The impossibility of hope: part 2

p.s- For all new readers, this is the 2nd part of the tale published a few days back..please try the first part: http://ofblackandgrey.blogspot.in/2010/06/beach-of-calicut-is-timeless-beauty.html before you start with this one..

Near the shore, a young urchin was playing his flute, with the hope that some stranger would give him enough to buy a morsel, or at least a snack that he may call dinner. Baggy may have had many sour experiences in his life, but he was a noble man at heart. He felt his back pocket and though the wet purse was half empty, he remembered there were two hundred rupee notes kept carefully in a plastic pouch. The pouch he had kept, to return to his once beloved friend when Baggy would confront him, and the 200 rupees would settle all of his debts with the bastard. But the bastard had left with a little less than two lakhs, leaving the contents of the pouch as the last trinket of money in his tired hands.

He decided there was no need for a dead body in the ocean to carry cash for travel expenses and started walking back, freeing himself from the tentacles of death the water had twined around him, at least temporarily. The little musician was shocked at first, though soon shock gave way to gratitude. ”Sahib, If there is a god, he will bless you..” the urchin mumbled. With a pained smile, he turned around and once again began to walk.

This time, the very first step was interrupted by something distinctly soft and small hitting him on the back of his legs. He looked and he saw a child, a 2 year old, giggling feverishly even as she lay down after the collision a few seconds back. The child sprang up, with an unfathomable burst of energy that only children are gifted with. Once again, she giddily ran around our man Baggy and finally careened off in some direction. Exactly one and a half seconds later, a man wearing the same facial expression as the kid shot past him, chasing what was in all probability his child, while behind him a woman came smiling.

These trivial incidents would have made no impact on a casual bystander, but Baggy was no ordinary observer. He was a man who had given himself a death sentence and only some instants short of executing that order. In his mind, a transformation was taking place. The sheer energy of the entire encounter shook him. The cogs and wheels of his brains suddenly decided to turn in an unknown direction. The child, to him, was the embodiment of the true human spirit, unrestrained, untainted with the seeds of doubt that the society sows. No setback would hold it down, and if something, someone could bring it to its feet, the next instant it would soar high, laughing at the hurdles it just jumped over. He realized he ha been a fool to even contemplate throwing his life away. His life!! This was his only chance at this game, and he could come this far, nothing could stop him from reaching the touchline. With a wicked smile, he slipped his hands in to his shirts pocket.

The outdated phone in there may have been cheap, but as its manufacturers proudly declared, it was truly made for India. A little bath in the water had certainly not hampered its working, and on its screen, there was just one message, from an unknown number-

“sry.V had2. tk cre. ”

On another day, he would have broken into tears and mayhap thrown the phone away. But today, Bhagyesh Dev was an enlightened man. Walking past the sands, he stepped on to the sidewalk, typing away a short yet immensely measured reply. Smiling derisively, he stepped on to the roads, his eyes locked on to the send button.

Mohammed Shareef was a god fearing man. He did namaz five times a day, spoke with compassion to his fellow creatures and never touched liquor in his life. It was these qualities among lesser mortals that made him a mini hero in his village near the ancient sands of Kappad. Returning from a grueling road trip to the northern states on his sturdy, reliable truck, he had earned enough for the month. As his vehicle sped along, his thoughts wandered to his home where his family would have made him a delicious dinner and his eldest daughter would be there to welcome him back. His mind faltered for an instant, and he did not quite see the man in the middle of the road. It is queer how a single instant can change everything, make a living man with a beating heart into a bloody pulp, with nothing recognizable of the erstwhile Bhagyesh Dev, save the mobile flung from his arms the moment the truck took his life away, and his soul was returned, to whom it was offered and withdrawn sometime back.