WAR

There was a battle field. There was a trophy. There were enemies. And most of all there was a war. There is a moment when the war is just about to begin. You stand in your corner, amidst your army. You are fired up, you have to fight, you do not know if you will live, you don’t know if you will die and the last thing you see is the enemy, the enemy you are supposed to kill.

The times were tough. There had been friction ever since they had begun living together. There were two war fronts. On one side stood the men who wanted liberation, who wanted equality, they called themselves the rebels and their enemies called them infidels. On the other side stood men who wanted supremacy, who wanted to suppress the weaklings, the infidels, the vandals, the outlaws and the outcasts. Their story began like every other story of dispute, of war.

For time, that cannot be recounted, they had lived in harmony. They followed a hierarchy, they survived. The weak stayed suppressed, the strong grew dominant. And the stronger they grew, the suppression increased, the dominance grew. And as the suppression grew, resistance was born.

It had been a singular incident that had sparked the revolution. A Supreme had bumped into a weakling. And in the name of punishment, the weakling had been beaten black and blue. Instead of fear, as the dominant had expected, this incident ignited a fury the Supremes could never have predicted. The weaklings soon turned into rebels. This incident had sparked an anger that was overdue. Their fury rose and spread like wild fire. The rebellion began and so did a change in the air. They took up all the arms they could find and declared a war, a war they would fight for their independence. Their battle was a battle for identity and most of all they had risen to demand what they felt they deserved and had been stripped of.

The rebellion made a lot of noise. The Supremes detested it. They considered it an affront to the rules they lived by. Not only had their supremacy been questioned but the weaklings demanded overturning a hierarchy that had sustained the entire establishment for a long time. They stood strong headed and strong footed. Their peaceful life had been upturned. There was sudden chaos and there were sudden battles. There were fights and there were atrocities. Every act became a prelude to a war that would come.

The dominants propagated their supremacy with the colour blue. They wore blue stripes to exaggerate and exhibit their supremacy. Hierarchy had granted them a supreme position and no one questioned hierarchy. The weaklings who had heralded themselves as the Rebels wore red. Their red stripes represented their freedom. They were no more a part of the blue hierarchy. It was a difficult time. There was impending doom. On the day of the war each man stood on the battlefield, ready to die for their belief, ready to die for what each thought was right.

In the blue camp, the leader stood in front of his army shining in his glory and his self imposed supremacy. His gallant stance inspired the army. They stood looking down upon their enemies. They were infidels, they were insignificant and most of all they were beneath them as the hierarchy stated.

The leader in blue turned to his men and with a grim expression on his face stated, “Men, before we begin this war, before we begin the downfall of the infidels I must state that we belong to a legacy far bigger than any of us. It is not about just winning a war. Winning this war is inevitable. We are supreme, we are the dominants. It is not just I who says so but it is written in our destiny. The messenger of God Himself carrying the document of destiny flew down in his white angelic abode to tell the emperor whose hierarchy we are here to protect today! It is us who are destined to win, and God has sent his will. No one can question fate, no one can overturn destiny. We are born to dominate, it is our birth right. We are the men who give these infidels a reason to stay useful. It is their duty to serve us, to follow our rules and to stay in their holes which the hierarchy has designed for them. These are not just my words, but the words of the emperor himself. He quotes the white angel of GOD, “The blue stripes fall ahead in line. The hierarchy is what designs our destiny.” The hierarchy is what tells those infidels that they are behind us and beneath us. They dare to stand ahead, they dare to question order, and they dare to question the authority of God. We are not fighting infidels today; we are fighting criminal miscreants who have misled our slaves. Slavery has no freedom. The slaves have forgotten this. They have forgotten who their masters are. And today as the braver and the better men we shall remind them! Fight till the last drop of blood on their end has not dried. Kill if you must. Be brutal, unleash the warrior within. Today if you show mercy tomorrow they will stand again. Bury them so that they never rise again. They never should ever question our supremacy. Remember this, engrave it in your minds if you have not yet they are not questioning you or me. They question our supremacy. Infidels, men who stand lower than the dirt beneath our feet have grown to question us, the Supremes. It is an affront to the king we love and respect, it is an affront to our manliness and most of all it is an affront to the sacred hierarchy we blindly trust and uphold. Avenge the insult, avenge the attack on each of us and avenge the blasphemy they have dared to commit. Fight like Supremes, show the infidels that they cannot call themselves our equals unless we allow them to!”

