Word of the week: Malodorous (malˈəʊd(ə)rəs)
… my body lay as a confused bundle of pain and shame.
I tried to breathe but there is a painful lump on my nostrils and it is making it hard for me to inhale. I am trying to drag my body but my hand refuses to feel the weight. I want to call out to my limbs that run, run for your life! Will Nobody hear me cry out? I spill my voice out as screams in the air but an icy door rebound my call. I am curling back inside my skin, my soul, like a retreating truth from your lips. I am trying to pick my things, the broken rage inside. Can I surge out of this ordeal? Will the ocean accept me into its depths never seen through my mortal self? Meanwhile I wait.
She lay motionless. It has been hours since we waited for any help to come our way. I extended my hands towards the humanity as a last resort to rescue my friend but there doesn’t seem to be any mark of living around. Lost in a puddle of mud her blood is racing fast through her veins to the soil in desperation to touch its immortality sooner. In this underground alley few strange people come by once in a while but they are shady and frightening. I have hid her body far away from the eyes of mankind yet I couldn’t protect her for long. It pains me that I failed her. And her severely bleeding body lay still like a dead fish in a fish vendor’s basket.
I lay hard trusting the ocean to be gentle because my energy is draining fast and I can feel a slow numbness swimming through my veins. My head explodes as I inhale strong tides and although pain no more troubles the flesh the feeling of this sudden lightness is too overwhelming. I float in this rare ecstasy never wanting to come back. . .
He has desperately been waiting to sell his stock and head home. Due to consistent rain there has been a rise in water level which took the fishes from the nearby fishery to the small stream-lets that were formed on the roads. He had an unusually busy day in the market and this monsoon season marked a productive business after a long dry spell in the preceding summer.
I was nervous, and panicked at the thought of being lost. Of losing her. For once. And all. In this lifetime. I tried picking my broken and tired soul from the bottom where I had hurled myself in failure. I decided to give one last try before I give up and surrender ourselves to the impending fate. With much struggle I rise from the culvert and look out in the road again. I can see a man coming in a car. I wait for him to draw near. I look in the eye at the stranger. . .
The vehicle comes to a halt.
The car stops on its own. Through the incessant rain it was hard for the man in the driving seat to see the form of the girl looking at him. He frantically searches for a torch inside the car and he was lucky that he had not forgotten to get his umbrella. Thankfully the headlights were working and he only pulled the umbrella and positioned himself to open it before he slams the door open. He pushes the door hard and steps grudgingly on the muddy road sending a waft of strong smell of fish from the car. The headlights make the road clearer. The stream here has overflowed and a white form is floating by. One can picture Ophelia drowning through the river. Only Ophelia committed suicide because her beloved had plotted to kill her brother. Not her. She was plotted against. Brutally raped and butchered. And left to die in pain and shame.
The ecstasy of giving up when you know that the end can’t inflict any hurt on you anymore is an empowerment I never mastered to experience while living. Letting go has its cons and pros to count with coins of love and forgiveness. Now that I have given in it feels relieving to not be defensive anymore. Not when leaving is so much easier than holding on.
Copyright/Author: Pompi Basumatary