Kill the death by choking its neck

Kill the death by choking its neck

A cold sweep of air was passing over a lush green ground having irregular growth of trees and metals. The trees were feasting on the oxygen from the surrounding while at the same time; it caused rust on the surface of metal. Strange, how the world works. Bizarre faces of people could be seen, some were mauled up, some were charred, some having multiple wounds, some bitten, some eaten. The same can be said about their body. It hugely resembled the lore of Lord Yamraj’s torture chamber. They had somber face, soul sucked out of their body; they lived for nothing else but for the sake of carrying out their daily chores of breathing, eating and drinking. In the paleness of the earthly beauty, they resembled the jaggedness of the thorns. Eternal beauty for the people of dead!

 Moon was smiling disdainfully, as if the scum of the earth did not deserve to look at its sublime brightness. The sea, spread out, unconcerned of the gravitational pull of the moon, staring blankly as to who ever passes by, or treads over it without the regular harmonic motion of tide and ebb.

A man was walking past its shore, his face covered with polythene, having two holes for sight and one for breath. He drew his overcoat near to his body, to save himself from the cold. He looked around if there was anyone there to watch his actions. Not a body of mass lingered there. So he cursed in a low tone “Blasted cold.” Yet he knew this was just another game that the death had played with him. To find him out and whisk him to the land from where no one returned. He would not let him win. He would not let him take away.

Yet he was filled with fear, fear to face that pale rubbery skinned man, who wore a black tuxedo, and his buffalo was replaced by Royal Enfield. Death can change appearances, but in each shape it always represents the mundane finality, the futility to cringe to your dear life. What is more terrible about him is not that he takes your life, but in the end, while facing him you readily give it. Valmik would not play easy with him. He was determined to save his skin. He was afraid to die, and he carried his fear with pride. Because only when you are afraid to die, you fight with it with your life!

A turtle was moving over with its slow pace back to his home land. It jerked its old neck suddenly, a feat normally not possible by a turtle of that age, but here in this no man’s land, anything was possible, and as an agent for death the turtle had power, power to look at every being, trying to weigh down, that does this particular homo sapien had a shred of life. He tried to look as ghostly as he could manage, he let go of his hold on the coat, and he tried to walk without meaning, without a single spark of life. Yet he knew he failed terribly, because he wanted to live. Wanted to taste the food which he had eaten, wanted to feel the flexibility of water, wanted to feel the warmness of the body, wanted to feel love for his loved ones, because he had his senses numbed, numbed by nothingness. He had to force himself to feel, because if he let go then he was as dead as any other person in this land.

Mr. Death was asking him to let go, spoke soothing words in his ears to feel the sweetness of nothingness, getting rid of pain, pain to fight him, resist him. Dead .D. Death was asking him to stop resisting. Death had tried much trickery to coax him, to make him believe the futility of life. That is why he had created dead men and women, walking on earth with eternal anguish ness to make him pessimistic about his life, here of all places.

He could not sleep at night, having horrid dreams about his family who were asking him to die as he was of no use to anyone. There he could see his wife, his son and daughter, malice on their face, contempt in their language, contempt for his wish to live. “Why do you want to live? What is the purpose of your life?” Death had asked him many times with the help of the mind speak.

A dog was looking gravely at him, Good Lord he had betrayed his emotions in front of it. “Oh shit!” Surely the animals were the only danger for his wish to live, as they were all agents of death. He had unwittingly tried to draw his coat nearer. Soon, he could a rumble, coming in front of him.

He could easily see the pale face shining luminously, that sickly, pale smile which he could place anywhere. The rumbles turned into a roar, behold, and here approaches the motorbike of death!! Valmik was now tired of running, tired of hiding his face, tired of being undercover. He was afraid for his life, and so today he would fight for it. Till date, Mr. Death has followed him like a tail true to the dog. He could make out the steel in the bike, as the death approached him, his every step turning his cells numb, turning the turbulence in his body, into trembling, and from trembling to nothingness. “Mr. Valmik, are you ready?” He did not reply. “Ready for the greatest adventure in your register of life; that is stepping out of your life and crossing the threshold of the vacuum of death.” He smiled his sickly smile.

Valmik, for the very last time. He told his mind. He prepared for the very last time. It would be now or never.

Time stopped. The space stopped.

Valmik jumped on death. The death was ruffled by it as he was not prepared for this furious resistance. Valmik firmly held death’s neck. “I live because I have something worth living for. I have my own aspirations, dreams and I would not let you chuck them out without my approval. I will die when I wish to. No one can take me before.” The death seemed more weakened by the words than by the strangulation of his neck. He seemed to wither under his tight grasp. Slowly, Mr. Dead .D. Death became ashes.

Valmik blinked. That was it. He heard an echo “I would come again, stronger for your weakness.” Then his vision blurred. The world around him seemed to disappear.

He was lying somewhere. His body ached. A figure was standing over him. For the first time, in a stretch of time, he could feel that he had opened his eyes. The figure was clothed in a white overall.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Avasthi?”

“Eh. I… I am fine. Where am I?”

 “You are in a hospital. You had suffered from a multiple head injury. You were in coma for about 6 months.”

 “Where is my family?”

“Don’t worry. You take rest, while I contact them to give this good news.” Saying so, the doctor left him in the care of a nurse. He smiled. He had returned home.