“Show mercy for this unfortunate, please throw me with some pennies!”. I was suddenly stroke by
such voice lavishly soaked in grave agony and pain, yet with a fine frequency that denoted optimism and urge for living. I turned over and found out the source was very near to me. I kept moving my hands over my pockets but could find nothing inside them. One could easily observe the guilt running over my countenance. It was the language of my body at the moment. I was so wretchedly tormented by my stubborn emotions who believed themselves to have hurted the man's heart, worsen his pain,made fun of his condition and thrown him with the sarcasm instead of pennies.
The man was incessantly looking at me with his blind eyes. It was making the condition even worse. I then settled my head in previous mode to escape his sight. It had just been few seconds and I heard the voice again. I couldn't control my motion; my head moved involuntarily again towards him. This time he didn't seem to stare at me and that's why I managed to notice him thoroughly. He was devoid of the legs and was lying on the jute sack with the bandaged knees. His dark skin lay hid inside the gray layer of dirt and pollution. He was wearing the shorts of the color I could hardly detect. Sometimes, it seemed to me greenish blue, sometimes bluish black and sometimes blackish green. Whatever the color was the shorts was wrought and torn and few flies kept riveting around it. But he was bare in his upward body. However, what wondered me most was his physique. He had got enough muscles to be called obese. Few coins of rupees one and two were there over the black polythene bag that lay aside the man.
The scene was not new to me. However,its peculiarities kept evolving like the effervescence from the concentrated hydrochloric acid. I often used to walk down the bridge to my aunt's house passing those canvases of miseries. At those times they were to me just the the pictures of imagination containing not a minuscule of truth. It never occur to me a reality; a reality that may occur to me. And no sooner it became my own epic; epic because I had surpassed that level of truth. I crossed that present when I longed to live even when the thorns were pinching all over my body; when I detested the death not because I feared to die but because I feared of ending my life in ignorance. I feared to escape the marvelous mystery of life; opportunity to see what have been hidden; the probable chance to feel the intangible; the possibilities of entering some other doors rather than just the death's house. And so I played the game I didn't understand with the thought of knowing it better as I get used to it. But what happened was I remained newbie to it every time. Nonetheless, the consequences were what I couldn't bargain for. I was to endure it wholesome every time and the intensity of it was growing
The only thing I knew about that filthy interaction was I hated it helluva. I hated it because I felt it was filthy. I could never understand, why the things are conducted that way? Why the points are won by breaking the hearts? Why the acts of humiliating people get appreciated? How the modes of pretense be tagged civilized? Why shall there be the distinction between one eating puffed rice and the other eating burger for lunch? The pangs of anxiety kept scorching my every cell as soon as I left my couch. I was suffocating in this world. I was fatigued by the boredom of losing. And winning could hardly ever happen to me, I felt. I found no profoundity in being alive. That's why I decided not to exist. I went to the bridge which lay above the deepest river of Nepal, Narayani, the one that was near to my dwelling. The bridge is connected to the highway on both sides and so its quite busy with heavy traffic. I was standing on the footpath of bridge watching the blue water of river inside which I was soon going to vanish. It was when I heard the painful scream of the man my attention diverted.
I kept thinking about the man's urge to survive. He was pretty acknowledged about the heavy traffic near to him and he could easily roll him over. But why wasn't he dragging himself to death? Was his agony less severe than mine? He had nobody to love him but I did have few. He would be hurting nobody by ceasing to breath but I obviously would have. Still he was breathing voraciously as if he would miss all the beauties in world he was currently enjoying. Why was he begging for the support? Why was he so keen to stay alive? And why was I beseeching the non-existence ? What was he looking at and what did I overlook? I turned over not thinking anymore to give myself some time to think later and walked home. My mom was all in her tears. She rushed to me and embraced me. I kissed the tears off her eyes. She said nothing, nor asked me where I was. Her face carried an expression that read “ don't scare me like this. I can't bear to live without you.” That night my little sister didn't wished me goodnight and slept the whole night without touching me in the far-end of the bed. And I stayed watching her sleep. Yes, life has beauties to offer!