattling in the wind rush to shut it. A similar wind was blowing when I met him for the first time. His room seemed to reverberate with the sounds from the wind chimes. They were his passion. Nearly fifty varieties adorned his balcony; different colors, different sizes! He had tried to camouflage his features as much as possible. A turtle neck full sleeved tshirt, thick jeans, dark sun glasses. Thick brown hair covered the back of his hands. His face looked like he had been subjected to an acid attack – corroded and in patches. Despite the glasses I could see that his left eye was much smaller and sunken at a lower position compared to the right one. There was absolutely no hair at the sides of his head and the small tuft at the top was extremely thin and had a weird color, something like algae green. There were two small spike like structures just above each of his ears that looked more like an overgrowth of the skin. “She gave him horns” Ramasamy had mentioned. Despite all of it, his eyes were extremely soulful and warm. I left after a brief expression of gratitude. The next day Ramasamy informed me that my father had lost his life in the accident. ******************************************* Boochandi: The news of her father’s demise had shattered her but she was a strong girl. She knew she had to move on. In less than a week she approached me saying that she did not want to burden me and that she wanted to go to the city and find a job. I needed a personal assistant to help me manage the affairs of the company. Our accountant was getting old and needed help. Venturing out of the house was impossible for me. I needed a trustworthy person to be my public face. She seemed to fit the bill perfectly and accepted though with some initial hesitation. In less than a month she became at ease with her job and the stay at the mansion. She was extremely committed, hardworking and smart. I had made a good decision. In the evenings she would come meet me and report the day’s proceedings. What used to be just formal discussions, developed into long conversations. I don’t remember having had a heart to heart talk with anyone else before she came. The initial years passed in arrogance and the rest in seclusion. In fact no one had spoken to me like her, unperturbed. The ugliness seemed to have absolutely no effect on her. We spoke and we spoke; about our childhoods, dreams, small wishes, funny experiences, beliefs, fears and what not. One day Ramasamy informed me that she was visiting Kayal-Aatha’s temple daily. She was praying fervently to the goddess - to relieve me of the curse and the misery. She became the only thing on my mind from dawn to dusk. One evening she was held up due to some work and did not turn up at the usual time in the evening. Every passing minute that I waited seemed like an aeon to me. That’s when the realization struck me like a bolt. I was in love with her. ****************************** Karishma: He had been very succinct and straight forward. As usual, he was standing at the balcony; arms folded looking at the waves lashing the shore. Soothing instrumental music was playing on his music system. I quickly started blurting out why I had been delayed. He seemed distant and uninterested. I went near him and asked “Something wrong Raghu?” “I don’t know. I love you and I want to marry you”. I could not exactly place the emotion in his tone; it was torn between guilt and desire. “I don’t know if I should dare to say this,” he continued “but it’s from the bottom of my heart and I mean it.” “I don’t know what to say Raghu ” I responded and walked out. It had been unexpected but it triggered some feeling inside of me. Shock? Anger? Or was it pleasure in the guise of shock? I needed to understand it myself. That night I received a phone call. It was my father. ******************************* Boochandi: I could not believe that I had conveyed my feelings to her like that without faltering at all. Perhaps it was because I had not given myself any time for preparation. That would have probably lessened my courage to do so. I never had an opportunity to speak to her again. I came to know about her father being alive. I was sad! Disappointed! She had to leave. She came to me the next morning. “Raghu, my father is alive!” she exclaimed. “I heard. Great News” I responded in a tone befitting a eulogy with a smile that was blatantly fake. “When are you leaving?” “I am thinking of taking the afternoon train.” “Good.” There was a silence for some time. “Raghu, I am extremely grateful to you for all that you have done. I don’t think there is any means by which I can repay. You are a very good man” she said in a softened tone. “But that does not mean I can waste my life and marry you?” I guess that’s what she meant. “I need to go now. Bye. Thanks again for everything” she said, gave me a cursory smile and turned to go. “You…you will come back?” I blurted out before my own self stopped me. She stopped and turned around slowly. “Will you come back?” I repeated almost in a whisper focussing my gaze on my toes. When I looked up her eyes were fixed on mine, firm yet gentle. I fought the urge to pull her into my arms. “I will”, our eyes locked for a second and she left. ************************ Karishma: I left the mansion a week ago. Amnesia after the accident had erased my existence from my father’s memory. Fortunately it gradually returned and now he is the same man I was separated from. I was overjoyed on seeing him again. Yet, something was amiss. Something I could not place! I seemed to have returned to a place I no longer belonged.  I told him all about Raghu; including his feelings for me. “I am indebted to him for life for helping my daughter. But marriage! To a man like that? Forget the whole episode Karishma. Just come back with me.” This was his response. How can I forget Raghu? What exactly are my feelings for him? I don’t know. Do I love him too? I don’t know. But forgetting him? No way! I know he would be waiting desperately to hear from me. “Let’s go back home” my father said. Home? Ever since I left Raghu and the mansion, something has been gnawing at me from inside. A weird feeling! A feeling that I have left home! What’s that sound? Wind Chimes? I run in its direction. There, I spot it on the window next door. The tinkling fills me with nostalgia and suddenly I feel like I am back there at the mansion; with him ; talking to him. Is that where I belong now? The sounds keep coming to my ears and I close my eyes. A sense of foreboding envelops my being. A feeling dark and dreadful! Oh Raghu…Raghu, something wrong?  ******************************* Boochandi: There they go again, my chimes. I open my eyes and I feel cold. I wonder how long I have been lying here. I can hear some birds chirping and the smell of morning hits my nostrils. I try to move but cannot, not even an inch. My eyes slowly close and I see the stars again. “Raghu, Raghu, Can you hear me?” I hear her voice, distant and feeble. Is she …is she crying? I try to speak but fail. “No Raghu, you have to open your eyes. You cannot leave me. Not one minute could I pass without thinking about you. I love you too Raghu” Am I dead? Asleep? Dreaming? I can’t open my eyes no matter how hard I try. “Raghu, I love you Raghu. Truly, madly, deeply. No matter how you look, what your appearance is, I know that heart beats only for me. Open your eyes Raghu”. The last words come out in a scream and then there is silence. I can feel her head resting against my chest. Then that noise starts. Sharp loud drum beats! I cannot open my eyes yet no matter how hard I try. When I finally do thick smoke hits my eye and its dazzling bright and red. I see a pair of lips smiling. Then there is a flash of lightning “Raghu, Raghu!” This time I open my eyes and she is holding my cheeks in her hands, tears streaming down her face. She runs inside, grabs a mirror and rushes back to my side. She smiles with a gleam in her moist eyes and shoves the mirror in my face. Who is this? Oh My God! I am back to the form I had almost forgotten. She flings the mirror, throws her arms around me and plants a tender kiss on my lips.” I love you, Raghu”. I lose myself in the warmth of her embrace and my wind chimes pitch in to celebrate.