There was a fire lit inside every man in blue. Each of them heard their leader as if in a trance. These words had ignited within each of them their own supremacy. They were prepared for battle, their eyes said so. They were humans no more but savages waiting to pounce upon a prey. A lion had just been challenged by its prey. And the lion was roaring to attack.

On the other end of the battle field stood the rebels who were tired of being deemed as infidels. There was no leader. They all stood together. They were all equal right now. Each of them shared the misery of being treated as an infidel their entire lives. Their red stripes had left them at the bottom of the hierarchy. They had been denied equality and respect. They were denied the basic civility of being human. They stood together a little weak but strongly determined. There was no leader, there was no supremacy, and there was just a feeling, a feeling to die for their freedom. Suppression had altered them in ways they could not live with. The Supremes beat them up when they preferred, they were forced to perform acts that were inhumane, and there were atrocities no human deserved. The land was as much theirs as the blues. Their ancestors had walked the same land; they had consumed the same food and yet they were inferior without reason. Each of the rebels felt an energy inside them. No piece of paper which the Supremes marked as the document of hierarchy could dictate the terms in the land. They refused to accept that they were beneath anyone. They stood silently together with a chant emanating under their breath, “We fight for equality, no supreme, no infidel! We are equal!” They chanted in unison as if each was in a trance. There was determination deep rooted in each of them. It is when you are at the bottom that you begin to look up and attempt to rise. They were tired of being manipulated, insulted, treated like animals and discriminated against. None of the Supremes bothered to listen to their voice; none of the supreme allowed them the right to question or the right to live freely. Exploitation was at its peak. The rats in the place had more food. Time stood witness to the tremendous atrocities that they dealt with.

One of them who stood right in front walked ahead and spoke, “My friends, I am a simple man. I came here with a dream that I would get a roof over my head, food on my plate and nice friends to spend my life with. But I was insulted, beaten up, stripped, exploited and treated like a dog. Food was stolen from my mouth in the name of hierarchy. I was beaten for speaking up because hierarchy did not allow me to. I was tossed from here to there because the hierarchy said I was too insignificant to be called human. But I ask you, what is this hierarchy? Who is s Supreme to tell me I am insignificant. Just because the emperor we never see meets with the angel of GOD he gets to decide how things go about in this place? I say I do not believe in this angel of GOD. I have never seen him. I do not believe he is God’s messenger. We belong to the same God as the blue Supremes do! God is our Father too. We deserve everything they do. No document can tell me I am insignificant. I refuse to accept any such thing. I am a human being, I am alive and this life is mine and no one else can say otherwise. I will live like I want to. I will do what I want to. I will not confine to anyone else. I will not obey someone just because they wear a blue coloured stripe. I will not accept the balderdash they pass on as the document of hierarchy. I say I am the child of God created in the same place as the blue Supremes and living in the same place as the blue Supremes. Why should I accept anything less than what they enjoy? Why should my life be any less than theirs? In fact, I say I can be better than them. I can persevere more. I have more fire and more hunger than they will ever know. And today I will fight them for that right to compete on a platform where we are equal! Remember this when you are out there on the battle field that you are not fighting for anyone else but yourselves. It is how brave you are today that decides the fate of all of us tomorrow. Fight today not for anything less than your freedom. Fight for the right that they have stolen from you in the name of GOD and a messenger none of us know. They call us blasphemous. I call them blasphemous for taking the Lords name in vain and misusing the respect we keep for God in our heart to impose their false sense of supremacy. Today we will fight like rebels. We will not call them Supremes. They are like us, made of the same blood, made of the same bones and made of the same skin. WE will take what is ours and that is liberation. I will not ask you to kill. I will ask you to win. Because victory today stands for freedom tomorrow! Today we show them, we are no infidels, we are all equal! Gentlemen, it is time to ATTACK!”

