The scene: A railway station
The time: Now
There is a sea. Of humans, sweat and blood; and a faint smell of urine. Every passing train, just like the moon, brings on the tides. The sea swells up, the roar is deafening and the power is immense. Calm prevails once the tracks are empty. The sea trembles still, subdued but waiting.
In the midst stands an old withered man with a cart. Books rest on the pedestal, above the rest of the world; before the rest of the world. The old man looks around with a vacant face, and longing in his eyes. They stare intently at their glowing screens; chatting up with someone a hundred miles away. Each one of them, on their own. Every now and then they look up and around- as if awoken suddenly from a deep sleep. They look at the person sitting right next them incomprehensively as if real flesh and blood is something they don’t understand. Then remembering what brought them here in the first place a look of relief washes over their pale faces and they resume talking to an electronic screen. The old man longs to be noticed, to get one of the books down from the pedestal and clear the dust off it. There is a slight breeze. And the sound of paper rustling.
The temple stands deserted. Amidst dying echoes of chants sung too long ago, the old priest lights a lamp. The flame is weak. Outside, people are ecstatic. There is a new god. And everyone is invited to be his child. He promises a new world. A better world. He promises leadership. And he promises power. He would take his children forward. And not joining with him means an eternity in a pain. Knowledge is overrated, he says. Power and instant salvation is what the world needs. Sacrifice is a pagan practice. Those heathens are the spawn of the devil. The children of the new god are progressive. And he asks for is complete devotion to him and everything he says. Applause. Tears of joy. Ecstasy. A storm is coming. Among the ruins of her temple, Athena weeps.
There is a scuffle. The old man cranes his neck to see what’s going on. Apparently, a man tripped over a cripple lying on the platform, the fall breaking the man’s cellular phone. He is now bashing the cripple’s limp head against a concrete bench. People who look up from their screens long enough to notice it, comment on the poor state of the nation’s government; or on how the cripple intended to swindle the man’s money by pretending to be hurt. They cheered as the man wrestled the lifeless cripple. Suddenly something distracted the old man. A young boy stood in front of his cart with a curious look on his face. He picked up one of the books. A slight trepidation. He turned over a few pages, feeling the paper slide between his fingers, holding the book carefully in his hands. The boy was amazed, as if he had never held a real book in his hands. He called his father, squealing with joy. The old man could not believe it. This was something he had been waiting to see for ages. The boy’s father came. Unimpressed, he took the book from his son’s hand, flung it at the cart and said, ‘This is useless stuff. What on earth do you want a book for? Didn’t I get you laptop and a PS3 last month? And now you go after this shit? Even your grandfather didn’t read books after he passed school. People cut off trees to make paper. Did you know that? These illiterate scums won’t ever understand the pit they are digging for us all. You are never going to be a part of it! Come on, when we get home I’ll get you that iPhone 4S you’d been driving me crazy about.’
All of a sudden, the whole world looked different. The new gods were everywhere. And they were ruthless. They condemned wars and pretend to work for peace. And the same time they persecuted the so-called “heathens”. They murdered their own just to prove their definition of the good and the bad. Beneath the shining, happy face of the world there was filth and innocent blood. Women and children burnt alive, people turned into mindless sheep. The religions spread like plague. There was death and misery everywhere. And people accepted it as God’s will. Somewhere in his torn down fortress the God of War watched all this. The one who was as old as earth, the one who spent all his age in war, bathed in the blood of dead warriors, living among the maimed, dining in the middle of the innards of dead men, to whom cries and moans were music- the God of War, Ares, now cringes in disgust.
There is no train but still the sea surges. There is a storm. The cripple is dead. The man who killed him still seethes in anger over his broken phone. But the cripple was not alone. Beggars all over the station cry out in fury over the death of their brother. There is a riot. Furiously, the sea roars. A mist of red prevails over the platform. The place had become death. In the commotion somebody hits the old man. His head hits the ground and cracks open, spilling out his brains. The book cart, with no one to protect it, got knocked over and fell down on the tracks. Down among the filth and shit. Each book, a story in itself; each book, a god without followers. A dissolution follows, with scum creeping up into the paper, soaking it with its dirt, tearing it apart. The war above rages on, as the paper’s rustle goes silent and the writing fades away.
There is a rumble in the skies as black clouds roll over the burning earth. There is a downpour but to no avail. Ever since the new gods took over the world, their people had been fighting among themselves. To each their own god was better. Olympus wasn’t untouched form this changeover. Many of the Olympians were dead and gone. Zeus, the God of Thunder, the King of the Universe, was one of the few who remained. But his efforts to save his beloved Mother Gaia were futile. It had become an abattoir. The idiot, brainless pieces of meat that the humans were now had set fire to their own home. And Zeus could do nothing. For he is weak and frail. The last of his followers was dead. Zeus is now forgotten. And what is a god who is not praised in prayers? Nothing, Zeus mutters under a heavy breath. He is dying. He knows that. And he is defeated. He has no choice but to surrender. And so Zeus, the God of Thunder, the King of the Universe, steps down from his throne. Olympus falls.
Manas Misra
