“For how many more years will we lead a life like this? Trapped in the fringes of a half rotten liver and stone filled kidney? I’m sick and tired of the gastric juice! “, he exclaimed suddenly with a grunt, after a long fulfilling lunch.
Once upon a time when stories and songs were being passed onto generations verbally and not through the use of audio-books or torrent-downloaded films, there lived twin brothers namely Story and Song. Although they were pretty old then, age did not bother them much as they used to get transfer from one habitat to another and with each transfer, there used to be a renewed thirst for life as they were rewarded with new physical additions. Story and Song always used to fight amongst themselves regarding the fact that who is older amongst the two. But however much they fought, this remained a mystery as their creator was never to be found and they could only remember a chain transfer – from a generation to a generation. They had seen a lot of changes over the period; even in the manner people behave and think.
It was a winter afternoon, as far as they remember, when the blue-eyed mother decided to transfer them over to her teenage daughter, who has just reached puberty. Story was really excited about this transfer as over the period, he has enjoyed a certain form of superiority and smoothness in transfer when compared to Song, who has been complaining of body aches and rough landing often inflicting serious injuries during the last several transfer sessions. However, this time it was an enjoyable journey for both of them. Mother took immense care in passing them off while the daughter eagerly and willfully accepted them inside her.
“So we are the first ones to get inside her after puberty. Well she’s quite sexy! What do you say? “, said Story with a smile. “That’s really gross brother. If you need to express that, please do it in a more musical manner, more subtly. Otherwise, they’ll say we are not cultured enough.”
“Let them say so. I don’t care about what they say. If we start thinking about what they say, and start altering according to their definitions, then a time will come when they’ll question our existence.”
Years passed by in flashes and Story & Song started feeling like they are living in a jail. This was the first time they discovered the hard truth – they themselves have no existence; it is the process and art of transfer which makes them quantifiable entities. Their existence has always been decided by a mere process of extempore output, passed on as culture of periods. They thought they have the weapon which precisely and exclusively they own – time; they can create time. But alas! These entirely lie in the hands of someone else, whom they cannot control rather their fate depends on the decisions or whims of this other. Slowly but steadily a fear started gripping them. What will happen if one day Story is transferred but Song remains trapped? Is their brotherhood at threat? And the most important questions came up – Will such a long gap change their very existence and mold their personalities into different beings?
It was a winter afternoon. The daughter had a tiring day at work and she was taking a siesta after a stomach full lunch. Last few days, Song has been planning of finding a way to come out and take revenge on her. The weather seemed fine to make this the D-Day. Like all the afternoons, their jail space was getting contracted and expanded with each breath of the daughter but today, they were busy in measuring the streaks of light coming from the small hole few feet above them. Song found out after years of research that it is this whole which is their path to freedom, as it always has been. Earlier though there were other places as well, but for the last few transfers, which happened years ago, this has been mostly the pathway. The streaks of light beautifully lightened up the struggling upward path but the fluctuations were to be followed to receive freedom. “I’m going up, okay. You keep following the light. Remember, it is right at that moment when the area starts getting brighter, you’ll have to make the push. Then only you’ll be able to come out. Don’t worry if you get blinded by the light while taking the jump, because it is our light of independence.” explained Song carefully and took a jump and within minutes vanished out of eyesight. Now, it was time for Story to make the cut. He could hear Song shouting out, faintly,” Easy brother, easy. Keep watching, keep watching, your moment is coming… Jump… Jump….” For a moment it seemed they have lost each other forever. Story could not recall any of the instructions given by his brother, neither he could gauge head and tail of the opening and closing of pathway. He just jumped, trusting his intuition, and within moments his eyes were blinded by array of light. And then, the scary moment was gone, although it seemed like years. He could see his brother. Story and Song were once again free.
Freedom comes for a price. History has been proof of so many freedom movements, which has taken away a lot more than offered. But the taste of freedom is mysteriously delicious. And some often goes into a trance with it. This was particularly not the case with Story and Song though. They hugged each other tightly, for the first time they discovered themselves as entities independent of time, culture, period, generation and people. But the joy of freedom could not wipe out the horrors of years of being trapped. They thought they were in control of time, it is them whole can create time, but right at this moment they realized – they have fallen behind time. “We must not let her go so easily”, said Story holding onto his grudge. “Even though we are free, where will we go alone? It is ultimately the process of transfer, which gives us existence. We need to do something.”