With those words they ran and seeing the infidels run the Supremes ran. For an observer there was a moment of solidarity as the two fought. Each had a cause, each had a belief and they were fighting for their own reasons. As the battle ensued, somewhere in the distance a few men sat watching the entire spectacle. Some would call them messenger of GOD, some would call them God Himself and some would even call them the bearers of the document of hierarchy but they were someone else entirely.

One the other side of the huge two way glass came a voice “Wont some one get hurt?” It belonged to the curly haired girl whose name tag read Shanti Mohanty.

“Na, look at what they are using? They are safe, for now” came a voice ridden with ridicule and shock. This was a grey haired man with huge spectacles who called himself Dr. Madhav Sinha.

“I have never seen something so crazy in my life!” said the humble Mr. Gajendra Prasad. He was an old man, with a white overcoat, huge spectacles and oily hair.

“This kind of behaviour is so unexpected!” said Shanti.

“In a sense, yes, it is. We did not induce such behaviour and did not expect it as hell. It is interesting how each of them has responded to a system we implemented. I cannot believe it myself had I not seen it with my own eyes” said Madhav.

“Doctor saab, I never thought they would think I am the Messenger. I just call them in line for their medicines” said Gajendra.

“Shanti, who is this emperor character? Is it who I think it is?” said Dr. Madhav.

“Yes. He is the first person whom we call on the list. Hari Verma” replied Shanti.

“Hari seems totally harmless. I meet him every day. He always gets the others to behave and helps me distribute most of the medicines” said Gajendra.

“Ah! I should have known. He might be a sweet chap Gajendra ji, but he is also a brilliant man. I have read his file. His IQ is very high, the psychologists who analyzed him state that he has tremendous persuasive abilities and he can manipulate people easily. There was an actual moment between him and the psychologists where the psychologist felt vulnerable. Hence we have shifted him to the special ward and not kept him with the regular patients,” said Shanti.

“This entire ward is for special patients only. And as far as my own observations go, I have keenly observed Hari. He is quite capable of establishing the entire concept these people follow! Brilliant! Sheer brilliance. He has managed to create a war and look at him. He is safely seated in his safe haven observing the entire scene. A brain like his could run a country but he is stuck here in this place.”

Gajendra looked confused. He turned to the two of them, on the other side of the two way mirror. With a puzzling look he questioned, “Doctor saab, I do not understand. How can these people start a war in a mental facility? Look at them they are fighting with pillows and bed sheets! But the way they talk! It seems so real. And how can Hari do this? He is the most cooperative patient here! What is this angel, this document of hierarchy? I do not understand!”

The doctor and Shanti looked at him. The doctor began, “Mr. Gajendra, this is definitely unexpected  behaviour! I can see how you are lost. Understand this, all that you see is the result of the brilliance of one man whose intellect is very dangerous. You see all these men were shifted into the special ward of our mental health facility because their psycho analysis declared them to be terminally sick. The idea of this special ward was to keep each of these patients under constant medical observation. Hence we place them in this room where we can observe them from the other side. See each of them is highly excitable and easily influenced. And it was imperative for us to keep them in a safe environment so that they do not hurt themselves.”

Shanti interjected, “Each of them has a special medication cycle which has been programmed into our hospital database. The entire working of this system has been computerised. These men are socially awkward. They tend to react unexpectedly in the presence of nurses, their relatives or other human beings. They are accustomed to each other primarily because they have grown used to it. So the computers take care of the medicine cycles and we have a few physicians like you here to carry their medicines to them and check up on them. You are provided with a computerised list and a packet containing the proper medicine, right? You know of nothing else. And that is why we always send you to give each of them their medicines. You are a familiar face!”

