He
rushed out, refreshed to tackle the rest of his ‘task’. He walked around the
base of the hill to the southern steps, where another guard stood his vigil. He
smartly saluted him and started climbing.
He soon realized that climbing this particular flight of stairs would
require more efforts as it was even more vertical and the height of each step
was 2 feet! His calves soon started protesting at the added labor and he sat
down, huffing and puffing. He had probably climbed 25 steps. He looked at the
dark steps, rising imperiously upwards like a forbidding column and noted that
he couldn’t see the summit and the shrine at all! He felt very thirsty and to
his horror and dismay, saw that he had repeated his earlier blunder. He had
forgotten to carry a cask of the elixir-water!
‘Serves
you right, you dumb oaf! And a dumb person like you wishes for the fair hand of
the beautiful Princess Sara! Do you deserve her at all?’ he admonished
himself. Then he coaxed himself to cut his depressing and self-chastising
thoughts short and concentrate on his endeavor. Surely, by the end of this
ordeal, he’d prove himself to be worthy of being her suitor. Buoyed by that
inspiring thought, he started ascending the steps again. His eyes were keenly
watching the hill-slopes for natural streams or run-offs so that he could slake
his increasing thirst. But he was to have no such luck! With great difficulty
and feeling faint with the effort, he managed to reach the summit and waved
wearily at the guard there.
Did he detect a faint sneer in the
expression of that guard? It seemed as if he was waiting for him to fail and
accept defeat! Well, he, Juan, would show all of them that he was made of
steel! He sat down for a much needed break as he had been climbing
non-stop. His breath came in great rasps. His heart was thudding. He could hear the non-stop chant “Sara,
Sara, Sara…..” echoing in his heartbeats. So this was love! He smiled
through his heavy breathing. Then he started the equally rigorous descent. His
calves strained with the gravitational pull exerted on them, as he struggled to
reach down each step. When he reached the foot-hill, the sun was beating down
mercilessly on the hill. He was perspiring profusely.
He
had completed 1200 steps (ascent plus descent). Again he rushed back to his
hut, his lifeline; and ate and drank to his heart’s content. Then he went back
to the southern foothills and resumed his back-breaking endeavour. This time he
was fortified with a rucksack filled with food and water. That provided him
emotional succor too. Again he climbed up and down, four more times. He had
thus successfully completed 2000 steps’ ascent and descent. 3000 more remained
to be achieved. It was 12.30 p.m.
He was totally fagged out and longed to stretch his
legs and sleep in the shade, but he knew that as time was at a premium for him,
he could ill afford that luxury.
He
took a long swig of water from his flask and walked to the western foothill. It
took him about half an hour to skirt the hill and reach there. Throughout his
trek, he saw the guards keenly watching and commenting on his progress. They
wondered whether he’d even be alive at the end of his ordeal! Some wished him
good luck, whereas the others jeered at him. He ignored their nasty remarks and
reproachful looks. They didn’t bother him as much as the flagging of his own
energy levels. He prodded himself in good humor “Atta boy, you’ll win, come what may.” He imagined his resilient
mother egging him on towards his goal. He deliberately shut off thoughts about
his beloved. He didn’t want to get carried away and lose sight of his goal.
************************************************************************
Martha was yawning terribly as she wrote about her hero’s adventure. She
realized that she was very tired too. As much as her hero! She didn’t want to
break the link of her thoughts and imagination that was racing away at the
speed of sound. She daren’t stop now. What if she was struck by the writer’s
block later and forgot everything? She looked through swollen eyes at the
clock. It would soon be dawn. For her hero, it was afternoon! She folded her
fingers and opened them several times. They were stiff with all that non-stop
writing. She hoped that she didn’t burn out before her hero did! She could
almost feel her heroine’s accusing eyes on her back. As she tried to continue
writing, her fingers gave way, her pen fell down and she rested her head on top
of the very pages that she was writing on and closed her burning eyes. Soon she
was softly snoring. And dreaming!
Lots of eagles were swooping on
Juan and attacking him ferociously from all directions. Single-handedly,
unarmed, he fought them valiantly, as he grabbed their necks and twisted them,
clasped their sharp claws and pushed them away with all his might until a
particularly vicious bird pecked one of Juan’s eyes and he started bleeding
profusely, collapsing on the stone steps with an anguished cry, rolling down
the steps, with the angry birds still hovering above him and pecking away at
him. A horrified cry escaped Martha’s lips and she was jolted awake, by the
maleficent force of her nightmare. She looked around her fearfully. No sign of
either Juan or the angry, huge birds. She was bathed in perspiration and was
trembling uncontrollably.
She knew that sleep wouldn’t be forthcoming
then, hence she decided that she would write some more. But she couldn’t hold
the pen any longer. Her small finger joints had swollen and become red and
tender, due to her non-stop, marathon writing session. Reluctantly, she gave up
the attempt and slowly got up and tiredly walked to her bedroom, changed into
her night dress and went off to sleep. It was a troubled sleep, full of
nightmares about the dangers that Juan faced while climbing the hill. She
tossed and turned and slipped into an uneasy, sleep. When she awoke, it was
noon. As soon as she woke up, she was assailed by guilt. She had abandoned her
hero and heroine for eight hours. She was anxious about his odyssey. But she
was hungry too!
She was totally bereft of provisions. She would have
to shower, dress and make a trip to the grocer and the baker. What a bother,
she fumed inwardly. Now she was impatient to get on with her story.
To be continued.....
The copyright of this novel is with Mrs. Priya Ramesh Swaminathan.
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