Juan wore the plain white garb of the seers. He was carrying the bowl for alms in his
right hand and a staff in his other. He
was shaved bald and was clean-shaven.
His jaw, chin and scalp appeared green due to the close shave. His appearance was composed and his demeanor
calm, but his single eye held a storm of torment. It was evident that he was going through a
great inner turmoil.
His eye was as
dark as the stormy sea whose huge waves rolled back and forth ceaselessly. Only, these waves were those of deep
anguish. On the crest of each wave,
Sara, the beautiful Sara came riding proudly, inviting him into her warm
embrace and when the waves receded, all that was left, were her sweet memories
and the unshakeable feeling of being lost without her love. He could feel her love, but was
helpless. Totally helpless!
He felt like
drowning in the real waves of the sea or jumping headlong from the precipice of
the shrine. But no, life was as ruthless
as ever! He couldn’t dare be a coward,
even in the deepest of his thoughts. His
mother had taught him to be brave and face the stormiest tempest with
fortitude. Besides, would even the fair
Princess Sara like the thought of being loved by a coward, a loser?
Destiny had ordained that he become a
celibate seer in the prime of his youth.
If this wasn’t cruelty, what was?
When Juan tried
telling his fellow disciples about his true feelings, they just pursed their lips
even tighter and raised a stern finger to their lips to silence him or covered
their ears to abstain from hearing about ‘sin’.
Most of them just politely or rudely moved out of earshot, leaving him
to stew in his private hell. He was
friendless and felt lonely and frustrated.
Being a devout Christian, the monotonous religious texts of that cult,
failed to enthuse him. He fervently
prayed to Lord Jesus to rescue him and put him on the path of salvation. On some days, he even regretted volunteering
for the task set by the king. Then at
once, he’d rebuke himself and remind himself of that beautiful Princess who was
probably still waiting to garland him and make him hers! Poor lady!
What was her destiny, he
wondered. It would definitely be worse
than his, if she was forced to marry another suitor, against her wishes. Juan had convinced himself that she loved him
as deeply as he loved her! Then he
started thinking about ways of escaping from that shrine which had literally
imprisoned him.
He wandered
about the huge precincts. The red soil,
the huge trees covered with fruits and flowers of all colors, shapes and sizes,
the sparkling water from the spring, the silent and devout seers walking about,
nay, gliding like ghouls and the fragrance of incense and thyme; failed to lift
his spirits. He longed to speak to
someone. He was fed up of the silence
that seemed to strangle him all the while.
He longed for a friend or at least some well-wisher whom he could
trust.
In the rare
moments when he felt peaceful, he’d wonder how he’d spend his life-time over
there and whether gradually he’d reconcile himself to being a staunch follower
of that strict Order. He was eager to
learn from the experience of all those who had unwittingly strayed into the shrine. Had they really forgotten all about their
lives back on earth, outside that shrine, or were they equally tormented?
************
Suddenly Martha
woke up, feeling very energetic and enthusiastic. Her story was now treading the dangerous and
tricky path of religion and societal mores.
How and why had she even conceived the thought of setting the ‘task’ in
a Christian Kingdom and a forbidden cult’s shrine? Would she be sued for blasphemy? Then again, why would a devout Christian King
ask the suitor for his only daughter to climb a mountain on which a shrine was
located, knowing fully well, about the implications, if by chance, the suitor
would unwittingly walk into that shrine?
Then she relaxed thinking that either the King was truly secular or was
genuinely confident about that suitor’s success. If that lad did complete his task, he
wouldn’t have to ever set foot on that hallowed shrine’s compound, would
he?
Now Martha was
very excited. She wanted to follow her
existing storyline and challenge the set ways of the ‘normal’ world. If the lad would finish his task and marry
the Princess, her story would just be another fairy tale with a happy
ending. How would it be a path-breaking
story? She was glad to be on to
something that was off the beaten track!
Her editor would definitely pat her back!
She quickly
wrote down all that had just occurred in her vivid dream. Then she saw Sara’s tormented eyes looking
straight at her from a blank page which she had just turned over. “You are a very mean and despicable woman!”
they seemed to say. First you made me
fall deeply in love with the most wonderful guy in this Kingdom, then blinded
him, imprisoned him in the shrine and separated us forever. You’ll also die a painful death! Mark my words!
Martha shivered
uncontrollably as fear shook the very core of her being. Were the characters in her story getting out
of hand? She had to control them,
somehow, anyhow, before it was too late. Too late? For what?
She didn’t know, but she did feel as though her very existence was
threatened by the violence in the minds of her characters that plunged like
poisoned darts into her hitherto strong heart.
‘She’ had become the villain (or vamp) of the story. Rightly so, she mused, for was not she
responsible for the fairy tale going awry, so quickly and beginning to end,
even before the middle?
She and only
she, was responsible for the messy state of affairs in the Kingdom of Regina and
the personal lives of the hero and the heroine who so desperately, had prayed
and even begged her for a truly divine, fairy-tale ending! Martha felt as if she was going slightly
crazy. She was still not that old to go
‘dotty’. But she knew instinctively that
if this state of affairs continued, with her being constantly harangued by her
tale's protagonists, she’d end up in an asylum.
She had once
visited an asylum for the mentally challenged and been shocked at the plight of
its inmates. She was researching for a
short story. She wondered about how she
had then resolved to never visit it again, even by chance. But now, those chances were very bright! She shuddered again. She put away the pages, turned off the
table-lamp and put on her tweed jacket and hat.
She needed a brisk walk to clear her muddled head.
To be continued....
The copyright of this novel is with Mrs. Priya Ramesh Swaminathan.
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