“Revenge. Its time for revenge.” Shouted both of them together.
Story took the shape of a man’s boot and carefully placed himself at the entrance of the door. Song took the shape of a man’s coat and carefully placed himself at the wall hanger in the corner of the room. When the daughter woke up, she started doing her usual chores without realizing the chaos that had taken place while she was in sleep. She thought to herself about the extra hour she has slept that day, which was quite awkward considering the lazy day it has been. “Maybe because of the weather” she said to herself. It was twilight. The sun was setting behind the horizon, fog was setting in slowly and the whole atmosphere was filled with an enigma. She was sipping tea from her cup while finishing up the last chores before sunsets. The lush green fields were swaying with the breeze and there was a smell of mystery all over the village. It was time add some fuel and light up the diya. She remembers, her mother used to keep the diya light all the time she was awake and it was only before going to sleep at night, she put a stone on it to pass the fire onto the ground. “Diya gives you energy. And energy is never lost. When it is in the air, you take it to work and when you pass it onto ground, you take it to sleep peacefully. This is what our culture believes in.” mother used to say to her when she was a mere schoolgirl. She added some fuel to the diya to keep the energy alive and saw the doors and windows of neighbourhood closing by with the last rays of sun.
“Meera, open the door.” Her husband shouted from outside and she gracefully stepped ahead to open the door. In the light of the diya, the middle aged Meera looked as calm and composed and innocent as she was when she sat for the wedding.
“Who has come?” enquired Meera’s husband, in a hush-hush manner.
It was a winter afternoon, as far as they remember, when the blue-eyed mother decided to transfer them over to her teenage daughter, who has just reached puberty. Story was really excited about this transfer as over the period, he has enjoyed a certain form of superiority and smoothness in transfer when compared to Song, who has been complaining of body aches and rough landing often inflicting serious injuries during the last several transfer sessions. However, this time it was an enjoyable journey for both of them. Mother took immense care in passing them off while the daughter eagerly and willfully accepted them inside her.
“So we are the first ones to get inside her after puberty. Well she’s quite sexy! What do you say? “, said Story with a smile. “That’s really gross brother. If you need to express that, please do it in a more musical manner, more subtly. Otherwise, they’ll say we are not cultured enough.”
“Let them say so. I don’t care about what they say. If we start thinking about what they say, and start altering according to their definitions, then a time will come when they’ll question our existence.”
Years passed by in flashes and Story & Song started feeling like they are living in a jail. This was the first time they discovered the hard truth – they themselves have no existence; it is the process and art of transfer which makes them quantifiable entities. Their existence has always been decided by a mere process of extempore output, passed on as culture of periods. They thought they have the weapon which precisely and exclusively they own – time; they can create time. But alas! These entirely lie in the hands of someone else, whom they cannot control rather their fate depends on the decisions or whims of this other. Slowly but steadily a fear started gripping them. What will happen if one day Story is transferred but Song remains trapped? Is their brotherhood at threat? And the most important questions came up – Will such a long gap change their very existence and mold their personalities into different beings?
It was a winter afternoon. The daughter had a tiring day at work and she was taking a siesta after a stomach full lunch. Last few days, Song has been planning of finding a way to come out and take revenge on her. The weather seemed fine to make this the D-Day. Like all the afternoons, their jail space was getting contracted and expanded with each breath of the daughter but today, they were busy in measuring the streaks of light coming from the small hole few feet above them. Song found out after years of research that it is this whole which is their path to freedom, as it always has been. Earlier though there were other places as well, but for the last few transfers, which happened years ago, this has been mostly the pathway. The streaks of light beautifully lightened up the struggling upward path but the fluctuations were to be followed to receive freedom. “I’m going up, okay. You keep following the light. Remember, it is right at that moment when the area starts getting brighter, you’ll have to make the push. Then only you’ll be able to come out. Don’t worry if you get blinded by the light while taking the jump, because it is our light of independence.” explained Song carefully and took a jump and within minutes vanished out of eyesight. Now, it was time for Story to make the cut. He could hear Song shouting out, faintly,” Easy brother, easy. Keep watching, keep watching, your moment is coming… Jump… Jump….” For a moment it seemed they have lost each other forever. Story could not recall any of the instructions given by his brother, neither he could gauge head and tail of the opening and closing of pathway. He just jumped, trusting his intuition, and within moments his eyes were blinded by array of light. And then, the scary moment was gone, although it seemed like years. He could see his brother. Story and Song were once again free.