She did not fail to notice

Author Introduction:

I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com

I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore with my husband and my little boy. I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. Though it was initially for fun, blogging has now become an integral and serious part of my life. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday.

Story

It was close to 3 a.m. Malini was seated on the sofa, her eyes exhausted but vigilant. The living room was dark except for the light from the television that kept spraying a myriad of shades across her face.  The volume had been muted. Her eyes were locked on the television screen; at something that was far beyond. The only sound that perturbed the silence of the hour was the gentle rhythmic sounds from the wall clock as its hands kept chasing one another.

 “I am coming home, Malu”, he had said before hanging up. A tear welled up in her eye, slipped over the rim, slowly trickled down and fell on her shawl. She could not recollect how she had reacted on the phone. Had she responded at all?

Dinesh had been summoned when the war broke out. Three months later, an army officer had rung her up to convey the news most dreaded by every woman who sends her husband to the border. Along with six others , Lt.Dinesh Sharma  had lost his life in an explosion. She had been drowned in grief for the first few weeks. But like so many others like her, she had long before instilled in her own self, a preparedness to face the worst and a readiness to harden her emotions when the need arises. She knew that she had to move on.  At least for Deepak’s sake! He had been eleven then.

Five years had passed. Mourning had transformed to memories, which did tug at her heart but the force had drastically reduced with every passing year.

When she had heard his voice again that morning, it had struck her like a thunderbolt, rocking her in a turbulence of emotions. Emotions she felt anew - Shock, Astonishment, Joy; and those that had rocked her life before – sorrow, grief and frustration! Her palpitations had seemed so loud that she thought her heart was about to burst open. Two days earlier the Indian Army had successfully executed Operation Trident - a mission to secure control of the enemy camp where Indian prisoners of war had been held captive. Some of whom were presumed to be dead like Dinesh.

