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arunsethuraman
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Name: Arun
Gender: Male
Interests: Philosophy, Literature, Theatre, Tea, Pink Floyd, Ilayaraja, Thoughts, Poetry, Photography, Perfumes, Cheap clothes...
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Yahoo:  arun_ash2000
Member Since:
10/6/2006
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| Krishna smirked and questioned the individuality of beings as everything stood beside him like he was shelter. They gave him helpless looks. Or so he thought. Krishna told them that they should not be scared. He was born in the cracks of a storm alike. And Vasudeva had but a basket of straw to keep the flooding waters from the day old baby. He told them that there wasn’t anything to fear in this world that eats everyone alike. There were pigs and cows and dogs and sheep. There were snakes and cats and lions and elephants.
Every being had been drawn to represent something. Pigs were dumb; cows were lazy; dogs were faithful; sheep mute; snakes dangerous; cats wily; lions brave; elephants fat. Krishna smiled at all the creatures and asked them if that was all there was to them. He was a brave one, Krishna! To stand amidst creatures that had preconceived reputations. But they didn’t snort or moo or bark or bleat. They didn’t hiss or purr or roar or trumpet! They just stood there, staring at him. Krishna wondered. For he thought that he had told them of something that they weren’t aware of; they didn’t know that that was what men thought of them! He thought that they wondered if that was all there was to them. He gloated that he had sparked the eternal question of life in them.
But, as life would have it, they were not given to think, though. Krishna smiled back at them and promised them of a more impressive life that wasn’t just what men thought. The animals seemed to listen as the rain poured like upturned buckets of muddy water. The unceasing rain would stop in an hour and the animals would walk away to the safety of their homes.
There was more to them than what men thought. They knew to care less and prided in their individuality. They knew no fear. And they could be everything that every animal could be.
Krishna stood drenched in the rain that now wet his curly black hair. The tree that he had hidden under was gone with the elephant that was now heard trumpeting in the distance. Trumpets still talked of triumph. And what a triumph it was! | | |
| Sudama Sudama was a shy one. He picked but a neglected pebble from an algae-riddled pool of pebbles alike, shaped into being them by not more than a trickle of the many trickles that made the Ganga, the Ganga. He strained his eyes to see its dynamics when flicked at an angle to the lazy water. He knew that he would just pick up another pebble if this one didn’t do well and ‘gerr-plonk’ted straight into the deep. He aimed. And flicked. It wouldn’t kiss the stream more than a couple of times before it vanished to be made into sand at the bottom in years. But it was his best shot yet. And he was happy.
And Sudama left with beaten rice knotted in a towel for a bigger shot. The journey left him mortal. For Krishna was mortal, like immortal was not being Krishna. And Sudama now walked back with damsels in his hair and gold at his feet. He couldn’t walk. For the illusion had been too much for his mediocrity. He was drunk. And he had just lost to Kali at a little game of dice. He had taken a chance with the last die. Like the pebble that grazed the water that wasn’t grazed after all. But it was his best shot, thought he. And he chose to lose at a game that he could have won with but choice; a choice that was called abstinence. The right one. And yet he chose wrong. Kali won, like he always did. And Krishna embraced him with open arms. “Welcome, my friend of young years. We are but one now! All of us. The women. The gold. The elixirs. The perfumes. The drapes. The cushions. All of it! We are one!”
Sudama, the shy, smiled back and said “Thank you.” And all was happy. Nothing lost. And as he walked back, he already missed Krishna. He not once regretted the choice. He was too simple to know if it were wrong or right.
He reached home. There stood a palace in place of his little middle class ramshackle of yesteryear sweat and blood and all that it had taken to make a home. There stood a woman in silks in place of the one that he had left home with a promise of return with a chance of a future in a world that had lost to Kali at the many games of dice. She smiled at him and welcomed him into her newly furnished bedroom. They were one now. And he lived in debt thereafter. | | |
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