Short Story

A CITIZEN NOT COUNTED



The black path of Ananthapuri shined and melt in the hot. The strong rays of light that is old as many many light years covered the Earth strongly. People are moving with fear and uncertainty in their face. The vehicles moved like centipedes on the road. People stand baked in concrete buildings. Quenched the thirst with lemon juice and then Ananthu started pasting lime on betel leaf while look on that man. An old man. He has an old dirty cloth as loin. Nakedness is not much covered. Two three chapels chained to his legs. These were covered by a plastic piece. Skin of the legs are so stretched. Naked belly has many folds. They were so clear as columns of hunger. Many cloths were tightened over the head. Three bricks were placed over it. Face had many folds. Eyes were like beads of pearl. Face is so serious. It expresses contempt towards the society or present system of governance . He swims against running water. The body which faced the bricks and wood has the shade of the spirit of the past. As a remembrance of old golden days, there is a smile on his lips. Who rules? Who helps to rule? Who is inside? Who is outside? He knows nothing. He is no where near the democratic counts. Country is infinite. Issue is the empty stomach. If the stomach is full, he can sleep. When gets up, again can try for something to eat. Not to identify sorrow or happiness, richness and poverty, not interested in the incomplete greed of the mind, he walked as an unattached, as insignificant.

He never knew the green spread near the walls of multistoried buildings that are waiting to be axed . He is enquiring. He is searching something near the wall. I looked on the old tin that he carries. What is in it? What he enquires?

He does’t bother about the security police or the speedy vehicles. He continued the enquiry. He sat near the wall. Down the bricks and made a triangle with it. He went near the tap with the tin. I had doubt on his actions. Enthusiasm made me to stay back. Smell of hot tar made me restless. The old man came back with water in the tin. He placed it above the triangle, put some papers and leaves below and lit with a match box. Fire established and the face of the old man shined in the light. Smoke emerged as shade of the fire. A police man shown displeasure. The world of old man has the fire and the sun only.
Thin frame of the tin expanded on heating. Temperature slowly moved from tin atoms to water atoms. So enthusiastic, I walked near him . He didn’t mind. I looked inside the can . A few rice pellets are seen boiling. His food is getting ready. I felt hunger . My food at the Brahmin hotel may be ready now.
But-------
Have an uneasiness
Old man’s food is a few pellets of rice!
What are we discussing ?
About the good and evil of computer, pain on the hike of water charge, hike of building tax, many Kunjananthans are crowding together and making big noise, feels the roar of the sea.
My stomach shrank and lost hunger.
There is a hot discussion in the corporation council on how to make entry of street beggars in the voter’s list. The ruling and opposition members took the opportunity to throw mud on each other.
The smell of fried chicken came to the council and saliva blocked words of many. They lost interest in the topic. The bell in the clock tower made its sound. Session disposed for lunch to rejoin after food.
As a Njani, the old man smiled. Boiling of rice continued. The hot sun disappeared too fast. Black clouds began to line up like elephants. His hands became fast. He put paper and other waste into fire.
I said with closed hands, “ Oh ! God , don’t rain now” I feel a soul relation with the old man. May be I am that man or he is me. Hands felt wet . The rain started. One,two,three. The drops began to be faster than to count.
The old man is now behind the fog. With the black teeth open, he looked on the sky. He felt the failure of words. Wet sadness fogged the eyes. He took the tin, packed the bricks and against the rain water, he walked with strong foot steps.
I called him loud. The sound merged with the roar of the rain. By stirring the half baked rice in the tin , he walked towards the infinite.