Freedom comes for a price. History has been proof of so many freedom movements, which has taken away a lot more than offered. But the taste of freedom is mysteriously delicious. And some often goes into a trance with it. This was particularly not the case with Story and Song though. They hugged each other tightly, for the first time they discovered themselves as entities independent of time, culture, period, generation and people. But the joy of freedom could not wipe out the horrors of years of being trapped. They thought they were in control of time, it is them whole can create time, but right at this moment they realized – they have fallen behind time. “We must not let her go so easily”, said Story holding onto his grudge. “Even though we are free, where will we go alone? It is ultimately the process of transfer, which gives us existence. We need to do something.”
“Revenge. Its time for revenge.” Shouted both of them together.
Story took the shape of a man’s boot and carefully placed himself at the entrance of the door. Song took the shape of a man’s coat and carefully placed himself at the wall hanger in the corner of the room. When the daughter woke up, she started doing her usual chores without realizing the chaos that had taken place while she was in sleep. She thought to herself about the extra hour she has slept that day, which was quite awkward considering the lazy day it has been. “Maybe because of the weather” she said to herself. It was twilight. The sun was setting behind the horizon, fog was setting in slowly and the whole atmosphere was filled with an enigma. She was sipping tea from her cup while finishing up the last chores before sunsets. The lush green fields were swaying with the breeze and there was a smell of mystery all over the village. It was time add some fuel and light up the diya. She remembers, her mother used to keep the diya light all the time she was awake and it was only before going to sleep at night, she put a stone on it to pass the fire onto the ground. “Diya gives you energy. And energy is never lost. When it is in the air, you take it to work and when you pass it onto ground, you take it to sleep peacefully. This is what our culture believes in.” mother used to say to her when she was a mere schoolgirl. She added some fuel to the diya to keep the energy alive and saw the doors and windows of neighbourhood closing by with the last rays of sun.
“Meera, open the door.” Her husband shouted from outside and she gracefully stepped ahead to open the door. In the light of the diya, the middle aged Meera looked as calm and composed and innocent as she was when she sat for the wedding.
“Who has come?” enquired Meera’s husband, in a hush-hush manner.
“You came right now. Who else will come?” Meera said astonishingly.
“I mean is your brother or some family member is here for visit?”
“No. None is here. Why are you suddenly asking?”
“Then whose boots are these?” husband pointed out at a pair of boots at the entrance.
“How would I know? Maybe someone has left them there”
Husband entered the house sceptically, not being very satisfied with Meera’s reply but certainly not wanting to question it any further. He washed off his face and drank a glass of water, still thinking about the weird pair of boots, which must be belonging to a man from city. He tried to imagine if he has seen anyone coming from city that day. He even tried to fit those boots mentally into Ravi babu’s feet, who would often visit the city for trade purposes. Ravi babu was a rich man and has been infamous in village for trying to befriend the wives of neighbours and then taking their advantage when the men of household were out for work. Even if Ravi babu tried to impress Meera, he would have gifted her something more precious rather than a pair of man’s boots, which are of no use to her. All these thoughts crossed over husband’s mind as he moved into the bedroom from courtyard. But as soon as he entered the room, a nightmare struck him.
“Meera.. Meera.. Come here immediately..” he shouted half in panic, half in the horrors of his previous thought. “Tell me, who has been here when I was at work?”
“I told you I was alone. None has been here”
“Do you think I’m a fool? Whose coat is that hanging at corner? That’s certainly not mine. What the hell have you been upto…..”
