The realm of the Pauper.
everyone sets out a path for his or her life. what they seek to achieve five, ten or twenty years down the line. what they deem interesting and worthwhile and what they deem uninteresting and yearn to avoid,but few achieve any of that. this is a fact of life. many, end up spending their life oiling the official wheel, carrying notes and making reports for the people who matter. life becomes a constant state of failure and the very item of their interest once becomes a source of hatred. one that reminds of the life that could have been. that is how the soulless, joyless and lifeless 40 year old is born.
at the end of yet another event-less day, as he puts his head down on the pillow, the eyes close but the mind recharges. the tired limbs cry for rest but the soul beams of delight! as he slips into sleep, the mind leaps high in the air and plunges into the sea of the subconscious, into that wondrous realm where the 'could-haves' become the truth. where the clerk becomes the MD, the servant the master. as the mind weaves its intricate lines of deceit, the body sighs in pleasure. the short, the plump and the ugly transform, evolve and emerge tall, strong and handsome. the decaying second hand car transforms into a royal Rolls Royce. the 750 sqft home with a mortgage, into a palace which is so big that it blocks the horizons. everything is new, fresh and for a change, beautiful. the dreamers eyes roll rapidly, unable to contain its delight at all the new and glorious sights!
but the mind is no philanthropist. it craves revenge. for in this realm it is the dreamer who reigns supreme. those who humiliated Him in the outside world shall be punished in this world. the punishments are cruel. gruesome. as the MD's genitals get pierced by a hundred thousand needles and his eyes plucked out by gargoyles, the dreamer smiles and his partner lying beside him, sleepless due to anxiety wonders how kiddish he looks when he sleeps and kisses his forehead.
the journey through sleep continues.. we approach large doors, intricately carved with tulips which seem so real that the guards seem scared to approach them for fear of retribution from the Master. the doors open. we step inside. we are inside His home.
the walls adorned with paintings, their beauty divine. our eyes catch a glimpse of that Lady who's smile knows everything. Only the Master could have conjured such magic.
now the statues by the sides, all of the same person, the Master. Him, in his regal robes, with his sword by the side, the face wearing a grim look, rubies shining in his eyes and his crown, studded with lapis lazuli. Him, in his hunter robes, the tiger dead under his Royal Feet. Him, the family man, with His Son in His arms. Him, the creator of everything wonderful, with the lamp, just one of everything that He has created. Him, the destructor, with the garland of his school peer's heads adorning His elegant neck. the statues end and we approach the Fountain.
the Fountain of Wonders. the place where the Master likes to spend His evenings, in careful contemplation of matters pertaining to the governance of His ever -growing realm. the air is filled with a sweet noise, a song which seems to stir even the swans in the Fountain into a dance. it is said that the Master wrote this 'Swan song' solely for them. we should be careful not to touch the waters with our feet, the Master does not like that. we cross the fountain and reach the Elephant Gate, the doors beyond which sits the Master of all that is real in this unreal realm. He Who's kindness know no bounds and His wrath, no limits. We enter. heads on the ground, sniffing the earth without making a noise. we eventually lift our heads and find ourselves not inside the Elephant Chambers, but facing a ravine. an endless pit which reeks of rotting flesh and our ears are engulfed by the cries of feasting vultures. we smile. the Master has spoken and in this realm, even our thoughts are His. we run towards that bottomless crater. faster and faster and leap into the air, ready to get consumed by a bed of rocks and then by a sea of vultures.. but we land, lightly on a bed of roses. we look around. unable to understand His thoughts. the roses are divine. their smell is so thick that a halo of their smell surrounds everything. the smell is stronger than the wafts of opium He alone enjoys every night. we fall, unconscious, but we rise again only to fall after a few steps. but we never cease to walk forwards. we walk.
aimless, clueless, lost.
after ages, the halo shifts, the smell subsides. the roses grow bigger and bigger till they become trees. filled with roses and apples. it seems so absurd, but it is His vision. as suddenly as it started, we see the horizon.
we have reached the end of the world. it just stops. like a springboard. nothign beyond but abyss. who said the earth was round?
we stare, uncertainly, this is not to be. His realm knows no boundaries. we hesitate but bring ourselves to run again towards the end of the world! faster and faster and we leap. the moment our feet leaps the ground ,we get engulfed by a light. brighter and more radiant than a million glowing suns, yet more tender than a million blooming tulips. we fall into Him faster and faster... finally an audience with Him!
the dreamer startles awake. the beads of perspiration on his head, the only remnant of His world. his alarm screams 7 am. he drudges into the bathroom and wears the disguise for the next 16 hours. a disguise which will shield Him from these unreal people. he drives to work, through the dusty and clogged roads. he enters the MD's office. the MD is ready for him. he looks at his MD's face, contorted with anger and the MD starts with the usual barrage of insults. his eyes fall on the box of needles on the desk and He smiles.