Captivity: A Reverie

 A short story. Reflect on the nature of freedom and imprisonment.

Soham stood there in the darkness. It was bright enough only to see and feel the darkness clearly. He could see rusted bars in front of him. It was a dungeon. As he tracked a rat's scuttle inside the breath-scarce chamber, Soham embraced the melancholia of his captivity. As his arms hurt from the pain of stagnation, he looked at the chains that had imprisoned freedom. But who had really done so? He shivered at the stench of sweat, of dampness, of corroded metal, of leftover rotten food. But he only smiled at the smell of lost life around him. Why? Throughout the painful timeline of his capture there, he had grown accustomed to not seeing light outside. For it had begun to shine within him, like a minuscule bud that had been eager to open and bathe in the warmth of the Sun and gracefully groove to the midnight chills - under the Moon's soul nourishing presence. 

A lonely child walked with self-garnered solemnity. It was a sandy path. On it Wind had sprinkled a few pebbles and many rocks. The child walked barefoot so the walk wasn't a comfortable one. But it was self-imposed. Around him were small cottage-like houses of uneven colours and shapes. Not a definer of twenty first century living. But it also was. As the child walked with controlled breath, he already seemed aware of how chaotic the surrounding was. But all the people who inhabited it, seemed to move around going on errands and other extremely important duties without which life could never be adult-like. Oh, it had to be serious. The child walked fast yet with his steps tamed. His defining fear, upon observing the ideal life around him, was practicality diguised as restriction. He was too afraid of running. Too frightened to respire fully. You know, it meant being immature. But, for the practical global citizen he had learnt to become, he had to walk fast. Walking slow was uncool, you know. All the more impractical, for you would be missing out on life. Precisely speaking, you would lose in the Race of Life. And this was not tolerable in practical living.

As he walked, to his supreme delight, he realised that he had forgotten what it meant to run, to breathe. He had successfully grown accustomed to the natural way of life. Adopting the semblance of the go-getter, he took scrutiny of how his arms and legs had grown a little longer. It was time to prepare to participate in the Race of Life. 

"Three... two... one... and go!"

With the heat of competition in the air, he began to walk really fast, and did not forget to take notice of the fellow competitors paralleling him. And he successfully managed to keep ahead for a long time.

"I am confident now. I am in terms with reality now."

Remember, he was still on the same sandy path. He suddenly spotted a kiosk on his left. Deciding to halt for a while, he approached it to recharge himself with some water. The kiosk had an unclean mirror hung on its back wall. In it he saw himself. He had grown a little more. He chose to look away. But could not take his eyes off the blue sky above in the reflection.

"What is that? I have never seen it in the long arc of the reality-driven life I have led. Importantly, never in my trajectory of wins and successes."

A fellow competitor called out from behind, as he smirked at the great opportunity to stride ahead. In the Race of Life, trophies and laurels were inferior to strides. Strides were the very cups of ambrosia that kept one alive and invested meaning to one's life.

"Hey, you might as well stay there in despair.

Walk fast but never run,

Too slow is never fun.

Control each breath,

Or you soon meet death.

Pausing is the worst sin,

Fulfilment can never be kin.

Hey, you don't seem to be listening. How have you forgotten that living and survival are never friends? Living life is futile immaturity. Bow down to the glory of restriction."

The vastness of the sky forced the now-adult to avert his gaze. That there was more to life, than the Race he seemed to be winning, left him unsettled. The last line of the fellow competitor caught his attention, "Bow down to the glory of restriction,". He turned around. He was left behind.

Panic-stricken, he walked faster than ever before. It was a question of identity. His legs hurt not just because he forced them to do something he had never permitted them to, but also because tiny stones pricked his sandpaper-like soles. As he moved on, he left trails of blood behind. But remember, this would add to his extraordinary legacy of prestige. Hail honour! Hail sacrifice!

A squall of sand blew over his face and entered his eyes. His heart palpitated. 

"I can't see anything!"

At this moment, a question - unanswered for long - struck him. He stood there in the darkness. It was bright enough only to see and feel the darkness clearly. He could see rusted bars in front of him. It was a dungeon. 

"Soham. Where were you really going? Where are you going? Where will you be going?"

The chains rattled. 

"You were coming here. To self-imposed imprisonment. You had grown weary of life, weary of yourself."

Throughout the painful timeline of his capture there, he had grown accustomed to not seeing light outside. For it had begun to shine within him. It shone inside now. It was the light of understanding.

Not he, but the chains set him free. The gate of the dungeon opened. Before he could walk out, the scene disappeared. The dungeon disappeared, almost like a soft dissolve. He saw the vastness of infinity above him. He turned away from the mirror and looked at the spread of blue directly. He ran away from the linear tracks he had been trudging on all this while. Soham ran through the narrow gap that separated the uneven houses. It was the gap between living and survival; living and practicality; living and constructed reality. Away from them. Away from the Race of Life. Away from captivity.

Gaurav Chandra Tuli