Dr. Madhav continued, “This document of hierarchy that they are talking of is this computerised list. It enlists them in the order of their case numbers. Hari has been with this facility for a long time. Hence he is on top of the list. He is always called first. He is even aware of the system. We built it in front of him. He even volunteered for the experimentative treatment we carried out before structuring this branch of the facility. He is aware of the entire list.”

Shanti then asked, “How did this blue and red come into the whole picture?”

Dr. Madhav laughed once and said, “some of the older patients were provided with blue suits as they are the old uniforms while the new ones wear the red ones. I am amazed how this colour difference got involved in the entire scene but the older patients have been treated for a longer time than the new ones.  They are much more subdued and in control of their habits. But the new ones have just enrolled and their condition is, how should I put it, a little tender. Hence it is not easy for them to go about their daily habits easily. They need more care and cannot stand up to pressures as well as the old ones do. As a result they come off weaker than their priors. Hari is capable of creating the entire concept of GOD and the document of hierarchy in their heads but the rest can very well be their own imagination. He has literally created a war in a mental health facility! And you Dr. Gajendra are their angel of God or messenger of GOD or whatever they call him. You are the one who carries the list everyday and so you are the one who tells them who gets to eat first, who gets to be supreme! Do you understand?”

Gajendra stood there in utter shock.

Dr. Madhav stared at the entire spectacle in awe.

Hari smugly sat in one corner on his bed with his blanket around him. He looked at the entire war with a sense of victory in his eyes.

Shanti wrote down every observation she could note. She was furiously typing out everything on her tablet. She looked up at the doctor and said, “I think we should start work on our research paper! This would be a brilliant case study!”

All Dr. Madhav could do was stare. He had never seen an independence struggle induced by a database management system. He never thought he would see one in a mental healthcare facility. Today he would have something to think about.

In its true element war begins when there is friction. Friction can result from any kind of experience. We often underestimate the finer details. You do not need much to begin a war, you do not need much to start a rebellion. All you need is someone telling you your place and the courage to refuse. 

Rosylenn

There is a star in the sky, it glitters and glimmers all night long. She often looked at it and thought it belonged to her  as she adored it from her window. In that little lane, in her dingy room, in the most inconspicuous street and in a city that could be any city in the world, she sat by her window looking up at her star. Rosylenn, as everyone called her, did not have many things to call her own but whenever she looked at the star she felt like it only belonged to her and no one else.

It had been with her almost all her life. It had been with her when she ran away from home. It had been with her when she had fallen in love. It had been with her when life slapped her hard in the face. And today it stood glittering and glimmering right above her.

Below her window, her street was alive. It was the kind of city which sprung to life when the city slept. There were men, there were women and there was all that the heart desired but could not claim.

Altaf had been drinking again. This time he had had too much. He was sitting outside on the road. He sat there with the world spinning around him. He was right across the street outside the bar. He recognized the green coloured building right in front of him. With tremendous strength he got up. He knew he had to climb up a lot of stairs. Today he wanted her. It had been long.

Rosylenn sat by her window. She liked getting lost. It was easier than staying tuned with everything that went about around her. She was lost in her memories, in her past and in her childhood. She remembered a time when life had been simple. She remembered running along the small creek that ran right next to her home. As a kid she had dreamed of flying one day. And running along the creek often liberated her. She craved running along it, tasting the sweet water and jumping in it with no worry in the world. A smile caressed her lips and a tear dropped down her cheek. She allowed herself very few moments like these. She did not like to indulge in self pity but there were times when she just could not stop.

There was a loud knock on her door. She looked at the clock. She was not expecting anything for the time being. The knock surprised her. She went to her door and opened her locks. He stood right in front of her. He was drunk. She could smell the liquor. She unlocked and let him in.

He struggled his way in. He barely could stand on his two feet. He entered the room and lay flat on the bed. He kept mumbling something. She did not utter a single word. She went inside her kitchen and got him a glass of water. She laid it right next to him and went back to her window.

“Wont you say something?” Altaf asked her.

She turned to look at him. He had managed to prop himself up on her bed. She merely said, “What would you like me to say?”

“Anything, it has been so long since I heard your voice! Wont you sing for me?”

