On an old man sitting on the verandah of the house at night.
Issue #011: A flash story about an old man, life and mortality.
Sitting on the verandah of the cottage, the old man reclined his head back against the wall and watched the stars. The stars filled the moon lit night sky. The sound of crickets and distant howling came from the invisible vast darkness that enveloped him. To the old man, the stars were blobs of white patches and that too when he squinted his eyes.
But once he was young, and he knew what the stars actually looked like. He knew the constellations and their stories, like the one where the heroes and warriors, after completing a hundred years, left their earthen abode, silently at night and became stars, guarding over their clan. Stories told to children. Why would anyone turn to stars only to see their progeny bickering and squabbling for all eternity. His children and their wives, and their children were inside the old house bothered and occupied by the dazzle of the everyday worldly things. A world of laughter and sniffles, of bangles and the betelnut, of putting children to bed early and parsing through the account books. of shy meaningful gazes and sneakily brushing of the hair to signal one’s spouse in the cacophony of the joint family. The entire brood was as if caught in some silken net of life and merriness. But the old man was free.
He waited as it turned midnight . Each rasping breath was a like a weight dragging on his soul. And then he knew. It had been a fortnight since he could hear it. Feel it in his bones. It grew louder every night. The Call. Coming from the unknown darkness that the night hid. Looking at the stars, it felt as if the heavenly bodies knew the path. And its travelers. And just like that, he stood up , awkwardly putting his weight on the long stick, he had carved from a mongo tree branch many years ago and walked into the night, towards the darkness filled with the unknown and illuminated by the stars, the lonely guardians of the Night.
Next day, they found his unlit smoking pipe, box of medicines and his lifeless body lying on the verandah. Only the trusty walking stick that the old man always carried with him was missing.