January 29, 2018

Moon : A story of loss

A story-cum-musing inspired by the image at the end...


Once upon a time a sly and lonely wolf got a mask of sheep. He wore it for a lark and entered the herd of the docile species just as a distraction from his uncelebrated existence. The novelty was like a spark of sunshine in his mundane life. His loneliness made him bear their lame games with patience, laugh at their dumb puritan lifestyle and eat the tasteless grass. But, as fate would have it, he became friends with an ewe and was so enamoured by her  simple ways that forgot his slyness and started living with her herd as one of them.

That was monsoon when days were dark and nights, darker.

All day long, the masked wolf would work with the group, chat, eat grass, laugh and play with the lambs running till the horizons, chasing the rainclouds, the blue feathers of his dreamcatcher flying like mystical flames and its pearls catching  light,  shining like beads of that bliss.

At nights, he would sleep inside the cave with the herd, as innocent like a baby's heart. He wanted to live with them in his real form but his affection for the ewe and fear of losing her, prevented him from disclosing his true identity. His mask was the testimonial of his goodness and a guarantee to stay within the herd and the dreamcatcher attached to it, a symbol of hope.

Days were passing in a happy whizz when one day a yellow leaf twirled in the air. It went past the wolf's eyes swirling towards the ground and a shadow crossed his masked face.
It was an indication of the end of rains.

That night the sky was cloudless, a bright half moon looked down on the dewy pastures and was stunned to see a wolf sleeping calmly with the lambs. The lonely moon smiled with a malicious grin and crept away silently collecting her silver robes. Every night the moon's wicked smile grew wider till, on plenilune, she appeared in her full selenium glory,  aureate like molten gold and dazzlingly beautiful like all things cruel.

The wolf was already experiencing the well known pull.

Well aware of his foredoom he stood up, rising to meet his jealous adversary.
For one last time, he looked back at his friends, his foster family with his aching longing glance still well hidden behind his mask and then leaped out of the herd. Making a dash towards the highest peak he bolted like a burning arrow from warrior's quiver!

He was running, sprinting high, diminishing the distance between him and his nemesis in the sky.

The trees were whizzing past in a dark blur, pebbles were flying around him from beneath his paws as they touched the ground, the meadow, the small brook where the ewe used to call him with the tinkling of her bells, the much loved boscage where she used to wait for him in hiding, the treasured pasture, familiar scenes and phrases, playful moments and laughter, everything was flashing in front of his eyes clear yet blinding like, a thunder lightening. And he let out a howl of unchained agony. Of mad anger!
A cry of unbearable despair,  of someone who had loved deeply, with his everything and, has lost. Of someone who had guarded the flame of love with his own being and then that flame has been extinguished.
The river slowed down on hearing that cry of pain, the trees bowed down with the weight of that sadness, only the wind blew like a lunatic shouting and shrieking, as if in rage.

Slowly an undecipherable silence crept up over the entire valley hushing it with that heavy anguish of an unloved animal.

The lambs shrank back hiding into their mothers' fur. The older sheep shook their heads in dismay on this careless blunder.
In that silence the wolf was still tearing his lungs out with repeated howls of raw fury, of  frustration and hopelessness of an unreturned love.

Only the glorious moon was smiling.


Courtesy: Instagram

****
At times the persona towers the person.  With the art of pretence, the shallow very easily lure in the guise of substantial, charlatans charm by their honed up skills, but those who like the wolf, actually want to transform themselves are stigmatized. 

We severely judge such souls- the weirds, the loners, the eccentrics and the lost ones... while these are some of the most compassionate, the most understanding and unpretentious ones where we fail to listen to their silent cries, to warm up to their expectant eyes and to notice the smile dying slowly from their lips. 

It's not always that the moon is glorious and every wild soul, a beast. 
In these times, roles are reversed, my friend! Be careful! 



6 comments:

  1. I feel for the wolf. Your words here have made this sly animal a loving one, helpless in the hands of nature... Beautiful story... :-)

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    1. Thank-you, Mani. By the sketch of wolf and the moon I have tried to speak against the stereotyping. Emotions maketh the character and character maketh the person, rest everything is illusion.Glad, you liked.:)

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  2. Such a wonderful powerful story and one that weaves in an important thought about loneliness and our need for love, especially loved the closing lines, so powerful!

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    1. Thank you, Arti! It was an observation which developed into a musing and then into this...such a pleasure that you liked it! Means much. :)

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  3. Loved the story! Nicely weaved. Powerful too.

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