She got up to drink some water. As she crossed Deepak’s room, she pulled the curtains slightly and peaked inside. Her biggest worry all this while had been about raising her son without the shade of a father. ”I knew it Ma. I knew it that Pa was still alive” he had exclaimed on hearing the good news.  In fact he had stayed awake till almost 1 am. Now, he was in a peaceful slumber on his bed, his hands resting over his eyes. Just the way Dinesh used to sleep, she reminisced. And will sleep, she told herself and an elation filled her entire being. 

In the wee hours of the morning when the sun’s first rays cast an orange hue over the entire place, a green colored army jeep screec hed to a halt outside of their home.

Malini leapt from her seat and ran, almost tripping over the edge of the sofa.

The slumped skinny figure that stood clutching the iron gate was hardly recognizable.  His army uniform hung loosely around his body and his eyes bore into hers from his gaunt face. She rushed into his arms and started wailing loudly. He wrapped his arms around her. Despite the overflowing emotions she did not fail to notice the tremor that was present in his entire being. An incessant shiver! His hug seemed to be like that of a child! A child who had lost its toy!

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 “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh………. I cannot …I will not…………” Malini woke up with a jolt hearing him scream. Dinesh was rapidly flailing his arms and legs and screaming. He took his fingers to his own face. She could feel his nails digging into his cheeks. He started howling like a man in extreme agony.

She quickly dragged herself over him, forcefully withdrew his hands from his face and gently placed her lips over his. Trying to pacify him without taking her lips away, she slowly ran her fingers through his hair. Dinesh gradually calmed down and his movements and screams subsided. He opened his eyes. Wiping the perspiration from his face, he dragged her closer.

“Want to talk about it?” she gently asked.

“No” he said softly.

He had not spoken a word until now about what had happened to him.  Ever since his return he had been living the life of a recluse, almost like a lifeless robot.  He would diligently do his day to day basic activities and would spend hours seated at one place with his eyes closed. But beneath his eyelids Malini could see his eyes moving rapidly. Left right, left right, reliving horrors she dared not ask him.

The first time he removed his shirt, she had almost screamed out loud seeing his scars. Without speaking anything she had embraced him tightly trying to remove the deeper ones from inside in her warmth. Every time she saw them she choked back tears but she knew that she had to be strong now. To get him back! She did not want to trigger any haunting memories. He was already suffering enough.

Instead she tried to take him out as often as she could and get him to mingle with friends and relatives.  She thought it would help. He hated it though. She could understand. There were a few senseless ones who would poke and prod him. In the name of sympathy they would delve straight into the centre of his wounds and dig them further.

“Prisoner Of War? Oh My God! It must have been horrible!”

“Did you ever think you could escape from there? Thank God!”

She herself was irked when people spoke such things. Even if it was of good will, she felt they were being too callous.

As days sped by, he started getting very irritable. Little things right from the salt and spice in the food would throw him into terrible bouts of anger.  Malini knew it was all nothing compared to his own sufferings and she simply bore in silence. She believed that things would become better if only he would open up but that seemed impossible.

Deepak did not seem to fully understand what his father had undergone and why he was so different from the man who had left them all those years ago.  Initially his joy knew no bounds. Slowly he realized that the man who had returned was not the jovial, fun loving dad he knew. He hardly listened to anything that he had to share and was always lost in a distant world.  Whenever Deepak tried to converse with him, he responded in single words and was extremely cantankerous.

One evening they were seated watching the news. Suddenly Dinesh screamed “Deepak, switch off the TV!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” retorted Deepak.

“I said switch it off now!”

“Come on Papa”

“Switch OFF DEEPAK!” Dinesh threw the glass he was holding which shattered to pieces after knocking off a framed picture from the wall.

Malini bent down to pick it up. It was a photo of the two of them together. Deepak, dressed in his father’s military uniform and hat, was seated on a grinning Dinesh’s lap.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.

“Mom, we were better off when we thought he was dead” yelled Deepak.

“Deepu SHUT UP!” cried Malini as he stormed out of the hall.

She was furious with Deepak, about the way he was behaving. Though she had to admit that there were moments when she felt overwhelmed too.

