Unusual Nothingness

An extract from He Who Summoned the Magpie Robin by Nirjhor Barua

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Nothing

In the midst of all nothingness, Kaiser Afzal walked. He insisted in being awake, trying to find the meaning of this sudden discovery of himself here. He walked not on clouds or anything, but that he walked on nothing, zero-null-void. His footsteps falling on nothing, material ground to provide an opposite force on him was absent; Newton was silently absent. If he had been in outer space, he was sure he would have floated around with the vomit from him being sick in this unusual-ness, sick-globs  slapping him in the face every now and then. Gravity was working mysteriously, yet he was not falling through into the nothingness that he did not bring upon himself, a slip and he might into the light-year long fall. After he strolled around for a bit, not being able to see nothing but black all around in his point of view, it came back to him. He had seen such dream elsewhere, some other time before. He realized: if the others were dreams, this must be too. He did not know how to pinch himself awake from this nightmare.

A melody suddenly ‘floated’ to his ear, darkness faded and was gone soon, but the light around him gave him nothing to see. The sound got slowly stronger and was clearly audible with every moment. Someone was mouthing the notes right beside his ear after a while. His counter-part, that he could not see, sang to him in rhymes, words that echoed in his brain, a hymn for no deity.

“What do we do dear? O Mother!

Give us a fair fight.

A savior and a Brother

We need him, he who, he who calls

When the devil tear the birds

O my Mother…”

 

From nothingness he came and to it he returned.

 

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The Greeks gods and rhymes

An extract from ‘He who summoned the Magpie Robin’
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Kaiser woke up just after his friend finished praying and went to sleep. He had dreamt again, the same dream. Again the same faces, the same butler, the mime artist and the performance. The performance was clearer this time. The sounds of the screams, the bombs, more vivid this time, more audible, more real. But something else was different. The parts were ‘Caesar’ came into being, was somehow hurried through, not given enough importance it seemed. The rhyme still fresh in his head, lurking, trying to tell him something, its ambiguity was hard to comprehend.

Count till; oh wait sir, till twenty five and three,

eenie meenie miny mo, then a killing spree.

Dead or alive, do you know,

What you’re going to be?

Screams here, heard from there,

All you do here is flee?

A person usually forgets their dreams right after they have woken up, Kaiser’s memory seemed to work differently. A lot of prophets through ages had dreamt their divine dreams. But in his case, no deity showed up with divine prophecy nor any instructions were given, only idiotic rhymes were told. Greek gods were famously known for playing tricks on man. They would place riddles as clues to heroes to aid them in the journey. He was speculating the involvement of such a Greek god or a goddess with swell breasts. It would be unwise to rule out a possibility he thought. The jealousy, anger, unpredictability, mischief and so on of the Greek gods were used to explain the unfairness in life. Maybe they were right; maybe all those gods were mean, vindictive, corrupted and down-right ‘arseholes’, needing constant reassurance from devotees by being showered with gifts and sacrifice. It could be that all the civilisations that came after them had committed heresy and had come away from divine truth. But then ‘Heresy’ was a concept ignored by the later-Ancient Greeks. So maybe that was why those gods got wiped out in the God(s) race, race of acquiring the entire world’s population. A crack in the wall can lead to the whole dam collapsing; not giving ‘heresy’ enough importance was their crack in the wall. By the time the famous carpenter came to the scene and ironically had himself nailed to a piece of wood, Olympus was already in trouble. But then again Kaiser considered the Ancient Hellenics to be more modern then the present population he lived amongst.

After much thought, he decided to start taking things seriously. These series of dreams had to stop, it was worrying him. Was he some kind of prophet or was he supposed to warn people of the danger that was to come? He thought of all the possible questions. He was scared of the psychological impact it would have on him,—if it would put his sense of reality in jeopardy, or if it one day turns him into a schizophrenic nut, spoiling all his happiness for mere two-paisa dreams that no head-or-tail could be made out of—putting his sanity on the line.

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