Samata - Final

Months later with police report filed for the stabbing and the assault, cremation and rituals for the departed performed, Samata collected her tears, rounded up her children and head out to the city.   A friend had given her the contact for a social worker and Samata was determined to take the landlord’s son to court.

A short, petite woman with a straight spine and face as round as the moon, the social worker received the family graciously.  She listened to their narrative of the incident that led to murder done openly in front of witnesses.  But the accused were held in jail overnight and then released after a phone call from the landlord.  She listened to the numerous injustices as large scale as assaults and cheating them of their hard work and of prejudices seemingly minute as a separately designated water source.   Samata stressed that theirs was not an isolated event, or unique case in just her village.  Coming from a tribal village did not make her less human and her educated children deserved as much if not more respect than the landlords and overseers.

Her final plea to the social worker was that even though her husband was no more, she refused to shed anymore tears or mope over her loss.  She was illiterate and had put up with the discrimination, in fact was treated worse than even the beasts in the villager’s cowshed, but her children were literate, earned decent incomes, lived well, and read extensively.  It’s time that people like the landlord and his son learned that people from her caste were not helpless, literate or not, and refused to be continued to be victimized.

Staying true to her name, Samata called for equanimity, equability and equality where with composure and poise all humans are treated equally and the world is in balance.  She demanded justice.

The End

Samata - Part Three

Time stood still as Samata’s husband began his fall to the ground, as if in slow motion.  His son ran to catch him before the crash, cradling his father’s head.  He removed his shirt and pressed it against the wound, watching the once white dirt-ridden fabric turn red instantly.  He looked up to see eyes peering down from the crowd, not an ounce of regret or compassion for the fallen man in them.  His one arm extended towards the standing men asking for help, but no one moved.

Carefully sliding his arms underneath his old man’s body, he scooped his frail body and carried him as if a sleeping baby.  His legs moved swiftly towards the police station a whole mile away, limping from bruises from the fight, tripping over puddles on the muddy path.  Fierce rays of the sun stung on his neck and bare back as rivulets of sweats dribbled down his spine.

At the police station, men in their khaki uniform and a worn down baton stood casually, chatting and shouting out orders for tea.  As they saw a young man carrying a body approach them through the wheat fields, all chatter stopped instantly.  Out of breath and barely able to hang on to his wounded father, the young man tried to explain the incident.  He was directed indoors to a seating area to wait for the head constable as the rest of the policemen stepped aside to avoid his shadow.

The clock on the wall ticked away crawling forward as a centipede, inch by inch, minute by minute.  The old man’s clothes were soaked with blood as his breathing became more laborious.  He murmured in his subconscious, delirious state calling out to his wife, Samata, his daughters, his sons, his parents, his grandparents moving further back to his forefathers.  He called for justice, for equality, for equanimity, for samata before taking his last breath.

 

To be continued.....

Samata - Part Two

The ground below Samata’s feet gave way as her 16 year old daughter fell into her arms.  The two crashed down together collecting droplets of each other’s tears while her daughter recounted the incident between heaves and sobs.  It was the landlord’s son and two others; the Sun behind her burned her body as they peeled off her sari; names reserved for her caste rang in her ears repeatedly, obscenely.

Samata’s husband was the first to come home and their son not long after.  Finding the women in their state and after a brief narration of the events, both men exploded in unison.  They grabbed long sticks and barged out, crossing the perimeter of their boundary by stepping into an area revered to be pure.  After polluting the village of the higher caste with merely their presence, father and son continued deeper towards a tea stall.  The three accused men sat on rickety wooden chairs celebrating their exploits with cheap homemade liquor.  Their glasses were full but three empty bottles sat discarded at the edge of the table.

Samata’s husband confronted the landlord’s son, stick in hand and fire in his eyes only to be reprimanded for contaminating the tea stall and the village by his presence.  His son came to stand by his father offering an equally fiery glare.  The largest of the three men stood up unsteadily and jabbed Samata’s son in the face, bruising his jaw.  His father brought his stick down on the monster, drawing blood from his forehead.  Soon the rickety chairs went flying crashing on sunburned backs.  Sticks met shoulders and knuckles made contact with eyes and ears.  In midst of the commotion no one saw the shiny metal the landlord’s son extricated from his pocket.  The jab was hard and deep just under Samata’s husband’s ribs.

To be continued….

