Chapter IV

I am the silent witness

I am the silent witness. The witness to that murder. But then this is not something that’s new to me. I have been condemned to bear witness. A witness, though of not much use, as I wont be testifying before any courts. In fact even when they testify, I will just bear witness. You will ask me if I disturbed proceedings, if I intervened, when the testimonials were all false or all framed. Well I don’t. It’s something I can’t do. Don’t I feel stupid to merely bear witness and do nothing? Don’t I feel miserable to see someone convicted of some crime he never committed? Well frankly, that question never even crops up in my mind. Something in my nature, I don’t quite think that way. You see I am older that all your histories put together. That reminds me of historians. I don’t carry a very favorable opinion of them. They do a lot of omissions and a lot of additions. But what else can they do. They can’t be like me at many places at the same time and yes of course even the best of them have their little prejudices. I am Time, the silent witness to that murder.


Well yes I am Time. But before I go further, I know most of you have a complaint against me. Let me address that first. I too want to have a favorable opinion like you have of your earth, the sun, the moon, the stars and everything else that your rever. That complaint is that either I go too fast or that I go to slow, and I am tired of hearing it every moment. So let me settle this issue now, now as I speak to you. I don’t know when it would next occur to me to speak again, this busy schedule that I have.

It’s not that I have also never wished to go slow or to pace ahead. You know it too, no one likes to be one paced. Yes, I have often wished I could go slow in those minutes, those hours, those days (I stop here at days as it’s not with you folks to be happy for more than a few days. You become bored of happiness for too long and I know you agree with me, your witness since god knows when) when you were harmony in some music, some art or in just a gesture. Those moments I too treasure, a spiritual experience to bear witness. And, I have also often wished I could go pace ahead those days, nights and years when you were in the misery of sicknesses, wars, and death. I too abhor being witness to your panet as a hospital, although I can do nothing about it. Well you see the problem is more practical, even amusing it would appear to some. It’s just that I would be in such a fix to decide who amongst you to listen and whom amongst you not to, and that would create much bitterness and I don’t want that. So I prefer to be fair, and don’t heed any of you and silently plod on at the same even pace through the seasons.

Well, I hope that suffices you, the answer to your complaint. If not spare a thought for me too, me who has been journeying forever without the sight of my end. Well I know you would laugh at me and ask me how if it wasn’t in my nature, to be disturbed by the wrongs I am witness too, how then could I be disturbed of not knowing my end. “Aren’t you distanced enough, if not how could you be that silent witness”, that’s the question you would slap me with, isn’t it? Well you are right in some way. I am indeed supposed to be distanced from even questioning my own existence. I was made to be that way. But you see being a journeyman since I don’t know when, and being witness to the death of infinite galaxies, stars, planets and earthlings alike I myself have wondered (even fleetingly) when would this journeying end for me? I know it’s an infection I should not be carrying but everyone gets infected once in a lifetime and mine has been quite long. I hope you understand what I mean and can I expect your empathy like you have for one of your fellowmen Sisyphus forever condemned to roll a boulder up the hill. Well, what am I doing? Asking for your empathy, for a human empathy? I have been taught to do better than that. After all I am not supposed to have feelings for you and neither you for me. That’s why you have never ask how I am, although you have your libraries stacked with philosophies on me. I think that’s what our protocol has been and will forever be. So let me get back to the subject at hand and ill keep it short like all succinct philosophies.

Well I know you want me to get back to the issue at hand, to tell you who had murdered him and for what precise reason? Well, of course I know but I won’t tell you. Let it reveal itself to you. You too must put some effort to know what’s true. I told you it wasn’t in my nature to tell you about it. I just came in here to warn you of recounted histories, even if they be from a dead man. I know you would be skeptical if a living man told you things about murder. You would size him first, then investigate and then conclude. But why are you so gullible to a dead man’s tale? Is it something about the respect that comes naturally to the dead? An awe to the place where he speaks from, a place you have always in quieter moments dreaded. Anyways I have done my duty forewarning you but then again I am not telling you to dismiss everything that is spoken from that other world. How could I say such a thing? I, who am not supposed to reach conclusions and just be a silent witness. May you find the truth as I see it now.

Chapter III

I am the spurned lover

I am the spurned lover. Our love was strong until the day he thought I knew too much about him. Too much to be a danger. Then he spurned me. Washed his hands off me, as if I was some dirt that had settled on his skin without his consent. But I knew he loved me and still think he does. Had he found a better replacement to me? Something he could use to better effect. No I don’t think it’s that. I know how much he trusted me. He used to take me with him everywhere. He picked me a virgin over others more experienced. He thought I would never falter and I loved his faith in me. I wish I could complain like a woman but I cannot. I am considered inanimate. A non-living thing. Period. Still wondering who I am? I am the revolver, the butt of which he had used to crack the young man’s skull. Anyways, so much by way of my introduction. How does it matter from where I lie, that question of what I was?