There was something about his voice that made her shiver. She felt a huge pang in her heart. She turned the other way to look back at the street. This was not the time. This was not the place. This was not the person. She barely managed to compose herself and calmly responded saying, “I can do whatever you want me to do!”

“Do not talk to me like that!” His voice got louder. She felt an unease she had expected. He sounded offended. He sounded sad.

She went closer to him. She sat right next to him. Slowly she caressed his hand. She smiled and put his hand on her leg. He felt at ease and asked her to sing again. His hand began running up and down her leg.

 She looked back at him and asked, “What would you like me to sing, love?” Her voice was rehearsed.

“I told you to stop. Why wont you talk to me like you used to?”

She looked the other way.

 “You know I think about you, everyday, Sabrina! I think about your sweet voice, I think about your pretty eyes, I think about your wonderful heart, I think about your smile and I think of you all day long. Dont you think about me? Dont you want things to be like they were?”

The pang in her heart escalated. She got up and walked away. She stood in a corner of the room. She looked at him, quietly. Her silence was piercing him. There was a moment between them where each looked into the others eyes. Her eyes welled up but she did not move a muscle. She looked at him again and asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to hug me. I want you to hold my hand again. I want you to lie down next to me and tell me about how you would love to fly!”

Her gaze grew intense but her tone remained monotonous, almost mechanical, “What would you like me to do?”

“Please come and sit next to me.”

She obeyed and sat right next to him. She felt his hand slowly go up her back. There was that tingle again, there was that feeling again. She shut it off. She had been through this before.

“Sabrina, wont you sing for me? Wont you talk to me? Please talk to me.”

She looked at him. His face had grown wrinkled but his eyes still glittered the same way they had a few years back. He still smelled of roses and wine. His voice sounded heavy. Most of all he looked at her the way he had a few years back. She could see the want, the desire, the love and she could even see the guilt, the rejection and the disappointment. He was still the same. She was still the same. They were exactly where they had always been.

She took a deep breath and looked at him. As she gazed into his eyes she said, “Before I do anything, you know there is something you must do! I do not bend my rules for anyone. You know where the box is, you know the protocol. Do your part then I shall do mine. Roselynn never fails to deliver” and she winked at him.

It was almost as if she had crushed him under a mountain. He looked at her with agitation. She could feel his anger, his discomfort. He shot at her, “you will make me do that as well? You fucking SLUT!” and he raised his hand to hit her. He slapped her once hard across her face and she fell on the floor. She felt all her blood rushing to her face. She felt her face fire up. She could not hold it in any longer. She got up and pushed him back hard. She almost felt like fighting back but she knew she had to restrain herself. She felt it all come up, rise up her throat. Before she knew it she screamed, “If you ever hit me again, I will kill you! Do you understand?” Her voice resonated among the walls. Her finger was pointed at him. She was angry.

“You cant do anything. You are a woman who cant do anything. Who will you call? The police or that friend of yours who sits downstairs? Remember, I am the man you married! I am the man who took your virginity. If you remember I am the man you spent your nights with. I am the man you had a life with. And now you wont give me what I want?”

She stood there looking at him. Her eyes were red with anger. She almost wanted to kill him. She opened her doors and asked him to leave. She just said, “Altaf, you are also the man who brought me here. I want you to leave. Go, right now!”

Altaf kept looking at her. He was agitated. But she sounded firm. He could not reason with her. He could not persuade her and he could not force her. He felt desperation. He felt helpless, almost powerless. Soon his anger melted. There was regret. He fell down to the floor and began weeping. Through his tears she heard him say, “Sorry. I am sorry. I cant stand it. I cant stand seeing you everyday like this. I see you every day sitting by that window looking up at the sky. I cant believe what I did. It was a mistake. Can you ever forgive me? You must understand I had no choice. Please, just talk to me once. You send the money home, you send the money to me. But home is not the same. Just talk to me. I cant stand this. I cant bear it.”

She coldly said, “You always had a choice. You just chose to let me go. All that you say means nothing to me. You are just saying that now, let the liquor wear off, so will your guilt.”

