Death is a pathway to the next world. It is a chance for you to reunite with your maker. They don’t believe that. If they did, they wouldn’t fear death. Because if they did, death wouldn’t really be death as we know it, would it? They fear the dead. They fear the dying. They fear the living. They live in fear. Nothing to fear but fear itself. No. They have made fear a pillow companion. Everything to fear but fear itself.

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There was a time that all saw. All were blessed with empathy and the sight. The sacred sight. Sacred now because it is gone. Because it is a myth. It is believed only by a select few that have been deemed or would be, if others knew what they thought. But what they believe to be true, is nothing but that. It is the truth. The truth that most have chosen to ignore.

There was a time when all saw. All had been blessed with empathy and the sight. There was a time there was peace. Harmony. Bliss. Coupling was peaceful. Habitation was harmonious. Birthing was painfully blissful.

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I eat when I’m lonely. There’s this emptiness gnawing away at me, and without realizing, I eat. A subconscious attempt to fill the whole hole. The emptiness. A hungry pit, a yawning chasm.

I have these dreams. Simple dreams really. Someone on the front seat of the car when I’m driving. Someone with which to interlock hands. A house full of kids. Not too many. Maybe two. Maybe one. Someone to watch shitty movies with. Someone to cook for.

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The keys jangled as he rushed past. The traffic was loud and crowded. Horns honking. Sun above him was bringing down a sweltering might in exchange for bringing light. The keys jangled. The clouds hung low. The sun was hard and hot. Cars honked obnoxiously, their drivers always in a hurry. The dirty canal to one side of him glistened with shiny plastics. The water was damp and muddy. On the other side was the road withmetal beasts hurtling towards their destinations, each attempting to be a bullet train. Adjacent to them, on the other side was the small patch of grassy land that ran next to the road. Sprinkled all over it, mostly under the shade of trees were people with carts of whatever fruit was in season.

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They were chasing her. They were everywhere. She had been in a market. She had passed out from the beat. In her dreams, she saw it as being an old town, in a much older time. Colorful balconies, women hanging over them, calling out to the sellers of fruit and vegetables, who came rolling their carts down the streets. Exchanges would happen by rolling down a bucket. Filling it up with the goods. And then rolling down money to take their place. It was a different time. A quieter time. The world was on edge, ready to be in turmoil that would soon follow. But most didn’t realize.

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Did you really think you could get away with it? After all this time. You think I would forget. You think we would not. What did you think was going to happen? What were you expecting? Please tell me. I’m very curious. No, don’t. I don’t care. But i do. That’s what they will say. I don’t. And that’s the funny part. I don’t. I do not care. I want to get this over with so I can focus on the fun things. Things like my video games. Things like my priorities. I want to get this over with. But when it’s all done and dusted, do you know how the dust will settle? With me on top. So, how did you expect this to end? You’re not dumb. We both know that. You’re not an idiot. You’re very intelligent. Conniving might be too negative a word. But you’re not exactly above it either. So what were you expecting?

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The chowk was small. Just a small roundabout. Belying the fact that it could get very busy. Busy three times a day. Morning, afternoon, evening. Morning for a stretch of about three hours. Afternoon for about two. Evening for one. So busy that the traffic would become log jammed. The roads would choke. It was busy aside from these three times. But not enough to cause the traffic to stop. All four roads around it were small and narrow. One was home to an elementary school. Another had a college and led to offices. The third had one of the better petrol pumps, better being a relative term, meaning that they didn’t water down their petrol with cheaper liquids. The fourth, thankfully, didn’t have anything that people would need to go to on a daily basis. It led out into a larger main road. Amaltas trees dotted the sides of the streets. Native to the subcontinent. In bloom, in this searing heat. Yellow flowers sprouting from their branches. Some didn’t even have leaves. Just flowers. They brought shade, and a better smell to the chowk. Right now, it was quiet. Quiet also a relative term. Some engines hummed.