I don’t know how long will I remain here. I won’t complain about the smell here. After all I am not supposed to be smelling, inanimate as I am you will say. And you know how a drain should smell even if you were sensitive enough to think I could smell, so I won’t go into that. But it does feel bad to lie neglected here. Neglected after having been the prized possession of a man. He has been my only master. I can still feel the warmth of his hands as he took me out from his drawers to strap me against his waist each time he went out. Well, I have been triggered just once by him. The time he fired a test shot in the air when he bought me from my maker. To be honest with you I have never triggered a blood shot. Now that may make me an object of ridicule among my fellows but I am like that. Somehow I like to be quiet. I just like to feel possessed, just like any object of man’s invention.

I know you will all laugh at me if I said this, but I do abhor violence. You will all accuse me of being the dispenser. But do understand I am really not like the others. I do abhor violence and it pains me to hear stories of people killing each other with gunshots. Here some of my fellows take pride in the number of bloodshot they have been part of. It’s much like the men bragging about the number of women they have slept with. But I am really not like them. After all I am just the modern prototype of the bow and our chief function is to give direction. But why must it always be a missile, a poisoned arrow or a lead bullet? Why cant it the missile be love like in cupids bow. I would love to dispense a missile of love. I would shoot my master first. But then if they only feed me with lead bullets I can’t help it. Men haven’t been imaginative enough to think of any other missile, that’s my biggest complaint. When they do you can be sure ill give them direction like the way I will always be doing and you will understand me better. Perhaps ill even transform from a symbol of violence to a symbol of love.

See that thought has hope. It’s begun to rain now. A welcome relief it is. I hope this drain fills and begins to flow and I am swept from here to some outlet, where someone may just find me. That’s the only way ill escape this stench of a life I am in, a life I don’t think I quite deserve even though I was partly responsible for the crack in the young mans skull. As for my master. I still have a certain fondness for him. He need not worry of anyone finding him; I won’t be responsible for his being convicted like some of my fellows have been. I think the stench and the water has washed away his fingerprints. Do I feel sorry for the young man? Well I do, I wished my master hadn’t done so. It surprised me also. I didn’t think I had ever seem my master so angry. It was something the young man had said that made him such. Humans are funny creatures. Just a word can make a lot of them loose their senses. They seem to think they are in control of their language but from what I see its language that control most of them. Slaves to their own invention. I hope young man you don’t bear a grudge against me. I am so much in the hands of whomever I fall in. I wish I could be otherwise but I cannot.

Chapter II

I was called Sonam

I was called Sonam. Sonam, a Tibetan word meaning good luck. Yet it doesn’t mean the usual good luck. Like the good luck you need to win that bet you placed on the cricket match or make some money on that stock you bought. Oh, stocks. I’ll have a lot to talk to you about them. It’s partly because of them I am here now. Anyways what was I telling you. Yes, Sonam doesn’t actually mean that kind of good luck; or rather may I say it’s a more fulfilling good luck. Some blessing you have for a long, happy and a prosperous life. Well, am not sure if these three words or thoughts can even stand the sight of each of other these days. Somehow if you have one you don’t quite seem to have the other two. Anyways I am not here to comment on the state of things there, besides they hardly bother me now that I now stand delivered on the other side.

I don’t think recounting my history will interest anyone of you. After all whatever you need to know of me, the evidence is already there. All the papers telling you who I was, where I came from, what my religion was, what my tribe was, what schools and colleges I had attended and how I had fared in them, where I had worked are all there. They must be still lying in that file I had locked in the safe of my bedroom cupboard. I just hope someone has found them and handed them over to my parents. But how does it matter anyways even if someone had stolen them and burnt them to light their bidhi. I just hope someone doesn’t misuse them, I would be responsible for it then. I hope someone has burnt them. God bless you if you have done so. If you haven’t please do so. God will bless you.

Are you sneering at the thought of God blessing you, you who never seriously thought about him? Well, I empathize with you if you are. I was no different, much like you. The fact was I never thought much on that subject. It wasn’t much use to think on that too much, I used to think. There would be no answers at the end of the day just a fatique. It was all upto you I thought. All upto to you to believe, with a yes or a no, but definitely not to question. Sometimes I used to wonder what it would be like to die, what would that that after death world be like. If I could just make a visit there and come back I would live my life so much without confusion. But was it indeed so straightforward? What if I knew the consequences and still lived otherwise. You may say that would be irrational. But are we ever happy being rational? Here I go again, this empty prattle again. It’s a habit I bring from there. Must give it up. It’s so exhausting especially when you don’t eat the way you used to eat there. Anyways what was I talking about? Yes, of you sneering at me at the thought of God blessing you. Well for the moment I am as confused as you are. I too haven’t seen anything close to the resemblance of a God. But I hope I will soon. This loneliness here is making me so miserable. The open arms of someone so expansive like him will be such a relief. But I have hope I will and that’s the only difference between the two of us.

