Flight

- Bhim Parjol

Too cold environment enhanced to chill everything within short period of time. Hand full of water 

which I have collected to purify myself evaporate and flew away. It seems the season of evaporation. Season of condensation haze everything and make them indulge upon it. Nothing remains with me. Stinking cold season enters inside and roam around. It is made for us to increase the pile of miseries. Thick cloud, mist, malodorous wind stroke the heart. It is not safe to think forward. Mist and mist everywhere, which is the steam of tears for subaltern. Tear is for those who are always on the pile of miseries will get more. They are distressed time and again from several dimension of social, religious, economical as well as political system. They became the victim of every strike, movements, and wars of human kind along with nature itself.

It is the flight upon the cloud in mind. Different things turned in to vapor differently from the hand of subaltern. State, power, right, authority, sustainability, prosperity, peace etc evaporate one by one. There remains nothing for them. Only tear which also evaporates and remain nothing. Neither the problem of joining hands to mouth is solved nor have they freed by fog.

Catapult is seen on the hand of some people who are out from the cloud. They are making direction towards subaltern to shoot. There is no one to raise voice against the power. There seem some rights and more duties, traditional burden; ideologies are loaded in the catapult. Those who have catapults aimed to shoot those subalterns. Those will resist the plight with the ambrosia of fate.  There will certainly vapor from subaltern to accept these things.

Strike effects national economy and its development. People are habituated with these strike, blocked and movements. What will be the ultimate purpose of those strikes? Is strike in favor of those people who are in front lines of every movements and demonstration? Easily the thoughts change in to vapor. There remain the shades of dew which will evaporate within short duration of time. Mist of uncertainty leads nation towards the way of holocaust.

Snow capped houses, grazing land, cultivated area, hills and creeks added difficulties in the lives of local inhabitant along with the cattle for its grazing. Local inhabitants gather round the hearth drinking herbal tea with the sip of yak’s ghee make plan to migrate from their own native land to live in open ground of the jungle or caves with the cattle and their belongings. It makes me indulge on the problem of brain drain and its miserable condition. Dogs are barking with the chill rhythm to threat the howl of jackals. These melancholic sounds represent the pain with the piles of miseries of the nation and its identity. People conclude that the act is more fruitful for them to migrate seasonally. Obstacles and instability of the tragic life is forgotten with the huge miseries and obstacles. Pierce of needle is remaining meaningless with the wound of axe. People become ready to face axe rather needle.

Villages become baron. Snow capped roofs shine and there arose vapor which is going to make thick cloud around the village. Cloud gathers one after another and makes the crowds of cloud. Crowds of cloud mix with themselves. The existence of village is endangering within the cloud. The cloud of terror, illiteracy, underdevelopment, unemployment, superstitions and starvation etc gulp the villages which make people to suffer more. Inquest of relief from those cloud people move from villages. Empty villages once represent the supremacy of city dwellers. There appear hierarchies. Their need is the presence of alternative powers which ruptures the previous hierarchies. New sorts of hierarchies will appear again and again. It will rotate as it was. 

One flight is seen in the sky. It turned in to dot by flying up and up. Everything is pure dot and no more than that. One dot needs to rupture another one to enhance its size. If it discards the existence of other, it will be ended sooner or later. Cloud will come for those dots and evaporate them into its eternity. Every people runes after eternity of worldly things which disappear within some time. Vapor generates more vapors and there arose the massive presence of cloud.

Forests are filled with bombs and bullets. Once it was cultivated with weapons. They still remain solid. Neither they turned into vapor nor did they mix with the soil. Though people are engaged in identification the smell of soil. They have categorized it into differently. They have their own perception and nativity. Different sorts of soil is kept in the laboratory for its identity. They are busy with the miscellaneous identity not the sole identity. It becomes difficult task for identification from the time when it smells humanity. Researchers who are examining soil into the laboratory are confused with the distinct smell of humanity rather than individual one. The smell is not separated from soil and human beings.  Their conclusion concluded that the smell is mixed with its own smell. Those who have appointed the examiners of soil are generating the cloud of soil and slide the lab. Vapor of soil reaches nook to nook, mix with the cloud. It seems to be sunny in the following days.

One group people are gathered in the conference. The auditorium hall is already full with mist. There is the huge board which pronounces -“Intellectual Discussion for Eradication of the Contemporary Miasma.” Torch is needed for identification of those people who are gathered. They are gathered for the assimilation of the mist on which they favor. Different sort of fog is seen with those designers. Some are generating colorful mist which is ready to assemble with the privileged. It aims to flourish over the settlement area with its new appearance. Some are in the discussion of superiority and inferiority of themselves. Lets apart the fog, there is huge cloud on which we can easily survive. Starvation of thought and strike in will appear coincidently at the same time when the cloud disappear. Those who are gathered in the intellectual discussion forum prefer to live in the mist rather than sunny days. They announce to all be familiar with the mist and make it as their way of living. It only germinates repulsion toward them. Some voice will be heard   “Down with Fog.”

Everywhere and everything is covered with mist. There is no place to go.  I have to bath now but water evaporates and flies away one by one. Insects and virus are seen in discussion in the water tap. No one will give them commission of water if it evaporates one after another. “All of them are considered themselves, who will care about us.” Insect puts its word. Virus on the other hand seems happy that it can fly in the mist and makes its comfort zone anywhere. Who will suffer is clear in the ideas of virus.  

Those people who generate water from vapor can do whatever they like. Normal people will suffer more since they are powerless. They are unable to change something. Neither they have power to sustainability nor do they get right of liberty. They are passing their lives in such mystics, treachery world of uncertainty.    

                                                **                    **