What started as a mere inquiry was quickly turned into a fight with both Meera and her husband holding onto their ground firmly. Sparks started flying and was spilling over to the neighbourhood as well. Story and Song were enjoying this moment thoroughly. They had waited for this revenge. Meera was hell-bent on the fact that she has been the only one in the house. Story made several gestures to song pointing out how foolish she was, she did not even feel the presence of one of the two; she could not even understand that they exist along with her. It has been this way for years. The only difference was, today she had to pay for her mistake. She had to answer to the questions raised after all these years. Who gave her the right to take away freedom from Story and Song? They have been transferred over generations. They have had their share of good and bad moments but what she was doing with them was just bodacious. So she had to face the outcome today. But such a situation gave just a momentary pleasure to Story and Song. They knew that their ultimate goal was to let her transfer them over. Their hope stuck to the fact that such a situation will soon arrive. Otherwise, there will be a breakdown of culture, breakdown of society, breakdown of time. Civilization cannot exist without the two of them. They are the foundation pillars. They have an omnipotent presence in each activity of world, in each decision of nature, in each creation, originality, ideation, repetition. They have created the state of equilibrium. They have quantized time and carry it on themselves.
Meera went to sleep alone as her husband decided to leave the house that night and sleep at the nearby temple, which served as the community sleeping centre for people having trouble to sleep at home. Meera was incredibly sad. She cried, she wept and even became angry at the unknown presence that created the whole rift. She forgot to have her dinner and slowly slipped in her sleep. Just before falling off to sleep, she put the stone over the diya and brought the fire to ground to provide her with the energy of a peaceful sleep. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to gather the energy from ground and slipped into sleep unconsciously.
At the village temple, the everyday gathering had started by then. All the diyas from the neighbouring households had got together for their regular chitchat sessions. It was only at night that all of them could meet as it was only during this time, they were put to ground and thus they could travel. Everyone was waiting for the Meera Diya as she generally comes early but today she has been very much late. At last she came, tired after the long day she had had at work and left with very little energy for her own self. She was rushing down there, as she knew she would get a lot of attention today – she was carrying the lead gossip of the day.
“Meera Diya, why are you so late tonight? We have been waiting for so long.” said a fellow diya.
“My mistress was not getting me go easily. She had a fight with her husband and he left her alone at home. So she wept and cried and stayed awake for a long time.”
“That sounds really interesting. Why did they fight? ”,asked another fellow diya.
“When the husband came home, he saw a man’s boot and a man’s coat and when he enquired about these and how these came, she could not answer him. So a fight started eventually.”
“She really did not know how it came? ”,enquired a fellow diya.
“No. She still does not know.”
“Well, do you know how they came?”, asked an intelligent diya.
So Meera Diya started explaining the whole process of how Story and Song took a revenge on Meera after being trapped for so many years inside her. All the other diyas started listening in rapt attention, and the silence of the night was broken by the dramatic explanation of the events that occurred with Meera in afternoon.
Back at home Story and Song decided to get back into their natural habitat and decided it was time that they went back inside Meera. The night was the best time to slip in through slowly as none can notice their retreat. Both of them knew the path back well and this time around they were familiar with the exact time period of pathway opening as well. But after several failed attempts they started realizing that it was impossible to go back in. Soon they discovered that the way to get in was different. They had never paid attention towards the process of getting in. They had always looked towards the method of going out, as each transfer would transform them in terms of time and period. Story and Song came to tears. The questions came to their mind – Is this the end of their journey? Will they perish here? Will they die a death where none would ever remember them? With all these questions in mind Story and Song started proceeding towards the first rays of sun – Mayukh as it is called in Indian tradition. This is what which has given them life; this is the ultimate creator, the originator creating ripples with the ritual of each repetition.
The sunrise created a sort of grief among the diyas as it was time to go back home. The night was quite eventful, lots of gossips and analysis happened throughout. And in the middle of all these, lay Meera’s husband who came there to sleep. While trying to sleep in the middle of mosquito pricks and horrifying thoughts, he started over-hearing a conversation that was taking place towards his upper right side. He lay still and tried to hear sharply what was being discussed. Pretty soon he came to understand that it was his household chores which was the hot topic that night. He did show little bit of interest while the events of him with his wife were being repeated but he was shocked hearing the truth from there. He heard the whole conversation, often feeling the need to interrupt and question but then he held onto his desires and waited for the night to get over. With the first rays of sun, he ran back home to share the secret he has come to know of. As he entered the room, he found Meera lying down on floor, her hair all over the place, marks of tear drops on her cheeks and no sign of the boot or the coat.
