It was a lazy summer afternoon. The village was quite, most residents were trying to catch a siesta, in their bedroom; pulling all the curtains to make it as dark as possible. All asleep barring the stray dog named Lalu, he was walking happily behind the child of eight; he is the leader, soon joined by his fellow kinsmen, in their adventure to raid another garden full of mangoes, guavas, berries and date juice. Winning all their booty, they trek back to their castle. The king proudly shared the spoils with all him follwers. They cheered for the king.
The lazy afternoon, the dark shades of the Amrul tree, the still green water of the pond, and the woodpecker in the coconut tree watched in awe. The king enjoyed his life while the pond washed his feet. The king wished let there be no tomorrow, and the summer sun was the witness. He smiled!
The busy footpath of the metro, didnâ€™t notice the little traveler. The new teen, was trudging ahead, with the bag on his shoulder, made heavy by the pile of schoolbooks. He was lost, wondering about the place he has reached. He searched for the dark shadows of the Amrul tree; the winter breeze was cool, but the breeze beside the dark pond smelled like mother. All his followers pleaded the king not to go; yet he left. He didnâ€™t have any option, but to move, to become the traveler he is now. He tries to remember, is this the promised land? Is this where he was supposed to find all that he dreamt for? Where is the green field where he used to flung his body when he felt tired?
No friends, no sign of life around. Surrounded by strangers in a even stranger world. A world where the wall you lean to gives way, where the "friends" you trust most, leaves you faster than they came. The world even Gulliver or Sindbad would be proud to visit. The traveler moves along. He remembers he was a king, and a king can’t lose. He looks up, and smiles; he knew he would win finally! He has to win!
The tinkle of the falling raindrops on the windowsill awakens the artiste. It was dark out side; is it night, he thought! The damp waft revealed the truth; it was raining. The world was celebrating life, the green earth lit the fire of inspiration, and the artiste was lost in his creations. He kept on creating them, unmindful of what happened to them afterwards. The king has arrived in the kingdom of Romanticism. He is the artiste now. He found her; or did SHE find him? Does it matter? He is king, he doesn’t think while giving. He is an artiste, who never stops while creating. He kept on painting the life, decorating it with the colors of love, affection and care. Lots of them were also left on his palate; he didn’t waste them; he used them to paint the smaller frames that were around him. So what if they were not masterpieces, at least they have color!
When the rain stopped – why did it stop? The artiste was standing alone. His masterpiece came to life. Consuming all his colors, all his efforts and all his dreams, it came to life. And it didn’t care for its creator. Why should it? I t had its own life. The artiste stood alone, under the scorching sun, with empty palate and brush in his hand, tired, lost. He looked around, searched for those smaller canvases. Even they were gone. Some might have fallen by the road, some picked by the passers by. Has the king lost his battle? Has the traveler lost his will to walk? Has the Artiste lost his colors? Why did the ‘tomorrow’ come? Why did the rain stop?
11 responses to “The Child Who was King”
Leave a Reply
Love, Sex & Relationship
শব্দ, ছন্দ, স্বপ্ন, রং-তুলি, ক্যামেরায় বন্দি করা কিছু মুহূর্ত, কালি, কলম, কাগজ আর আমার স্বপ্নচারণ
The realm of rainbow-blooded people
Fiction & Poetry Journal of T. Wong
Kindle, Gumroad, Shoptly, Patreon or via paypal works
Just be yourself
Just another WordPress.com site
Ek Akelapan Ek Tanhaai Is Bheed Mein
Life, fatherhood, politics, intel, India, South Asia, food et al
Adventures of a Writer
short stories, comment, articles, humour and photography
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
~versatility is not an over-rated virtue~
A fiction blog of funny and dark stories
Gallery of Life...
let your creativity splish, splash, & spill
a blog by Sharmishtha Basu (Agnijaat, Agnishatdal, Agnijashatadalama, Indie Adda)
A Collection of Muses, Madness or...Magic
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
He found her; or did SHE found him… (*find him*)T\’was beautifully written…. the jumps in time good… a traveller of time and space… tomorrow has a bad habit of showing up when it isn\’t wanted… other days when you want it around Tomorrow never comes…. he is a first rate Bstrd,, Is what I say…. ahem… was the title inspired by the Kipling story of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING???cheersz
Thanks buddy! Have edited; and I am honored to have such a comment from an established blogger.BTW – the inspiration is solely the child who thought himself to be the king of all he surveyed.
I am nothing mate… the public is fickle… most of the time I write because I want to… aren\’t we all kings of all we survey, till life teaches us otherwise…Passions made mortals out of us all..Without Passions all men would have godsEach one of them…cheersz
Sad end…very unlike u IC. But nevertheless, it was a well woven romantic kingly narration. And no that story wasn\’t the result of ur grandpa\’s reaction. In fact it had nothing to do with old people or age. It was about people any age who are never satisfied with anything in life. The point was that maturity and understanding of life doesn\’t come with age.
Hey HorusWell tomorrow shall alws come ,time is the only pemanance of universe. It moves on and we move along with it. If we dont move with it then we lose the battle.I really feel very intensely about nature and she is like a mother to us sometimes apprising , sometimes forgiving…. As for the mosque & hospital being spared , yes I believe in such miracles of life.take carehv a happy sunday icy
…..the winter breeze was cool, but the breeze beside the dark pond smelled like mother…. loved this sentence..so profound..an serene 🙂 also your 4th paragraph got me..very beautifully written though the ending was sad..why though??yes i\’m pondering over what to blog next..this self pity has a limit i tell you ;)take care..A.
Endings are neither sad nor happy, its just the begining of another story. Pardon me for calling it a story, its rather reflection of life. Feels good that I can make someone feel good with a few words. Dont pity Aks, life is not something to pity, its to live ;)Shilps, vision is often deceiving, dont go with it. It got me too… u see my comment on your was supperficial too !icy, life it self is a miracle isnt it? Such vast universe, and life in only one planet ??!!! Zofo, thx for reminding ! Public is fickle… damn fickle !! Hope I can churn friends out of these public !!
good work…drop in mine too,,,luv xxxfragile
Hi horus .Thanks your comments . I love to read your blog .
and i c i have ANITHER entry point..frm ur space dat is ;)lol..thanks for that..and m a true sagittarius..ho i gel well with geminis..er…leaving a few exceptions (ahem…my ex!)anyhow..take care :)A.
came by ur latest entry link… i don have anything to say except tat this one was really well written.