Fear

Looking back at my life, I find I have no regrets. Success and failure are mere subjective concepts. Do not mistake me for some kind of a grungy loser. It is just that I find such dualities frivolous. I have achievevd my goal and that is all that matters.

My journey begain ten years ago after the death of my elder brother. He had fallen off from the balcony of our twenty-third floor flat. One moment he was holding on to the ledge and the next moment he was off- hurtling downwards with one arm stretched towards me. I was frozen with horror as I had seen such fear in his eyes. He died dashing his brains on the ground. I had my first taste of fear.

Our brother's death left me and my younger sister shattered. He had been our sole breadwinner and after our parents' death. He was our very life, our very soul. That was when an uncle of ours came forward to look after us. He was a childless widower. Since it was important that my sister had a shelter, we could not refuse. He also insisted that I continue my education. I did so but kept a low profile.

I finally graduated and found a job. I could not marry. I wanted no part of it. Since I had lost all interest in social life, I lived like an outcaste. Neither music nor poetry could give my consolation. I spent many nights in cemeteries and cremation grounds. I had no more gentle emotions left in me. Life did not make any sense any more. I was losing my sanity. My brother's death had seared me within.

Slaughterhouses fascinated me. I frequented them and watched mutely as the animals met a voilent death. The fear that glinted in their eyes reminded me so much of the fear in my brother's eyes. It seemed that these animals were very human.

Our uncle gave us both love and care. As time passed by, we gave my sister in marriage to a soldier living in a faraway town. My uncle and I were left alone. He wanted to see me married but I kept off. He had forced me into a job but did not live long to see me well-settled.

It was in a strange way that my uncle died. He had a massive heart attack. He struggled across the bed to take the medicine bottle on the table, only to find it empty. He was struggling to breathe, his body contorting in pain. For some unknown reason, I sat beside him instead of running for a doctor. He tried to say something but his voice died in his throat. He looked deeply at me and I again saw the same fear reflecting in his eyes that I had seen in my brother's eyes and I felt an eerie glee. I sat mute while my uncle died moaning feebly.

I then decided to visit my sister for a few days. Starting the journey by morning, I reached her hometown by nightfall. I noticed that her house was at a deserted part of the town. All the neighbouring houses were either locked up or abandoned. As I drew nearer, I heard shrieks and screams from inside the house. Peering into the window, I was again frozen with horror- I saw the "soldier", probably in an inebriated state, strangling my poor sister with his bare hands! Her feet were off the floor and she was struggling like a fish put on dry land. She turned towards me and I again saw in her eyes the same fear that had flashed in my brother's eyes. She stretched her hand towards me but it fell dangling...

I silently watched as the murderer took a sari and made a noose at one end.He slipped it around my dead sister's neck and then sent the other end through a hook on the ceiling...

Suddenly, the blood rose in me. I remember running towards the back of the house and picking up a large axe. Mad with rage and excitement, I broke into the house growling like a bear. The murderer was stunned and I was thrilled to see the fear in his eyes. I felt an unexplained glee, akin to that of a hunter on seeing his prey. With a mighty stroke, I sent his head rolling on the floor....

Life became normal for me. My job paid me well and even gave me a house. That was when people started finding bodies all over the town. They were found with the eyeballs torn off their sockets. The police is still searching for the killer. There is no evidence. I left none. Now as I look into the mirror, I see the same fear reflecting in my eyes. I know that it is time for me to die. Will someone help me?





[Finally, darkning struck. It started off as a slow, small trickle of words. Then I only remember going with the flow. I now realize what writers mean when they say that they let their pens guide them.]