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| Not a child's drawing. Probably a Matisse. |
The eagle
is said to have a far reaching sight. It targets its prey from miles above the
ground with a minimum window of error. Similarly a certain eagle soaring above
the hills carelessly caught a glimpse of something that did not fit in with the
surrounding. Its green beady eyes focused onto the person who was visibly out
of element in this area. But that wasn’t what was strikingly odd about him.
What made him stand out from the surroundings and the other people, though
there weren’t many of those in sight, was the fact that the man had donned an
attire that was so visibly off-throwing. It was a typical appearance, something
so cliché and ordinary that one could’ve easily ignored this man. His
appearance was just so plain and boring. It was like the heaps of things that
one sees every day and forgets because they don’t matter; and even if rarely
one such thing mattered, the whole brain would have to be rewired to notice it and
the subsequent resultant brain would be fried instantaneously due to data
overload. Suffice it to say that this person had clearly taken pains to appear
normal. And that’s what gave him away. The normalness was too inconspicuous.
Normal is not something you do or try to do. It’s something you are, and
feigning normalcy is as useless as filling a perforated bowl with water. The
person had overlooked this, and that’s what gave him away. His artificial and
synthetic ordinariness. And this made anyone looking jump to a simple
conclusion. This wasn’t a fugitive on loose, or a disgraced family member
returning home in hopes of a warm welcome. This wasn’t a man of this land. This
was a stranger, who had decided to enter these lands for reasons yet unknown.
The
stranger knew the natives must’ve sighted him by now. That was okay. They did
not pose a threat. After living a life like he had, one learns that nothing is
a threat, unless it is wilfully made into one. The horse was a sturdy creature.
He had got the horse from the last town of the civilised district. He knew that
there would be no commuting vehicles ahead, and going on foot was too archaic
and tiring. A horse would come in handy. It was a black horse with white spots.
The stranger, an industrious city man himself, found the horse too similar to a
donkey despite the obvious differences that even every child in the country
knew. It was just a horse. A quadruped healthy animal that would do its vital
job on the minimum sustenance. As for himself, the stranger had dressed for the
occasion. He wanted to appear normal, so shockingly normal that he would sear
the canvas of the landscape and rattle the monotonicity of the scene. To
accomplish that, he just had to be himself. He would seem strange to the
natives, but to any of his associates he would still be clearly himself. The simmering
sun cast a light on his aquiline features. His nose was too sharp, and his
black gloomy eyes too questioning. His mouth seemed to be transfixed in a
permanent state of half smile that made him look like he was always sneering
and mocking others. But God has His special designs. While the stranger’s face
always silently taunted others, the rest of his body was an object of derision
for others. Generally people of his physique are termed ‘dwarves’ but he was
something more than that. Dwarves tend to have a normal-sized torso with little
legs, but sadly this person had an infinitesimal and abnormally small chest.
His legs were quite the normal size. In fact upon close inspection one realized
that his shoulder blades were almost joined to his buttocks. From a distance, and
if he were walking, the stranger could almost be mistaken for a sentient
scissor. You see, when we see ugly people, we wish to not see them ever again
and save our eyes from such monstrosities. But the stranger was a different
brand of ugly. He was the ugly which made you stare at it continuously for a
long time. Although by wearing a long cloak, the stranger had killed two stones
with one bird. He had hidden his body form and protected himself from the
tearing wind. Lastly, the cowboy hat on his head completed his look with a
final jocund touch.
By the
curve of the hill on the horizon, the stranger appeared on his horse, silently
traversing through the undulating land. Occasionally, he would change his pace,
but never did he stop. He wanted to reach his destination at the right point in
space and time. Accuracy and timing was pertinent. Soon, he realised he would
be start encountering people from around these parts. A wry smile came to his
lips as he wondered the musings of these simpletons who lived away from
civilization, or maybe they were their own civilization. The trickle down of
the stranger and people like him was a treasure for the sovereign of these
natives. No doubt, his arrival would’ve caused quite a stir in them. They would
be babbling mindlessly about the cause of his visit and extrapolating
non-existent facts to justify his presence. Some part of him wished that they
would consider him an oracle. A visionary. A prophet. Maybe they would consider
him an outlaw, which wouldn’t be very wrong. But what they thought, and what
they did would nevertheless be inconsequential. Their role in this venture was
akin to the role of the fish tank in a dentist’s waiting room. A means of
amusement and passing the time.
“What’s the name of the horse, mister?”
This sudden utterance had stopped his train of thoughts and the horse’s
trot. From the shrill voice and the underlying ‘sh’ in the mister, the stranger
knew that the voice belonged to a child. A native child. So the natives could speak
their language. Well, that was interesting. Apparently, they’re not as stupid
as we’ve been lead to believe, thought the stranger. He smiled and indifferent
to the question, pushed his hips forward, signaling the horse to go on. The
horse jauntily trotted ahead. The route ahead was an ascent and from the plain at
the foot of the mountain, the stranger could see various kinds of shops and
encampments of the people who probably belonged to this region. They were most
likely aware of his marauding by now. It was going to be more amusing than he
had anticipated.
The hat slightly tipped down, covering his face but still allowing him
to have a good view of his surroundings, the stranger reached the first group
of people standing. They seemed to be waiting for him. They were looking at
him.
The natives of this region just like all people who didn’t live in the
civilization were bald with frail arms and legs. Their short stature was almost
always dressed in bland colored robes. They occasionally put on straw hats,
depending on the weather. They didn’t carry any weapons nor did they have
insignias all over their body. They were a peaceful people, which was their
ultimate weakness and the primary reason why they were no longer a part of the
rest of the world. They seemed to be smiling as the stranger approached them.
“Hello.” His voice reverberated. It came out more deep than he actually
wanted it to be. That irked him but repeating a greeting in a different tone
would be silly. And definitely childish. In return they merely smiled. Some of
them bowed, a few nodded, most remained passive, and immobile.
“I believe you understand me.”
The stranger paused as he said these words, slightly tilting his head to
the side, letting the words sink in. He was expecting a retort of some kind,
maybe even hostility. One of them, who the stranger now realized was probably
the leader of this party, blinked. The blink was so meaningful. It was the most
effective and profitable use of one’s muscles. Using so little energy, so much
had been conveyed. The stranger knew that he was understood and they wanted him
to go on.
“I want to go across this mountain.”
“Yes”
What? What did that ‘yes’ mean? Was it an acknowledgement of his
statement? Was it a permission to proceed? Or was it just an invitation to
speak more? Or maybe the person was hard of hearing and wanted him to speak
louder? The stranger saw no way out of this quagmire, so he decided to proceed
with caution.
“Uh, I am not sure you understand-“
“What’s the name of the horse?”
The stranger’s eyes twitched. Hadn’t the child asked the same question?
He didn’t pay attention to it at that time. Was this some sort of entry
password? Or maybe a test? He continued the conversation nonchalantly, like the
question hadn’t been stated:
“I hope you have no issue with that.”
“What?”
Again, that enigmatic reply. This was getting unbearable. They were
definitely stupid. They hadn’t really learned their language now, and even if
they had, the mechanics of conversation were unknown to them. They seemed to be
talking to themselves or talking about something he wasn’t talking about. With
a chuckle, he turned the horse back towards a path and kicked it, prompting it
to continue the journey.
Read the rest of it here.