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It was chilly. Even though it was right after dawn, it should not be chilly. It was the end of May for fucks sake. In this part of the world, no matter the time, starting this month, and all the way till August, it was never chilly. It was chilly. No matter, a few miles in, and he would be warm. But still. He glanced around as he galloped past. The green was lush, immaculately trimmed. The peacocks cowed. The males putting up their feathers, a shield of pure, virgin white, snow like feathers rising from their backside. Two males. A handful of females in the enclosure. The males were loud. And then he was past them. He looked to his left. Where was the carcass, he wondered. There had been a dead bird there a few days ago, crows picking on its flesh, snapping at one another, flapping off with indignation, and then returning soon thereafter. A hawk perched atop a pole watching them with eagle eyes. Proud. Head shifting to watch him, unblinking as he ran by. It wasn’t there anymore. The carcass. He wondered who they asked to pick it up. It was highly unlikely that the officers themselves had dirtied their hands by touching a dead thing.

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The sun shone weakly. Aged by the ravages of time. The wind whistled a broken tune. The grass was greying, browning. The once mighty river was now a stream. Trickling slowly. Water gushing downwind. On the west of the stream, a gaggle of boys were kicking around a soccer ball. Their giggles, and shouting, and swearing, those sounds drifted like smoke into the air, and hung low and heavy. The undercurrent of joy ran thick. Smiles and sweat intermingling on their faces, and moppy hair.

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She woke up with a cough, and an ache in her bones. They creaked as she propped herself up and sat on the side of the bed. She turned her head from side to side, cracks sounding, as the stiff muscles tried to move where she directed them. Her hair was rough, and scratching her face. Her eyes were watering, crusts on the edges, and all around. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the sparse room and the empty bed. It was beautiful, even in this small space. She was old. Her husband had died ten years ago. Her children had grown up. One was married to a man who worked as an accountant in a company that made cooking oil. The other was working in an office. He had just started. Birds were drowsily chattering. It was early. They hadn’t fully woken up either. She planted her feet on the ground and hobbled over to the bathroom. A quick splash on her face, it was good to save water, and after relieving herself, she was out and ready. She walked out of her room, the kitchen in front of her. Nibbled on some leftover roti from last night and knocked on his door. She heard a rustling from inside. He came out, running his eyes. “Is it time?” “Haan, beta.” Ok, give me five. She sat down on the chair, one of three, and waited. It was thatched, some pieces of straw sticking out to the sides. Fraying. Old. Cheap. The sunlight was finally starting to wake up as well. The sound and smell of the dirty canal wafted in. Her stomach grumbles a little. Her eyes were weary, her hands calloused. Her feet had sores, and hurt every time she placed her weight on them. Her slippers were rough, and itchy. His door opened, and he came out, “let’s go, amma.”

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We now take a break from our regularly scheduled irregular programming to bring you this public service announcement.

Paid for and brought to you by Dr Woz. Dr Woz and associates are not liable for any damage of damages done to participants by following the recommendations given. Recommendations are not approved by the CDC. No independent tests were carried out other than on Dr Woz himself. By following the advice stated, you are responsible for yourself.

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The lights were dim. Most people were asleep or had blocked themselves out from the others, wearing big, clunky headphones over their ears. Right now, it was just the two of them. She was sitting on the seat close to the window. His head was in her lap. The bus trudged along. Smooth.

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“We can’t afford to have you be fat. Not at this time.”

We can’t afford to have you be fat.

We can’t afford to have you be fat.

Oh, no. Here we go again.

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He sat cross legged in the secret basement of the derelict ruins of a once mighty institution. Birds chartered above, unaware of the power of this place. Maybe they felt it. Maybe they didn’t care. But for the first time in his life, he saw. He saw clearly all that he had never seen. He saw the man in the cavern, he saw the chess players. He sensed a power above. Watching. Not of this earth. Also of this earth. Three sparks of celestials.

