Simpler places

 

Come, let’s go back to places where festivals

came simpler – without the show and dazzle

the autumn nights bright with a thousand stars

smoke curling from a bushfire somewhere far

the tunes of a cowherd yanking hearts awry

the earth the goddess.  her canopy the sky

 

where the river bent to preen in its reed fringe

the sacred hours were marked by the dove and finch

the acacia shadows laid in filigrees

reptile tracks echoed the signs of rice paddies

quieter joys flared in the pulse of the firefly

the earth the goddess her canopy the sky.

Happy Diwali and/or Happy Halloween to you, whichever you'll be marking.

Write...Edit...Publish...Halloween Special Flash Fiction Challenge 2024

 

Hello, hello! I am so glad to be back at the Write…Edit…Publish… Halloween Special Flash Fiction Challenge 2024. Life has thrown up its own, rather unpleasant, challenges at me in the past several months. There have been two shocking, untimely deaths in my extended family and among my school alumna back to back. We've lost long time members of WEP too - both Sally and Nancy will be missed. And here in my hometown, we're still dealing with the fallout of the terrible rape/murder of a young doctor. It's been a stressful time. This  hereunder is a diversion and an  escape route. 

October is an insanely busy time as the main festival season starts from the 2^nd in India and ends with Diwali on the 31^st/1^st Nov. Whatever it is you are celebrating – Durgapuja, Navaratri or Halloween – happy festivals!  

Btw, the worship of Durga, the underpinning mythology of this entire festival is the battle of righteousness versus evil - Durga, the warrior goddess descending to earth to vanquish a demon symbolising sinfulness.  

It's beyond ironic the exponential levels of casual misogyny and crimes against women forming the backdrop of a festival worshipping feminine cosmic energy. 

Anyway, here is my entry for this Challenge  - 

The Other Side

There are always two sides. The story tellers tell and retell a single version a million times till all others seem impossible.  Endless repetition makes even a lie sound like truth. And the real truth slowly dies out, unspoken, unwritten, unperformed, its fire reduced to ashes and dispersed to the winds till not a trace remains.

 

***

 

We met through the theatre. A brooding, handsome man, widowed with motherless twins. An accomplished performer, he played the role of Othello with a passionate and spellbinding artistry. Night after night, he killed me on stage. And then he killed me offstage too. He made love to me with a starved tenderness that was simultaneously terrifying and irresistible.

 

At the wedding, I smiled at the children. They did not smile back. I was too euphoric to mind. I noticed their eyes though. Positively ancient eyes in young faces, too still, too opaque, way too knowing. Dark coloured like deep waters, beneath which unfathomable secrets lay.  They could stop any friendly overture dead in its track at hundred paces. It made me vaguely uneasy, but it got swamped by the music and the mood as I stepped onto the dance floor.