Though she was a post graduate, Malini had happily stayed at home taking care of her child till Dinesh went missing. When a position in the HR department of a relative’s textile company was offered to her, she thought of it as a blessing; a way to make their ends meet. Now it meant a lot more than that. She absolutely loved her job and career had risen to a higher position in her list of priorities.

She had taken a short vacation when he returned and then she had to get back to her job. She now had a bigger family to run anyways. The household work, making sure all Dinesh’s requirements were met, shuttling between home and work, managing Deepak’s needs –  she felt like a juggler trying to balance all that life demanded out of her.

At times she felt that Dinesh was way too insensitive to her. After all, she also had suffered!  “But what to expect from a man who was fighting his own internal demons” she reasoned.

She even tried suggesting that he take up some form of employment or maybe start his own business. He dismissed it off saying that he needed more time.

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Three months had passed after his arrival. One morning Dinesh woke up hearing voices of his wife and son from the kitchen.

“Ma, I want some money”

“I gave you your pocket money yesterday”

“That’s not enough ma. I…I need around 5000 rupees“

“What? 5000? What do you want it for?”

“Ma, I can’t give you reasons for everything! Do you want me to give you an accounts book or something? Stop looking at me like a detective okay! “

“Well, I need to know what you want it for!”

“So you CANNOT give it right?”

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother in that tone young man” Dinesh had to intervene.

“Now I get it. You told her not to, is it? Perfect”

Deepak slammed the kitchen door, took his bicycle out and rode off furiously.

“Its his age.  Very difficult phase!”  Dinesh muttered as he took a bread slice and stuffed into his mouth before walking away.

Malini stared after him unbelievably. It was the first time he had said something like that. It seemed so perfect. For a minute he was like her old Dinesh. “You are coming back Dhinu!” she smiled as her eyes welled up.

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It was around two hours past lunch time when Malini received the phone call. She had never panicked so much, not even when she heard about Dinesh’s explosion.  This time she felt that her world was crumbling and falling.  She somehow managed to compose herself and rushed outside the office.

By the time she reached, Dinesh had already come there. The corridors of Deenanath Hospital were enveloped in the quintessential odours of antiseptic and phenyl. He was seated on a bench outside the ICU, his forehead resting on his hands.

 She ran to where he was seated and flopped next to him panting for breath, her eyes desperately looking for answers.

“He is out of danger” he said in an almost inaudible voice.

She rose and peaked inside through the small transparent opening in the otherwise opaque door. Deepak was unconscious but breathing steady and various monitors were connected to his body.

“Oh Dinesh!  Whats happening ? “, she leaned against his shoulder distressed and exhausted .

A policeman approached them “Excuse me, Mrs and Mr. Sharma”

“Yes?”

“I am Inspector Dutt. I was the one who rang you both”

Dinesh and Malini nodded.

“I am sorry about what happened. He has consumed poison. Apparently the school used to stock some rodent repellents in a shelf within the boys washroom. He seems to have somehow gotten hold of it.”

“Poison?” Malini gasped.

“How has his behaviour been of late? Did you both notice anything unusual?”

“I think I am responsible” Dinesh cried.

“Dinesh! No”, Malini  hastily added.

“I tried talking to some of his friends” the policeman continued. He somehow did not give any significance to Dinesh’s self-blame.“Typical teenage problems, sir!  He has been having some inferiority complex. Has been trying real hard to impress some girl in his class! She apparently was in favour of some of the richer boys. These kids are unbelievable! Must blame the movies they make these days”

“Suicide at this age!” Malini exclaimed.

“I am not surprised , Madam” replied the inspector. “Do you know this is the third such case in our locality in the past six months? Teen suicide attempts are on the rise here. For really silly reasons! Fight with siblings, poor marks! Life is something worthless for these kids. “He paused for a second and continued. “ I have to make a move now. I will ensure that no case is registered, I understand how complicated that can get. Take care”

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The door to the room made a creaking noise as Dinesh gently pushed it open with the edge of the tray he was holding. Two tall glasses filled with freshly made orange juice and a plate of biscuits was neatly arranged on it.

Deepak had propped himself against the bed frame. His gaze was fixed on the branch of the tree outside the window.  There was a bird nest on it and the chicks were a rambunctious lot. The adult birds kept taking turns to come and feed them. After four days at the hospital he had been discharged. Like so many others attempting to take their own lives, his decision had been so momentary and impulsive. Now his every gesture indicated extreme regret. Both Malini and Dinesh knew it would be terribly incorrect and foolish to chastise him now.