It was a beautiful garden filled with fruits of hope, love, care. It was colourful. It was tempting. And then everything went blank. It seemed like a hollow space, devoid of language, culture, emotions. The space seemed to extent till eternity. It was hollow. It had no colour, yet it was not black. A sort of a place where you can breathe but it feels claustrophobic. It is enormous yet it cannot accommodate a small entity like you.
Suddenly Meera woke up. She opened her eyes in a flash as her husband was almost shaking her to wake her up. She looked at him closely. For a moment she had forgotten about all the fight they had last night but all she could remember that he was not there with her last night. She tried to listen to the words he was saying to her but the effects of the sleep was still continuing and she was taking some more time in trance. At last, she could make out what he was saying.
“Meera, I found out how that boot and coat came in here.” explained the husband joyfully.
Meera did not react much as she was still a bit angry with his behavior.
“Meera, you have a Story and a Song to tell. Tell me Meera, tell me.”
Meera was now surprised. She said, “I can’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“The Story and Song, Meera. The Story and Song you have. Tell me.”
“What Story are you talking about? What Song?”
“You will have to tell me Meera. You need to tell me. You need to pass it on. That’s the law of civilization. Tell me Meera, say”
Meera stared blankly at her husband’s face. She tried hard to think of what to say but at last she just said, “What Story? What Song? What Story? What Song? What Story? What Song?”
“I mean is your brother or some family member is here for visit?”
“No. None is here. Why are you suddenly asking?”
“Then whose boots are these?” husband pointed out at a pair of boots at the entrance.
“How would I know? Maybe someone has left them there”
Husband entered the house sceptically, not being very satisfied with Meera’s reply but certainly not wanting to question it any further. He washed off his face and drank a glass of water, still thinking about the weird pair of boots, which must be belonging to a man from city. He tried to imagine if he has seen anyone coming from city that day. He even tried to fit those boots mentally into Ravi babu’s feet, who would often visit the city for trade purposes. Ravi babu was a rich man and has been infamous in village for trying to befriend the wives of neighbours and then taking their advantage when the men of household were out for work. Even if Ravi babu tried to impress Meera, he would have gifted her something more precious rather than a pair of man’s boots, which are of no use to her. All these thoughts crossed over husband’s mind as he moved into the bedroom from courtyard. But as soon as he entered the room, a nightmare struck him.
“Meera.. Meera.. Come here immediately..” he shouted half in panic, half in the horrors of his previous thought. “Tell me, who has been here when I was at work?”
“I told you I was alone. None has been here”
“Do you think I’m a fool? Whose coat is that hanging at corner? That’s certainly not mine. What the hell have you been upto…..”
What started as a mere inquiry was quickly turned into a fight with both Meera and her husband holding onto their ground firmly. Sparks started flying and was spilling over to the neighbourhood as well. Story and Song were enjoying this moment thoroughly. They had waited for this revenge. Meera was hell-bent on the fact that she has been the only one in the house. Story made several gestures to song pointing out how foolish she was, she did not even feel the presence of one of the two; she could not even understand that they exist along with her. It has been this way for years. The only difference was, today she had to pay for her mistake. She had to answer to the questions raised after all these years. Who gave her the right to take away freedom from Story and Song? They have been transferred over generations. They have had their share of good and bad moments but what she was doing with them was just bodacious. So she had to face the outcome today. But such a situation gave just a momentary pleasure to Story and Song. They knew that their ultimate goal was to let her transfer them over. Their hope stuck to the fact that such a situation will soon arrive. Otherwise, there will be a breakdown of culture, breakdown of society, breakdown of time. Civilization cannot exist without the two of them. They are the foundation pillars. They have an omnipotent presence in each activity of world, in each decision of nature, in each creation, originality, ideation, repetition. They have created the state of equilibrium. They have quantized time and carry it on themselves.
Meera went to sleep alone as her husband decided to leave the house that night and sleep at the nearby temple, which served as the community sleeping centre for people having trouble to sleep at home. Meera was incredibly sad. She cried, she wept and even became angry at the unknown presence that created the whole rift. She forgot to have her dinner and slowly slipped in her sleep. Just before falling off to sleep, she put the stone over the diya and brought the fire to ground to provide her with the energy of a peaceful sleep. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to gather the energy from ground and slipped into sleep unconsciously.