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He folded his wings and drifted, finally alighting on top of the highest building in the city. His landing was silent but the following rumble was not. The shaking of the earth, almost as if it would fall off. This was stronger than the other quake had been, and it was now because three were in the same place. He smiled, wide, sharp teeth. Let them know. Let them feel the fear that he was on their trail. As the game wore on, he became more solid. And with that, his hunger grew. He would feed soon. But for now, he would going to find them. He knew they weren’t in this city. Neither of them were. But if he had to come to the land of the pure, he wanted to land in this city first. Nowhere else could he go. It was here that he had grown up. It was here that he had learned how to manipulate and deceive. By watching them. He hadn’t turned these people evil. They had shown him how to turn others. Oh how he loved the smell of the city. The scent of sweat, the sight of the dirty canal, laden with waste, and on nice, hot summer days, strewn with shirtless boys playing around. The streets lined with trees, and dogs lying on their sides, sleeping or dead, none cared here. Posh houses, luxurious cars, on the same streets as skinny, sunburnt men driving rickshaws, others standing on top of wooden carts, whipping mercilessly the donkeys that were attached to them. He felt a nostalgia in his chest. A longing, an attachment. He had travelled many places. Many had been better. A rare few had been worse. But there was no place like home. His minions slithered all around him. A flick of the fingers, and he sent them off, some to find them. Others to feed. Soon they would alternate. He should go after them. A frown. A flicker. A ripple passing through the shadow rajah.

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The truth

The car pulled into the driveway. The sun was halfway between the noontime sky, and its night time slumber. The engine rumbled and then with a sigh, turned off. The doors opened, various degrees of slamming, and they walked inside.

They were having tea. Some of them were having tea.

“I hear you kept all of the fasts,” a grandmotherly smile at the youngest. Turning to the eldest, “beta, why didn’t you?”

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The car pulled out of the driveway, the weak, warm rays of the dying sun reflecting from it. With a roar, the gate rolled closed. The sky was mauve and orange. The headlights of the car beamed bright on the black gate as it turned onto the street. Inside the car, there was an anticipatory silence. You could almost feel the internal huffing and fuming. Otherwise, quiet. Outside, birds chirped frantically as they tried to find each other and their way home. The big car turned.

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She landed, the shudder had shaken her to her core. She felt as good, as if she had been broken all her life, and had never known, but that she was finally becoming whole. Unbidden a quote attributed to some Greek philosopher came to her, “in the beginning, humans were composed of four arms, four legs, two heads. Afraid of their power, Zeus separated them, now they spend the rest of their lives looking for their other halves.” She shook away the silly thought. Around her, people had gripped their seats, and were sitting in shocked silence. It was not always thus. She wondered if they had felt the shock. Of course they had. But how, she was bewildered. The plane shuddered to a halt, she relaxed. They had probably thought it was an emergency landing, or some difficulties in landing. Or they would think that way soon enough. The shock sometimes scared them. The power of the underlying world sometimes scared them. They explained it away with ‘logic’. Ha, what a joke. Logos, meaning reason. Reason did not show them the world. It hid it from them. So much the better. There, they were all better now. Clapping. Loudly. Raucously. Some people had even begun to stand as the plane had landed. Stewardesses had been asking them to sit down. Pleading. Almost begging. Now the stewards and stewardesses settled back with calm and watched the chaos unfold. Their job was done.

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Red, fuming, lava burning inside. Bubbling, making hissing sounds as it reaches a boiling point. Once it has reached its boiling point, it will explode. For now, the signs are all there.

Ears feeling red and warm. Heart starting to pound faster. Pounding in the ears. Right before it erupts, these are some of the physical signs.

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He woke up, his gasp loud. Rasping. His throat was dry. It was night time. The sky above him was moving. He was disoriented. No, he was moving. It was bumpy underneath. The car trudged across speed bumps. Good thing he had cushions underneath him. He moved his hands behind him to adjust them and froze. He felt hands. He felt his way up the hands, arms, a torso. His heart chilled. He tried to get up. His legs were like jelly. Again. Nothing. They crumbled back down. Again, he felt the strain in his neck. A third time. He got up. He stumbled and fell onto all fours. He looked in front of him in horror. All around him. Bodies. Cold. Stone cold. Eyes closed, or wide open. They were all dead. Tumbling around like so many things. All in various states of decay. Some were rotting, flies buzzing around, they smelled the worst. Others were fresh, looking almost as if they would wake up any moment now. Peaceful, worried. Scarred, unmarked. Blood caking some of them. Others without any blemishes.

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