Samata - Part One

Even her shadow could pollute the water.  Samata woke everyday while the stars still sparkled over the open fields and the moon smiled over her mud hut.  She walked 30 minutes to a designated well and as she returned with arms lugging two buckets full of water, the sun usually winked at her and welcomed her to a new day.  Each day she balanced the buckets and put one determined foot in front of another, welcoming the freshness of the earth, the clarity of the sky, the golden smile of the sun while her low caste followed her limply in the shadows.

She worked in the fields tilling, toiling, sowing or harvesting shoulder to shoulder with her husband and his family.  The overseers and the landowners ordered with obscenities, pushed her frail body to its limits and insulted their low status every hour, but she trudged with her veiled head and back bent low.  Her eyes focused on the task, reminding her soul of her humanity and dreaming of a golden future.

Illiterate and scorned, she woke everyday with renewed determination.  Saving every paisa from the fieldwork or even skipping meals she insisted her children attend school.  Months evolved to years, her bent back stayed low in pain, her thick dark hair boasted white strands as her children graduated first from school, then college until securing respectable office jobs.

Landlords in the field continued to discriminate with constant reminders of her low caste but she turned a deaf ear to them.  Her simple life continued until one day, her daughter ran into the hut with tear streaked red cheeks, bruises on her body and tears in her sari.

To be continued….

CHANGE

Change is inevitable

Why?
Evolution
Seasons
Cycle of life

Change starts with a day
From sleep to awake
From night to day
From owl hoots to bird songs
 
Change starts with a life
From conception to birth
From youth to adult
From child to parent
 
Change starts with a generation
From notepads to laptops
From phones to internet
From community to self
 
Change begins with experiences
From innocence to wisdom
From student to citizen
From love to duty
 
Change begins with migration
From homeland to distant
From mixed cultures to divided nations
From submission to freedom
 
Change is inevitable
Else,
We won’t be humans
Falls won’t be colorful
Generations won’t progress
 
Transformations in our daily lives or lifetime
It’s elementary and essential.

No Title contributed by a friend

In your head to change your interpretation

To want, is it a set back for opportunity from mental freedom.

Are you really thirsty to drink the elixir that has been poured in a glass and sits peacefully at the table, while you wait

Deceived, gullible, parched

You remain, whilst under the carpet through the cracks of your broken mirrors and destroyed ties, all those perfectly placed lies, that sweat you dry

It drips

And still you sit cold restless

like a blank post card that waits to be mailed, you count minutes into shadows

Static time place thought

Everything lays soft under your feet waiting to be discovered

A HAIKU contributed by a friend

The lonely butterfly

Today, on my window wall

You see the world I see?

Heavenly Auto Ride - contributed by a friend

One moment is all it would have taken
And what was her would have to be carefully collected.
Where has that voice gone?
The radio is still on and drowning it maybe
 
And is she still clutching on to her dreams ...
Of her children finding happiness and peace
Of her home a garden of flowers, music, and togetherness
Of her love always beside her.
 
Did all her thoughts get scattered?
Like scrabble tiles waiting to be picked
L for life
S for soul
S for search
A Blank tile for what follows after...
 
The pain out there so intense and palpable
In her heart full of memories ...
Memories
Of lost loved ones
Memories never to be
Left behind with loved ones.
 
The color faded slowly
A rainbow of desires, attachments, expectations ...

And years and layers of experiences built as life

Just vanishing with the soul

Will the soul be able to carry the burden?

Or will it find a weightless peace?

And what about the auto-driver?

Wings!

She sleeps soundly,

her eyelids soft and tender
open eyes alert and knowing.
She is innocent no more!

She speaks sparingly,

her lips shapely and delicate
moving mouth smart and mature.
She is child no more!

She skips seldomly,

her legs strong and long
determined steps dogged and decided.
She is naïve no more!

She loves wholeheartedly,

her heart large and solid
clear cause noble and selfless
She is fragile no more!

She dresses tastefully,

her clothes stylish and sophisticated
elegant form formidable and classy.
She is uncertain no more!

She appreciates flavors,

her taste cultured and complex
distinguished palate distinct and decisive.
She is whiner no more!

My baby’s all grown up,

my pride and remorse torturous
desire to hold on or let go.
She is bird in her nest no more!

Ceasing

Wind whispers in my ear….whirl

a chickadee calls…sing

an ant marches…reach

a butterfly flitters…fly

I look up to the sky.

Water swishes from my stream…steer

a frog croaks…click

a grasshopper leaps …reap

a bee buzzes…seize

I gaze into the horizon.

Snowflakes pirouette with a smile …dance

a red leaf falls …live

a cricket hops …hope

a squirrel scurries…stop

I look down to the ground.

