A Story of An Old Man

No one knew from where he came and how he was surviving. His big-whitish beard, scattered hair, worn out clothes and his erratic behaviour soon confirmed that he was mentally ill. Outside of colony, people often saw him brushing the ground with the small and thin twig of same tree which had become his permanent shelter. He had an old bag too. No one ever had an idea what was inside it. Someone had given him a bottle and aluminium Tiffin that he put just in front of him and frequently the red monkeys and dogs robbed his food, leaving him hungry and thirsty. Often he talks to himself and it went for longer...Sometimes it turned into cry and sometimes he laughed vehemently. It was hard to predict to see his face what he was going to do...was he about to laugh or about to cry? People passed all day. He never looked at them nor did the people look at him. In the night, the women, who were happy for some personal reason or who wanted to show her sympathetic behaviour to her neighbour or who just inspired by watching “Sanskar Channel” gave him food and water... Since colony was big and most of women were competitively religious...he rarely slept hungry...


It was a very hot day...In the scorching heat, under the tree he was laying as he was counting the number of leaves on the tree. He was not talking as he used to do often. In between the spaces of leaves, rays of sun were appearing like a spear, ready to penetrate the body coming in its way. Insensitive to everything, he, like a dried log, was gazing upwards as he was a broken branch of tree.

It was two in the afternoon. With a dried reed...he was writing something...People were passing but as usual they were ignoring him. But it was something different today...His hands were moving fast...as fast as he had to answer the final question of his life in a very short time. His body was trembling like a just switched off generator. Even in the noise of surroundings...the sound of his breathing, rustling so heavily could be heard... But people were busy and women were in their A.C. Rooms...watching their favourite T.V.Channel...

Now it was five in the evening. Children were playing Cricket. Ravi hit the ball towards the tree. Rishu went ahead to catch the ball. He saw the old man...laying like a lifeless body; grabbing a thin twig with his half closed palms. As he moved forward...He saw something carved on the ground...he tried to read it...

W...A...T...E...R

He pronounced wwaatteerrr. As soon as the meaning of word overrode the sound, he ran towards his home, puzzling his friends who were waiting for the ball to start the game. He went, took a bottle from his fridge...in a second he reached the old man...He tried to shake his body...His body gave a little response...His drowsy eyes opened a bit...His dried lips curved a bit...The boy opened the bottle and poured some droplets of water to his parched and desiccated lips but it did not went inside...It just floated outside. Meanwhile all children rounded him...flabbergasted to see something that they were unknown till now...the TRUTH of life...the END of life...

Soon people gathered around him. It was first time when in his dead body, people noticed that once he was alive...

A dried branch fell on the ground...replacing another one... Only difference was that former would soon be taken...perhaps children would use it to make their new cricket bat...