I am sure you must be very curious to know what it feels to be here, you on the other side. Well to be frank it’s not much different from being there. Only here there are no distractions and you are twenty four by seven in the landscape of your mind. So if you feel lonely here you can’t call up your friend like you are so used to do back there. Here you have to be with that feeling. You have no choice but to be patient with it. You begin by being patient with it. Just like a nurse you show your care. It’s a stubborn patient though. Quite adept at devising methods to let you know how desperate it is to get away. So what do you do? Back there you had escapades. You could surround yourself with people if you were lonely, pamper yourself someones attention if you feel unwanted, but here you have no choice but to be with it. So the more you want to get away the more you suffer not being able to do so. You see its not so easy being here. Even all this while I am writing this I am suffering a longing of not being where you are. But then one learns to live like that. Perhaps my deliverance is just about the corner. Perhaps when you my friends there have convicted my murderer I will. Well here I go again. Scripting my own suffering with these thoughts of revenge. Not different from the suffering of an impotent man thinking of a lusty love.

Chapter 1

I am a dead man

I am a dead man. Perhaps I am still lying unconsciously where I last fell, or perhaps they had me taken to the hospital and I died there. Did they inform my parents that their son had died? Well how must I know from where I am now? From the other world, from that world from where no man returns to tell any tales. But here I am telling a tale. I don’t know if those there can hear me. They used to close that debate by saying “Dead men tell no tales.” But here I am telling a tale. It’s another thing that they cannot hear me. Can you hear me? All of you? All whom I loved and all who loved me and all you who hated me and yes even you who killed me? How am I to know, but anyways let me do my duty, to tell you the truth about my death. Even in this state I am bound by this duty. By my actions which are still defining me even at this very moment. There is no escaping this defining and I wouldn’t like to think I am a liar. So ill tell you the truth. Whether you choose to listen or not is a different issue altogether. I hope someone will.

Well, yes of course I had been murdered. I wasn’t so depressed anyways to commit suicide and if I had looked a little depressed at times, well I had been just faking it. You see despair came a lot too easily to me there. I hadn’t given much respect to the word there. How could I? My first encounter with the word was when I had conned that word as a synonym for sad at school. From then onwards, I threw it carelessly here and there sometimes when I actually meant misery or gloom or just boredom. Anyways, let’s move on, one can’t waste so much energy in such meaningless prattle. I hope that my death is at least a settled matter there. After all I know the men there are smart enough not to conclude otherwise. I am sure they see the crack in my skull. That’s enough proof. No one commits suicide my cracking his skull and even if anyone did it would be such a foolish and clumsy way to do it. Now to tell you what had happened.

Well, it was them again. They had come again. Again, even though I had repeatedly told them I had no money to repay that loan. But they would not listen, especially my murderer. He hit me hard with the butt of his revolver. I could see madness in his eyes. I had tried to fend but he was too precise for me, too potent. Precision is a thing that comes with practice. My murderer made his living recovering dues from unfortunate men like me and he was good at it. He was regular at practice unlike me who had hardly ever fended for himself. Especially when everyone had been so nice to me upto then. Oh how I now miss all of you. Especially you my parents. But its not for me to be too emotional. Its something I just cannot contain within myself. I have no outlet here as I had there. There I could smile and be smiled back upon. Here if I smiled I would have no choice but see its death too.

Anyways I am hopeful they will soon find out who my murderer was. I hate to be here with the thought of him being alive. Its not just that I want revenge as in a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life but its just that every time I think that he is alive I have to live with the thought that it was after all just brute force that crushed me. Brute force that ripped me apart. I thought I saw him sneer, nothing short of a spit, an insult to the very essence of my upbringing, with all that privileged schooling and all those lessons in what was right and what was wrong. All of that crushed so mercilessly, I would not be surprised if he got a high at seeing me collapse. Where is he now? Perhaps he is in some pub or some bar drinking and dancing away in the company of beautiful ladies celebrating his triumph. I just hope someone will testify and he will get convicted. Well atleast my neighbours could have when the police arrived having found me dead. My neighbours? Who were they? I don’t even remember seeing their faces anytime, although they stayed just opposite me at 64. I only remember hearing them unlocking the locks to their flat very late just about the time I usually slept. I think they lived busy lives, the two or was it three of them. I hadn’t even seen their faces and it had been three years. Well, so I really can’t expect much from them. It would be unfair to them to expect anything since perhaps they never noticed me too. Worse perhaps the police made enquiries with them and even put them at unease. Perhaps just like my murderer before he killed me, they too now desperately want to get rid of me. That’s why perhaps I feel a little unwanted at times. Perhaps it’s their curse.