At the village temple, the everyday gathering had started by then. All the diyas from the neighbouring households had got together for their regular chitchat sessions. It was only at night that all of them could meet as it was only during this time, they were put to ground and thus they could travel. Everyone was waiting for the Meera Diya as she generally comes early but today she has been very much late. At last she came, tired after the long day she had had at work and left with very little energy for her own self. She was rushing down there, as she knew she would get a lot of attention today – she was carrying the lead gossip of the day.
“Meera Diya, why are you so late tonight? We have been waiting for so long.” said a fellow diya.
“My mistress was not getting me go easily. She had a fight with her husband and he left her alone at home. So she wept and cried and stayed awake for a long time.”
“That sounds really interesting. Why did they fight? ”,asked another fellow diya.
“When the husband came home, he saw a man’s boot and a man’s coat and when he enquired about these and how these came, she could not answer him. So a fight started eventually.”
“She really did not know how it came? ”,enquired a fellow diya.
“No. She still does not know.”
“Well, do you know how they came?”, asked an intelligent diya.
So Meera Diya started explaining the whole process of how Story and Song took a revenge on Meera after being trapped for so many years inside her. All the other diyas started listening in rapt attention, and the silence of the night was broken by the dramatic explanation of the events that occurred with Meera in afternoon.
Back at home Story and Song decided to get back into their natural habitat and decided it was time that they went back inside Meera. The night was the best time to slip in through slowly as none can notice their retreat. Both of them knew the path back well and this time around they were familiar with the exact time period of pathway opening as well. But after several failed attempts they started realizing that it was impossible to go back in. Soon they discovered that the way to get in was different. They had never paid attention towards the process of getting in. They had always looked towards the method of going out, as each transfer would transform them in terms of time and period. Story and Song came to tears. The questions came to their mind – Is this the end of their journey? Will they perish here? Will they die a death where none would ever remember them? With all these questions in mind Story and Song started proceeding towards the first rays of sun – Mayukh as it is called in Indian tradition. This is what which has given them life; this is the ultimate creator, the originator creating ripples with the ritual of each repetition.
The sunrise created a sort of grief among the diyas as it was time to go back home. The night was quite eventful, lots of gossips and analysis happened throughout. And in the middle of all these, lay Meera’s husband who came there to sleep. While trying to sleep in the middle of mosquito pricks and horrifying thoughts, he started over-hearing a conversation that was taking place towards his upper right side. He lay still and tried to hear sharply what was being discussed. Pretty soon he came to understand that it was his household chores which was the hot topic that night. He did show little bit of interest while the events of him with his wife were being repeated but he was shocked hearing the truth from there. He heard the whole conversation, often feeling the need to interrupt and question but then he held onto his desires and waited for the night to get over. With the first rays of sun, he ran back home to share the secret he has come to know of. As he entered the room, he found Meera lying down on floor, her hair all over the place, marks of tear drops on her cheeks and no sign of the boot or the coat.
It was a beautiful garden filled with fruits of hope, love, care. It was colourful. It was tempting. And then everything went blank. It seemed like a hollow space, devoid of language, culture, emotions. The space seemed to extent till eternity. It was hollow. It had no colour, yet it was not black. A sort of a place where you can breathe but it feels claustrophobic. It is enormous yet it cannot accommodate a small entity like you.
Suddenly Meera woke up. She opened her eyes in a flash as her husband was almost shaking her to wake her up. She looked at him closely. For a moment she had forgotten about all the fight they had last night but all she could remember that he was not there with her last night. She tried to listen to the words he was saying to her but the effects of the sleep was still continuing and she was taking some more time in trance. At last, she could make out what he was saying.
“Meera, I found out how that boot and coat came in here.” explained the husband joyfully.
Meera did not react much as she was still a bit angry with his behavior.
“Meera, you have a Story and a Song to tell. Tell me Meera, tell me.”
Meera was now surprised. She said, “I can’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“The Story and Song, Meera. The Story and Song you have. Tell me.”
“What Story are you talking about? What Song?”
“You will have to tell me Meera. You need to tell me. You need to pass it on. That’s the law of civilization. Tell me Meera, say”
Meera stared blankly at her husband’s face. She tried hard to think of what to say but at last she just said, “What Story? What Song? What Story? What Song? What Story? What Song?”
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