Malini who had dozed off by his bedside woke up with a start on hearing the noise of the door. Her stress seemed to have gone past her threshold; At least that’s what the blank expression that her face bore, conveyed.

Dinesh handed each of them a glass and sat down near Deepak on the edge of the bed. He took a magazine that was lying on the bedside table and slowly flipped the pages.

He felt his son’s grip on his shoulders. “I am so sorry Pa”. Dinesh gave him a prolonged understanding look and brushed the hair that was falling on his forehead.

“I was stationed in Assam when you were born. The thought of not being near your mother at that critical hour was the worst feeling I have had all my life. And do you know what the best one is? What I experience when I held you for the first time! No,Not you, actually, a photo of you. All, tender wrapped in a blue blanket! She had sent it to me. The feeling that I had when I held that photograph is the best one I have had so far”.

A brief silence followed.

“When men realize that somebody else is at their mercy, they unleash the beasts in them and can go to any extremes. That’s what I realized in all those years of captivity. They derive sheer senseless pleasure in imposing their power on someone totally defenseless.  You have no idea how much misery I had to undergo in that camp.  Beatings, burnings, starvation, sexual harassment, humiliation, name it and it was all there. There was not one day when I did not contemplate taking my own life. “

Malini rose from her seat and came and stood behind him clutching his shoulder.

He gave her a brief look and continued. “Do you know what kept me from doing so? You. Both of you! Something inside of me kept screaming that at me asking me not to sabotage the chances of being with you some day.”

Deepak burst into tears and hugged him tightly.

There was quietness again for some time.

Dinesh heaved a huge sigh.“Dinakar! His name was Dinakar Patel. He was around ten years older than you. We were in the same cell. They used to give him some intravenous injections that plunged him into extreme agony. One night he fell at my feet pleading with me…pleading with…” Dinesh could not continue.

 He took a deep breath. “He could not handle it anymore. He wanted me to take his life and relieve him of it all. ”

Malini and Deepak stared at him in disbelief and horror.

“We had been each other’s only company for a very long time. I…..I could not see him suffer. I did what he wanted. I wrung his neck one night and he was finally at peace. Was it an impulsive act? I don’t know. An army man is supposed to be brave and rigid. Why did I do it? I don’t know. At that moment I was only helping him, doing a favour and I have no clue where it stands in the laws of righteousness. All I know is that the torture is on, every second, every minute!” He said those words in a dangerously calm tone.

Malini cupped his face in her hands and looked straight into his eyes. “Dhinu….” .

“This is it Malu, this is what is killing me!” Dinesh exclaimed and broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

Nobody was aware how long they stood like that-Malini and Dinesh holding Dinesh tightly in their grips trying to get all the pain out. Finally he lifted his head, extended his arms and pulled them both in a tight embrace.

Despite the overflowing emotions she did not fail to notice that there was no tremor in him. No incessant shiver! His hug seemed to be like that of a child! A child who had found its toy!

Yummy

Author: Jayashree Srivatsan

Author Introduction: I am Jayashree Srivatsan a.k.a jaishvats and I blog at http://jaishwrites.blogspot.com I am an Indian currently residing in Singapore with my husband and my little boy. I have always been passionate about creative writing. I started blogging in 2010. Though it was initially for fun, blogging has now become an integral and serious part of my life. I have made a lot of online friends through this medium and that definitely is a huge motivation factor.I aspire publishing my work of fiction in print someday.

Story:

The cacophony of voices spewing filth and abuse, blended with the clanking sounds of mugs and plates, permeate the entire expanse of the dining area. Loud thuds from overturning tables and falling men rise from a corner. Perhaps a brawl is brewing up again.

Sounds!  Extremely loud sounds!

They reach my ears and transform almost instantaneously into nothingness. Some nerves have become totally impermeable now.

A spoon of the tasteless gravy reaches my numb taste buds, and a drop spills on my lap. I watch the red oil spreading slowly, causing a stain on my orange robe.

Orange! Sheryl’s favourite colour! A cringe forms on my face as a memory of the warmth I used to feel in her arms enfolds me. Ironically she was in her favourite orange flowered frock when I had found her that night at the street corner. The stain reminds me of her bleeding stab wounds and the way she had clung to me, fighting as best as she could to delay the closing of her eyelids .Perhaps she knew they would never open again.

