The Silhouette in the Dreams

PART-II – 14 Years Later

The stage was the same, the characters somewhat different and the story still going on. Azad was now in class 9; rising up the ranks of the education table. Kamala was now a house maid and used to work in 4 houses. It has been 3 years since Harish passed away. He never was going to live much, after that terrible accident that twisted his fate and his body. Kamala was now 41 years old but looked more like a 60+ woman, life wasn’t too kind to her. Well, kindness was never something she expected from anyone, be it man or god. She knew it was always going to be every –man-for-himself and so there she is; still sweating down more than she can, so that she can provide Azad with his education and food. He was a bright student of his class, always somehow managed to keep his place in the top three. Harish would surely have been happy today, had he been still alive.
 

This particular day will stand out in Azad’s life; because this is the day his life will be changed forever; just like it changed Harish’s life; on that very day of the fireworks accident. The reason he was not angry on gods for abandoning him on that day was that he knew it would happen. He knew when and where it would happen, and he also knew he had to get injured that night, for if he didn’t, his universe would have taken a different route. There would have been a lot of possible changes in his life, if he didn’t go to the factory that night; the very first change being that he would have lived to see this day. Now, how did he know?

The Three-Legged man.       

                                                        

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It was a pale summer evening, and Azad was returning from his school. The wind had died down, and the leaves didn't move much, nature wasn't too kind that day. Azad was walking through the forest, when he suddenly heard a rustling sound behind him. The sound that is made when someone walks silently over the fallen leaves on the ground.

“Is your name Azad, young boy?”, called out a hoarse and cracked voice.

Azad turned around and saw an old man holding a walking stick, clothed shabbily with his ears pointing out, and a perverse nose. Long nails protruded out with food stuck in between them, and a broken nail here and a torn out shoe there, creamy colored teeth and lengthy hair tied at the back to form a ponytail.

Azad starts trembling on his feet at the sight of the old man, and with a shaky voice he squealed, “Who seeks him?”

“Ah, that must mean you are Azad! Lovely to meet you, son. I am Drotha, a dream-trader. Or, also known as the three-legged man!”

Azad was now even more muddled; he kept looking at the old guy with his gleaming brown eyes as he tried to make out what this guy was saying. Finally, he spoke, “Where is your third leg? I want to see it.”

“Oh my, you are interested in my third leg more than the fact that I am a dream trader?” asked Drotha.

“Yes” said Azad firmly; slowly gaining his confidence now.

“Well son, you are looking at it. Everyone looks at it, and yet somehow cares to ignore it. Now, if you don’t see what is lying in front of you, is it my fault? Or, is it yours?” said Drotha, now showcasing a smile on his wicked face.

“Do you always talk in riddles, sir? Or do you not know how to answer straight?” said Azad, now holding the upper hand in the conversation, and beaming with confidence.

“You rat! You dare talk to me like that?! You little sarcastic, stupid fool!” says Drotha, now spitting venom from his mouth, and his feet quaking which is calmed by the walking stick. Azad studies Drotha from head to toe, and spots it. With a broad smile on his face, Azad exhilarates, “The stick! You don’t have a third leg, it’s the stick, and it acts as your third leg. That’s it!”

Drotha was still angry, but amused at the child’s observation. But his amusement was short lived, he started again at Azad, “I scold you and you ignore what I have to say? I am the dream trader! Do you know how many people would die to see me? Do you? Obviously, you don’t, you ignorant fool!”

“If they die, then what is the point of seeing you?” said Azad, half-willingly.

“Oh! You have got a sharp tongue kid; I’ll give you that. Why don’t you ask your father that? Oh, wait, you can’t because he’s dead! Do you even know why I am here? He asked me to meet you when you would be 15 years of age, but now it seems like a mistake for I can’t stand a conceited boy” and said that he turned to leave, and just then Azad shouted, “Wait! What do you know of my father? I am sorry sir, I didn’t want to sound that way, I was just being cautious. Please tell me about my father, and how do you know him?” Azad was now almost on the verge of emotional breakdown hearing his father’s name; the one person he admired more than his mother, the one who taught him to dream, and everything else in between.

“Ah, now you want to say sorry and seek answers? Where did that smart tongue of yours go? Answer me!”, said Drotha, in a wicked voice.

“I am sorry, sir Drotha. I won’t say anything anymore, please just tell me more about my father.”, said a sobbing Azad.

“Well, I am still angry at you, but out of admiration for your father and to save my time, I will answer you. But promise me you will behave yourself!” said Drotha in a commanding tone.

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Very well then, I met your father on the day of the firework accident, he was so full of life and dreams, I liked his self-belief, you know” said Drotha.

“The Accident?”, asked a bewildered Azad.

“Yeah, the one your father encountered before you were born, he had told you about that, right?” asked Drotha.

“Yes, he did. But he never mentioned you, or any like of yours, sir.”, said Azad. 

“Of course he didn’t. You know, he knew there would be an accident that night, before it even happened. But you know the funny thing, boy? I warned him about it, but he still went anyway. ” said Drotha, and smiled again.


To be continued...