The wind whispers in my ear…bliss

 

I close my eyes and breathe.

LOST - Final

WARNING: READS PARTS ONE, TWO AND THREE FIRST

The woman looked on as the man struggled to remove his gold band.  After a few minutes of watching him grapple, she raised a hand and dismissed him.  He stepped out onto empty streets, groping for a glimmer of light in his dark state.  His legs took him towards the tallest building as images began to appear in his head as in clips from an old movie - a scene from the beachside of two young children in the sand, with a beautiful woman with blue eyes watching over them.  Another clip from a different era, a bubbly young woman with round cheeks and laughing eyes in a gorgeous wedding dress beside him as he walked her down the aisle.

Lost in his memory flashes he did not see two policemen approach him with caution.  Before he realized, he found himself in the back of the police car.  At the station he sat on a hard bench running his hands through his thinning gray hair.  He noticed the digital clock on a desk flip over to 2am, 3am and an hour after that he was escorted to a small room.  As he sat in an uncomfortable chair behind a squeaky table, a tall officer began his barrage of questions.   But he had no answers to give.  Sweat ran down his temples in the tiny stuffy room intermingling with his desperate tears.  His left knee shook uncontrollably while he tried to steady himself by setting his elbows on the table.  He shook his head and repeatedly asked for his wife until his head collapsed down into his hands.

After a few silent moments with just the rustle of papers the officer leafed through, he asked the man to remove the gold band from his finger.  The man looked up confused , then threw his hand in the air and stood up.  He tried to oblige but, just as before, the ring refused to slip out.  Several minutes passed as the policeman left the room and returned with a bottle of petroleum jelly.  With greasy hands, the ring slipped out easily and the officer examined it, finding the initials of the man reported missing.

As a new day began with the radiant sunlight bathing the city with its warmth, the man stepped out into the light.  He stood on top of the stairs and watched a woman with blue eyes climb up with speed.  He opened his arms and she fell into them as his head buried in her white hair.  With muffled cries he exclaimed, “Lost no more”.

The End

LOST - Part Three

WARNING: PLEASE READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST

The farmer came up behind his wife and extended his hand in welcome.  He offered the man lodgings and food in exchange of some arduous task of stacking hay.  The man agreed and followed the couple indoors for a meal of eggs, bacon and freshly baked bread, and finally a clean bed.  Several days of rest, work and healthy wholesome meals later, the farmer offered to give the man a ride into town he was heading to for his weekly visit.  The man agreed and hopped into the passenger side of the rusty red pickup.

The drive was pleasant with a cool breeze blowing through the opened windows.  He observed rolling fields as if covered with vibrant green wall to wall carpeting with an occasional island of muddy brown, silos and farmhouses.  Specks of chocolate brown roamed in the greens, alternating between tall, magnificent horses and stout, stubby cows.  Wild flowers lined the road on both sides smiling their violet, lavender purples or sunny yellows.

In the town, the man went to sit in a deli while the farmer took care of business.  A young, girl with flushing, chubby cheeks and a face that appeared to be always jubilant appeared before him to take his order.  He smiled at her, accepted the coffee she poured and instantly disappeared into thought.  A familiar feeling rose within him but he could not recognize it.  That face, that smile, those bubbly eyes triggered something in him and he felt restless.  Suddenly, a name popped in his head, Heather but that was not his servers name either.  He retreated deeper within and tried to recall Heather repeating it over and over in his head.

Frustrated, he walked out of the deli, slamming the only bill he had in his pocket on the counter, his coffee left untouched.  He walked the main street and soon found himself in front of a shop window that displayed bridal gowns.  An image of a woman with white hair and smiling blue eyes, surrounded by exquisite gowns appeared in front of him.  First time since his predicament, tears started to well up around his eyes.  Above the shop he imagined he saw towers, lots of them looming over in the horizon.  A whiff of ocean air reached him even though he was hundreds of miles inland.

Seeing a bus depot, he got on a bus heading east.  Nobody noticed him and he found a comfortable seat in the back by the window.  The motion lulled him into a troubled slumber as the setting sun behind him began to gradually wrap the fields into a shawl of darkness.  His bleary eyes opened to the bright lights of a rumbling city where he got off the bus and walked aimlessly.  The rumble in his stomach became louder so he walked into a 24-hour restaurant.  An omelet and several cups of coffee later, he proceeded to walk out but was stopped at the door by a woman with a name tag on her dress.  The man looked down in embarrassment, at a loss of how to pay for the meal and proceeded to offer the only thing he had on him of value.

To be continued…….