The uniform had been given to me on my first day here at the Arlington State Penitentiary. Now, I have thinned down to almost half its size and it is clinging on loosely to my frail body. I am sitting alone on the dark green wooden bench that feels cold. As usual there is no one by my side.  They are ruthless convicts. Yet, they are terrified of some things in life. Like AIDS.

I am sure it must not have come from Sheryl. She was a hooker but she always played it safe. The needles and syringes that used to transcend me to a utopian trance of ecstasy should have stealthily diffused the virus into my veins. I had given up drugs because she forced me to.  Strange girl, Sheryl! Some of her beliefs were quite contradictory to her profession. Guess she had been too late in making me give them up. Anyways, what difference does it make now?

Day after tomorrow I, Bruce Tracy would be administered one final injection – the lethal one. Injections – They seem to be competing with one another to take my life. One went for the longer route and the other is going to be instant and quick!

He should have been in my place! That bastard! That brute of a man who thrust his knife into her again and again!  I had caught a good glimpse of the ghastly expression on his face that night.  I had been hunting for him like a werewolf. Had I succeeded, I would have ripped open his gut with my bare hands. Luckily for him, the police got to me before that. All evidence pointed against me. How could I kill Sheryl? MY SHERYL! May be, like many of them say, all this has a reason! Perhaps she is waiting for me! Somewhere!

The brawl keeps getting louder and suddenly the sounds subside. One side must have won.

The penitentiary is perennially quivering with tension and strife. There are some who have landed here purely due to a quirk of fate. Then there are the hardened criminals - Burly men sometimes sporting sinister-looking tattoos with their eyes spitting a whole lot of venom. Some of them even carry razors and pen knifes. They know how and where to procure them. Bloodshed is an unofficial component of the daily routine at Arlington.

“Bruce! We need to talk!” I look up and see Willis staring down at me with a very weird expression.

He occupies the seat opposite mine and looks around to make sure that none of the patrolling guards are at a earshot distance.

“Billy has made a plan for bustin’ outta here, man! Mike and Adam have been diggin’ that tunnel for over a month now. I hear it starts somewhere near the soccer ground.  The plan is to fly the coop tonite, buddy! I owe you man, for all that you did for me. I think you should go talk to Billy. This is a perfect chance Bruce! A perfect chance to get away! Flee.”

Willis looks around again to make sure that he has not caught the attention of any of the men in dark blue and makes a casual inconspicuous exit.

I deposit the plate at the collection counter and start walking towards my cell. Death row prisoners did not have to join the other inmates for work. Apart from the basic activities like eating, showering and sleeping, the only job one had was counting the minutes left to breathe ones last.

Today the others are also returning. Incessant rains have resulted in work getting called off.

I sit on the hard bed and stare at the ground. The shackles had been removed after the judgement but they had left a permanent deep blue scar that encircled my feet like an anklets.

“This is a perfect chance Bruce! A perfect chance to get away! Flee.” Willis words keep echoing in my head.

My thoughts turn to Billy. Billy the brawler! At six feet four inches, he was probably the tallest person in the entire prison. He was half way through his sentence for armed robbery. This had been his fourth and longest prison sentence.

I remember the first time I had met him. It had been my second day and I was seated at the lunch table. Suddenly I became aware of somebody standing behind me. I could not see who it was and something prevented me from turning back to find out. Yet, a feeling of absolute terror jolted down my spine. I sat glued to my seat , perfectly still.   I heard a snigger and a hard cold hand pressed on my shoulder. A stench of body odour stormed my nostrils as I felt long unruly hair brushing against my cheeks. Billy licked my neck a little above my right shoulder and said ‘Yummy! Really yummy! You seem to be one yummy bloody bitch” and he walked away.

A feeling of dread interspaced with shades of disgust engulfed my entire being. A premonition that this was only a prelude to a much more harrowing encounter crept up and spread like a wild creeper in my mind. The wait was not long. It happened two days later, in the showers.

I was standing facing the wall letting myself go in the cold splash of water against my face.

