Imagination Page 3

label he had been given “a thief” the killer had slipped out of the spot swiftly in the dark. Guards of the residence came, and then followed the constabulary all this time the beggar was encircled by the public, who were eying disdainfully his each oafish move associating his perplexity with the desire to escape. He was not struggling though, he looked like frozen, his hands were so cold the man that held him looked at him with wonder. The beggar was silent; he seemed lost somewhere in between the gap of the two worlds of imagination and reality, he was gathering himself, being in transition, from the world of ideas towards the primordial existence. Those that gathered round him saw in his eyes a strange glimmer which was slowly fading away replaced by a look of weakness, a look of life.

  Shortly afterwards, in the office of the magistrate, the beggar regained his senses to speak and consider things. The hearing began, after the officers had spoken, the magistrate asked the beggar of the offence that he was charged with, “I don’t know” he spoke low with lips that were life less and grey. “It was not me, I swear to God it was not me....” he spoke considerately this time “It was someone else he ran away in the dark, I am innocent...it wasn’t me.” After that whenever he could, he kept repeating the same phrase “I am innocent, sir am innocent...it wasn’t me...I swear by the holy mother.”

  The magistrate considered the situation and the case was delayed. “Officer, what is the status of the victim.” He asked.

  “He is taken to the nearby hospital sir,”

  He thought for a brief moment, moved his hand over his neck holding it at the back as to relieve the tiredness, and then noted down something on the paper, the beggar pleaded again, “Mercy sir, I am innocent....”

  “Hush man” cried the other, eying him scornfully. “I have had enough of this nonsense.”

  Then he turned to the officer. “It may prove an easy account to deal with, officer, if the man wounded, survives, make him appear here before me in the morning, the case shall be dealt with at nine. If otherwise you shall commence the investigations. Keep the watch strict I don’t want such fools troubling around. Meanwhile take this wretch to the cell.”

  The beggar was still trembling and had not fully composed his self. In a little while he was imprisoned. The walls were dark, bleak and patched with moss; crouching on the ground he looked everything around with fear. It was fairly dark; nothing was clearly visible, a faint glimmer of light reached in through the iron bars and died there on the floor losing itself in the strength of the darkness. He hadn’t been to the prison before, he was a naive soul, and had hardly messed with any one in his life. This surrounding was therefore new to him though accustomed of sitting in darkness and cold for hours; he had never experienced fear, fear of the most dependent nature. What at first seemed silence, began to unfold upon his ears a world of tiny sounds and vibrations. He sensed the feeble but persistent sound of scratching and nibbling of mice somewhere in the darkness. Gradually the silence rendered a kind of strength to his listening ability and after a while he got a bit of the words, nearly inaudible, spoken by the constable’s outsides. Then slowly he could distinguish the creaking of boards from the packets of sensations and vibrations. His stare landed on the little pool of faded light on the floor and he stared at it in fear and dismay. In the very moment out from the darkness and silence he heard a muffled cry. He became alert, it came again, he listened more intently, and there it was a low mournful cry as of someone suffering in agony. He was feeling cold and his belly was empty. He began to think of that cry, and his imaginations now fully aroused began the play once again staring at that puddle of feeble light his mind was on the cry, it is coming from somewhere, perhaps another cell nearby, he thought, who is the person?, why is he crying? Inquiries began to initiate and he found himself meditating, this time it was much easier to feel, he could suffer the pain that fellow was feeling, he could feel the darkness imprisoned in the walls, the fear of unexpected, the empowering sense of helplessness, of dismay, of despair, everything that this crying fellow could feel. He could even see in his mind a shape lying there in the darkness, wailing and moving in writhe. Soon he somehow recalled the fabulous scene of the street. He was comparing and judging these feelings, the imaginations of joy and pain, of pleasure and suffering. His mind was lost and this all become too heavy for it to bear he tried to judge all distinct feelings he had, just by the power of visualizing. He tried to justify this link between feelings and reality, between the worlds of abstract and existing. The more he thought the more lost he felt. The darkness was still there surrounding the puddle of the faint light which he was constantly gazing at, like mesmerized. The cries kept coming and the wailing gloomy sounds persisted. He felt tears running down his eyes but he couldn’t help it, “God is just” he whispered in the dark “God is just” and a faint impulsive smile came over his lips.

  ***************** The End *******************

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