The Battle That Was


It was the fiercest battle ever. The battle of chaos and order; the battle of day and night; the battle of storm and sky; the war between Seth and Horus. They were related, or were they the part of the same duality? The evil and the good? The two sides of the same coin? Castor and Pollux? Whoever they were – the war didn’t spare anyone. All those were around were sucked into the vortex. All those wanted to remain on the horizon were fighting with their life to stay away. Even the gods were forced out of their abode to witness the war of odds.


Seth was powerful, knew the world and magic and Horus was just a child, learning to see the world, attracted by the light. It was a battle of deceit and just. It was a battle between the master of chaos and the pupil of hope. While the darkness rose and covered the world, the little kid sought help from even the tiniest of hope floating around. Tried to grab all that he knew to be his. Called for all those he thought to be beside him. The roar of the raging dark waves submerged his cries. The impregnable veil of confusion shielded the visions of his nearest one. And he lifted his fist in despair.


Red flames of cremation ground outlined the deep dark sea. The sky broke loose and was raining fire. The dry parched land was covered with poisonous crawlers. All the oasis has turned into bubbling muck of mud and grime. The cries of dying hearts were shredding the notes of pianist. The painter’s brush was only spewing red, brown and black. The shoulder bearer’s eyes told it all – he was all but lost. Child king knew, now is the time of death. May be one, may be all of them – will surely not see the glimpse of the days to come. They were midst of a battle of survival. The fight till death – the fight to live.


The battle was to create order after the chaos. The war subsided only to raise his head with renewed vigor. It raged and rotting smell of corpses kept filling the atmosphere. As it was destined may be, Horus won, killing Seth on the command of Isis. He drag the beheaded body of Seth on the dust filled path. Yet he lost his left eye, the eye of dreams. As the gods have decided, the evils of Seth were removed from the face of the world. Or is it? Isn’t that great snake lurking underground is the same Seth, preparing to strike again in time?


The dust was settling down; a bleak pale sun was trying hard to pierce the cover of the smokes. The wintry chill of the air was freezing the bubbling earth under the feet. And there was silence. Silence of death. Child King raised his head, using his palms to shield his eyes, he was searching for survivors. He couldn’t hear the notes of the pianist. He couldn’t find the colors of the Painter in the haze. The whiff of air brought a mild fragrance and he knew. He was searching among the ruins, looking for remnants that he knew so well. He found the brush of the painter. Held close to his chest, the painter was fighting the death. Picking him up he searched for others. There, behind the ruins of the broken piano lied the pianist with his fingers smashed. Further down he found the shoulders. Only the shoulders of the bearer, buried under the weight of fallen heads. He searched for his remain, and searched, without success. He picked it up. He knew the pianist might heal his fingers, which will dance on the reeds again. He knew the painter will collect the colors from the sky once the dust settles down. He also knew the fragrance has already told him that some still wants to rest her head. Now the shoulders will support again; but not as the shoulder bearer. The shoulders will wait for the fragrance to get spread someday, anyday. The dust will settle down; the sun will shine again. The clouds will cover the sky. The rain will soothe the battered earth. Butterflies will dance again, the garden will blossom in time. But the time wont be the same again. The battle looks to be over for now. He just waits for the fog to lift, for a new day, just beyond the horizon.


And Horus? He lost the eye with which he dream. His left eye was no more with him. The dreams and colors and hopes may not be seen again. The eye that absorbed energy will never open again. The eye buried in the sands of Sahara, will remain lost forever. He is the king, one who can perceive the time better without the conscious non-stop interference of the un-worldly visions of that left eye. He will be more righteous king, one who has no dreams, who cant dream. Who can only do the right, and strive to take on the reign of life.





2 responses to “The Battle That Was

  1. BBRR kothaaaaaaay? 😦


  2. That was one hell of a post. Got so immersed in it, cudnt think anything beyond tht for a while…


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