“Yummy” a disgruntled voice sneered from behind. I tried to turn and received a hard blow across my right jaw. Blood spat out from my mouth and got sprayed against the wet wall. My vision got blurred but I was clearly able to make out Billy’s naked figure standing over me with a menacing grin. A torrent of blows showered upon me mainly around my chest and abdomen. I perfectly knew what was coming but was in a vanquished state – physically and morally and in no position to defend myself. With a brutal and vicious force he raped me. I was almost knocked out unconscious yet I was perfectly aware of what was happening to me. The others in the shower were totally unperturbed by the sight or the groans coming from me as if it were a television running in a corner. Leaving me in a pool of blood he left saying “I was right! You are one helluva yummy bloody bitch”

Homosexual acts are an accepted routine within these walls akin to basic activities like eating and bathing. “Men” hook up with “Boys”. Apart from the sexual gratifications they sometimes develop intense strong relationships that last forever. Sometimes it is merely a display of superiority and power; an exploitation of the surrounding weaknesses.

But there are rules; Unwritten rules that everyone followed. No ‘Boy’ takes easily to his ‘Man’ messing up with another inmate. Taken ‘Boys’ are also never targeted. There were one or two exceptions like Billy who made his own rules. His modus operandi was simple – find a new target every now and then from amongst the new inmates; someone vulnerable and submissive. Then he would attack them once, be done with it and never approach them again. Not all new entrants triggered his liking. Only he knew what characteristics they possessed that attracted them to him. As days passed, I had become well verse with the otherwise general code of conduct. This knowledge had helped me protect a few newcomers like Willis and his tip off was a token of gratitude.

A distant rhythmic sound distracts my thoughts for a second. It must have started to rain. Water is dripping somewhere.

I look out of the window and take a glance at the barbed wire atop the high rise prison walls. A bald eagle is perched on it and is facing the world that stretched beyond. What constitutes the panorama subjected to its vision I wonder!

There have been some moments when I imagined about something out of the blue that would plummet me out of these corridors into the world outside. For a taste of freedom again!

A chance to live my life once more! A life where I decided what to wear, what to eat and above all what to do!  

A chance to be in some warm and bright place – far away from the darkness and rancid interiors that these grotesque walls encircled, where gun yielding men did not watch my every move!

But now- I don’t feel any such want or desire. In fact, I only have a feeling of impatience towards the impending execution; an intolerance for the remaining hours.

Even if I escaped, what sort of life would I be able to lead with the blood sucking virus plaguing inside of me?

By now, my belief in the unsurpassable distance between dreams and reality is quite firm.

Once successful at escaping, there was only one way for a fugitive to survive. More and more crimes!

I am here for a murder that I did not do and I have never actually been a part of any serious crimes. With my physical condition how would I survive?

The law does not take prison escapes lightly. The escaped convicts would be hounded and tracked down like animals.   

If I escaped and got caught again, the sentence would not change; there is nothing higher than capital punishment. In a death sentence, it’s the agonizing wait that is more torturous than the actual execution. Living with the knowledge of when you would die is the perfect definition of hell. I somehow sailed through that tormenting phase and am perfectly ready for salvation. I don’t want to change this chapter of my life. Let it end the way it was decided.

I actually don’t seem to have any reason to live either. My Sheryl is gone and there is no soul to cry for me. 

And escape at the mercy of Billy? Death is definitely a much more honourable choice.

Anger and rage fume up like wild fire inside of me. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fists.

That brute does not deserve a place outside.

I shudder at the thought of the wild rampage he would unleash if he was successful in getting out.

Men, young and old, teenagers and even kids would only appear as delicious flesh to that maniac.

I am aware of what happens after a foiled escape attempt. The ones involved are subjected to solitary confinement for weeks, and sometimes months. There would be absolutely no contact at all with the other inmates.

Breaking the heavy security at Arlington requires a whole lot of guts, exceptional intelligence and hard headed acumen. Guts, yes Billy would definitely have but the brains? I don’t think so. The chance of success for their plot is definitely very minimal.

He would be bundled off straight to solitary confinement chamber and the showers would be relieved of his barbaric acts.

Soon its lunch hour and my thoughts are still hovering over Billy and his plot to escape.

I hear a huge guffaw. Billy is seated at a table and laughing loudly. Every muscle on his massive body seems to be shaking separately. A timid looking guy probably in his early twenties is seated opposite to him in almost a crouching position.  Billy the brawler is busy bullying.

I close my eyes for a second.

I take a deep breath to confirm the decision to my own self. I then rise up from my seat and walk towards Edwin, one of the guards. One good thing to do before I die! A piece of revenge for a piece of peace!

 “Yummy” I say to myself.