A Man's Story

It was just another morning. Or may be the same morning repeated over and over again. He would stand by the iron wall facing the sun and wonder what’s the difference? His world was limited by a hexagonal structure surrounded by fences of 12 feet high. He never tried to scramble them, in fact he never thought of doing so. His life is now a repetitive loop with a period of 24hours-aday. How big difference is there between a day then and a day now, he would think. He knows white very well. A special bond all share is a brotherhood of white. All inmates wear white, he too. The only thing he loves about this place is equality. He had spent 32 years of his life here, day and night. Not for a single moment he had seen the outside world. But today at the age of 64 he is going out. Nothing much left out to live for.
You are always innocent of the crime you have not committed, that’s the ideal rule. Not always. He had pleaded, cried, screamed at the ears which had gone deaf to justice. But that does not make sense anymore. He is now accustomed to a routine, wake up at 5:30 AM sharp, stand in a queue to lavatory. Hurry to take bath and get ready by 7:00 Am for break fast, a mug of hot (Only when it was prepared, not when it was served) tea, 2 pieces of bread. Get your part of work assigned and follow the go-work-struggle to rest- work-comeback chain. Have lunch at sharp 1:00 and follow the chain again. Work till 5:00 come back. Have rest and finish your supper by 7:00 and go to bed. Lights go off at 10:00. He was accustomed to a slow, monotone of life. He has not heard anything beautiful as he had not heard a sonnet being played or a note of music at its crescendo. Anything beautiful can’t be expressed in words, beauty must rhyme, and beauty must reoccur and beauty must be poetic and lyrical. The jail was the place many later found to be more convenient, no need to fight changes for they never occur, a simple routine life and no worries of outside world. You get your share of bread at the end of the day, and living in uniformity as being ruled by communists. But his case was different, he did not belong to this place, he was out of sync. Not because he can’t survive with same routine food and white clothes for years but because he did not share the most fundamental cord of committing a crime. He knew he was innocent. With this remote hope of justice he struggled and learned to survive which almost extinguished the day after he spent the first day there.
Now he is free. After 32 years he will see the outer world. His eye sight is not coping with his desires and taken the side of old age. He would not resist anything that is louder, he has been silent for years. Any sound other than human voice is a song for him. He would walk clumsily on the road. A lot has changed; he does not really recall the way to home. He hardly recognizes the movie starts on the posters. He would hardly believe that the place which had hand pulled rickshaw stand is now some auto rickshaw stand. He can’t believe the ten storey buildings on his left. He could not even recognize the outer wall of the jail where he had spent 32 years.
People have changed; his house is now no more than a dump yard at the midst of a society as they call it. Everything now seems faster than him. The number of vehicles has significantly out numbered the number of men. It was hard for him to cope with the life, the run, the pace. He tried working at few places to earn his living but nothing would work out for him. Hope is a good thing and he had it. He some how knew he can’t make it any more in the outside world. Now it must end. His life must end. But he was not the kind to commit suicide. What else? He can’t take it anymore living like a cast away. He took refuge in alcohol and just lived waiting for the end. But some other day he was no more. People started to gather outside his dump yard. He committed suicide or he went for salvation. But he is now free. He had chosen this freedom as he could not bear the pain of sudden social freedom. Like a bird can’t fly after a year of imprisonment. A man can’t live after a life term sentence. He escaped; he rejoiced and enjoyed the pain of dieing more than the pleasure of living.

Truly
Abinash