The Nor’westers
The air was stifling. An eerie calm pervaded. The
winds no longer blew and the birds watched in uneasy anticipation. The sun beat
down on a parched earth. Markets were empty, businesses lay unattended. Even
the Gods had to do without offerings. Men scurried about fearfully in haste,
hurrying to return to the safety of their homes. Worry carved deep furrows in
their foreheads. The fear and tension was palpable, as was anticipation. Dark
clouds had ominously gathered. The forces from the south had marched for days
and the indestructible army had now completely surrounded the city. For as far
as the eye could see the battle formations lay in wait, as a tiger planning the
fatal swoop on the hapless deer. The siege was on, battle imminent. The invaders had arrived.
It was inevitable, destined by the fates. The
generals decided that the time had finally arrived. Massive flares lit up the
southern skies and the tumultuous beat of the war drums rolled across the
length and breadth of the city. The trumpets blew their deadly tunes – the soldiers
were called to arms. The city drew in its breath in panic and waited, afraid to
breathe. For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence was deafening, the
inaction terrifying. Then a fierce cry of “Archers” rent the sky. The long bows
were loaded and the strings stretched. The cavalry horses groaned and the war
machines tugged hard at the reins. The blood lust threatened to break free. And
then the arrows were loosened. They tore through the skies and rained down upon
the city. The attack had begun.
The attack was fierce. The attack was relentless. Quivers
were emptied and arrows rained down upon the city incessantly. Total
incapacitation of the city’s proud defences was its goal. It was as if time had
stopped. The skies darkened blotting out the sun, as the merciless arrows fell
in a never ending sequence, bringing forth absolute devastation. The parched
earth lapped up the shed blood, as edifices crumbled under the onslaught. The
winds howled in fury; trees were uprooted and the drains overflowed with red
fluid. The cavalry charged and the cannons boomed in synchrony – participants in
a macabre cosmic symphony. It was inevitable, destined by the fates. Under the
sheer violence of the invasion, the city’s walls fell. Its defences were
breached. The tyrants of the city were humbled, the unbearable heat of their
tyranny swept away. The conquering hordes swept through the city. The battle had been won.
And as the victorious army marched through in triumph,
the vicious attack was halted. And in its place, a gentle benevolent radiance
of reconstruction began. Like the gentle rain that nourishes and soothes a
ravaged earth, the victors spread their munificence. The stench of death gave
way to the sweet fragrance of mother earth. There was greenery sprouting
everywhere. Gentle winds infused fresh life. Birds began to tweet again, and a
grateful people bowed down in reverence. Children played, men embraced and
women smiled. The sound of blowing conch shells rose in unison, the people sang
the lilting tunes of the “malhar” and the temple bells chimed in prayer. There
was joy everywhere again. The liberators
had arrived. The monsoons had arrived.
Chinmoy
Bhattacharjee
Guwahati
6th
September 2012.