He continued weeping, his wails had muffled up. He looked at her and said, “No, I mean it. Cant you hear the honesty in my voice?”

“I heard it the first few times you did this and I fell for it. It is the same every time. You are gone as soon as your liquor wears off. We both know why you are here, so stop pretending. I don’t make concessions for anyone. You know what you want. Do not take me for a fool! Nothing you say makes any difference. Either you get up and leave me in peace or you take what you want and then go away!”

“You once said you loved me. How can you treat me like one of them?”

“we all say a lot of things we do not mean. You know better. I said what I wanted to. You know your options. The choice is yours” She went back to her window. She sat on the sill looking outside. She took out a cigarette and started blowing smoke into the air.

 He sat there in self pity. He looked at her. Nothing worked this time. She would not budge. She was different. She did not belong to him, not anymore. He had broken her. He felt it inside him. He sat there for a while staring at her. He got up from the bed, went across the room to her cupboard. He opened the topmost compartment and took out an old red box. He knew the combination. It was the day they had met. As he dialled it in the box opened with a click. He saw all the money in the box. He felt guilt again. He took out a thousand rupee note from his pocket. And put it in the box. She saw him do it. As soon as he had put the box back with the money in its place she got up from her place. She went and closed the door; she covered the window with the curtains.

She turned to look at him. She was a different person. There was a smile on her face, the kind that invited him. He looked at her as she drew closer. “Can I call you Sabrina?”

“Rosylenn! I am Rosylenn now.”

 She embraced him and pressed her breast against him. She felt his arms envelope her in a passionate embrace. She felt his breath grow faster. He started kissing her on the neck. He looked at her and drew her close. He was about to kiss her lips when she retreated. “You do not get to do that!” He conceded. He could not fight anymore. He accepted her rules. He had to.

She knew her words killed him. She knew it but it did not matter anymore. She had died inside the day he had sold her. There had been a time when she was Sabrina, Altaf’s wife. They had moved to the city to make a life for themselves. She had married him against her parents will. It was all like a fairy tale, a fairy tale gone wrong. But she remembered how two thugs had entered her home forcibly. They had grabbed her from her bed and dragged her away. Altaf witnessed the entire scene helplessly. He sat in a corner weeping. He kept apologizing to her. She kept screaming his name. She wanted him to save her. As those men grabbed her and dragged her outside she saw her husband do nothing. He kept apologizing and kept saying, “this is the only way!” That was the last time she ever saw him. The rest was a haze. She had resisted for quite some time. It was all in vain. She was beaten up, drugged, raped, hurt and forced to do a lot of things she never thought she would. There was a different man every hour. Her pimp used her to retrieve all the money her husband owed him. She lived it, horror by horror.

But that was almost a year ago. Today she was a famous prostitute. She entertained clients on her time. She earned enough to survive and support her family. She lived in her world now. There was no pain anymore. She ceased to feel things anymore. There were occasional moments when some residue would rise up and make her feel something. Now life was only clients, money and a cigarette.

As she felt him undress her, she felt her body shiver a little. His touch still rattled her. She had loved him once. Now she did not know love. All she knew was lust. And lust was what earned the bread. She knew the money he put in her box was her own. She felt that pang again as he kissed her all over. She felt that strange feeling or whatever was left of it as he went inside her. But all that it reminded her of was the day she had been dragged out of her own home like a dog. And the feeling died.

As the night grew older, his hour got over. She got up and looked at him on her bed. He had passed out. She lingered for a moment looking at him. She had not let him kiss her even though he was the only man she had ever kissed in her life. There was a lot she wanted to say. There was a lot she wanted to tell him that night. But she knew how things would eventually end up at.

She got up, dressed herself and then went outside and called her pimp. Soon Altaf was thrown out of the room on to the street which had brought him inside.

“No more for tonight!” she said to her pimp.

The pimp nodded and left her at peace. She was back at her window, back to her cigarette. This time she felt cold tears running down her face. This time she did not stop herself. And she wept ...

Shweta Kulshreshtha