This post is written as part of the Ultimate Blogging Challenge (UBC) 2016 and linking with Blog Chatter where I will blog for 31 days. Today, I bring to you a short story and there will be many of them based on different genres. Today is Day 1: The grave man
The man’s grave
Droplets of water rattled on the window sill. The clock ticked, ‘Tick tock’ at irregular burst. The dilapidated room was deserted surrounded by green paddy field in the village. From afar, a thin and skinny man could be seen bathing naked under the water tap.
The villagers flocked towards the field which suddenly came alive this night. Somebody collapsed and died in the field. He must be lying on the grass for hours till someone ran around and yowled, “He died.”
The loud and desperate wailing was enough to wake everyone up where the male figures erupted like the cloud out of the thatched mud roofs that lined up on a straight line.
“What? Who? How he died?” It was the same old labourer who migrated from an unknown destination and stayed in the village for years. He was a drunkard who swore at everyone, cursing the men and women, chasing kids who were never shy of troubling him. He was loathed for his vagabond ways.
The village folks didn’t know his name and never dared to ask him for they feared his temper. Once he ran with a spade after a young boy but fell into the lake. He slumbered inside the still water. Some say that the devil has seeped through his soul that makes him violent and cursing everyone. He kept to himself, drinking the toxic alcohol and cutting the grass. He made the abandoned room his own. He never spoke to anyone and his fierce eyes scared everyone to death.
One night, a thunderous storm shook the sky but he was the lone person sitting on the field when everyone hid inside their thatched huts. They often wondered what he is made of that nothing on earth scared him. He heard a voice that writhed in pain. It shook his soul. He was in a state of shock and started weeping. No one saw the ruthless breaking in tears. He closed his eyes.
It was the God of death, Yamraj, who touched him and whispered, ‘It’s the time to go. I will come later to claim your body and your soul will do for now.’
A force pushed him towards the muddy surface and spent hours to dig it. He sweated heavily. Finally, the hole was dug. He slept inside the hole, measuring his body length. He wanted to go in peace.
The villagers looked around for him in the field but there was no trace of the man. They searched for his body and after hours, found his inert body inside the hole that doubled as a grave. It was the time to forget his ruthlessness, they agreed. A local priest was called to perform the Hindu rites to send him away with human dignity inside his house, the grave. A feeble smile transpired on his face. Finally, he was liberated. His soul would loom large on the village, protecting them of untoward situation but will never let anyone live inside his room. It was his possession, after all.