A man with a dark complexion and
black hair, dipped his hand into the revolver case attached to his belt, for he
is the fan of touching it. The lusty curves, the groovy butt, the black tint on
the pistol has made him, its lover, and he virtually dies to touch and fondle
the great beauty of his small, light and a not so dangerous machine. Of all the
fragments he wants to touch, the trigger is the most tempting. Besides the
pistol grip, is the most irresistible. He likes to feel his self-made machine,
caress his initials R.P.V. engraved on it and adore its beauty. The bullets
without which, his alluring machine, does not have a meaning (for those who
like to use it without appreciating it), have been thrown by him in the dustbin,
for he feels that the usefulness of anything must not outlive its tempting
beauty. The splendor of his so called ‘love’ has made him to deny the fact that
around him a world exists which maintains a fear from his great and intense
intimacy.
Ravi’s friends had pleaded him,
to show them his creation. They also wanted to witness the adorable machine,
understand its functioning and figure out the reason as to why Ravi had not
used it even in the happy moments of his life. But Ravi had denied it. He says
that anything or anyone should not be used to fulfil ones pleasures. “This is not the thing to enjoy. I’ve made
it not for any reason. This is my creation and I don’t want anyone to exploit
my creation with cupidity.”
“Perhaps, if he had not shown his creativity, Shakespeare wouldn’t be
alive today in our hearts.” A philosophical friend of Ravi had said once.
“And perhaps, I don’t want to live in hearts of anyone after my death.
I just don’t want to…..”Ravi had made a counter philosophical yet practical
answer to his ambiguous friend.
One night when everybody in the neighborhood
was sleeping, and viewing the sweet or perhaps bitter memories in a colorless
format, Ravi was lying on his bed relishing the beauty of his 7R-990, a name he
had given to it, with his black and happy eyes and stroking its curves with the
heart full of desires. His love for his creation had been constantly increasing
with the passage of each day, every hour, every minute, every second. That day
an idea occurred to him.
“Sue was talking right, I should use the gun. What would happen, when
people would come to know, that I am such a foolish who didn’t use his creation
himself. Beauty is one thing but use is another. Perhaps when I die, the people
might call me a fool.” The thoughts were jamming his personal way of thinking. However
the thoughts were beautiful, no doubt. He had now agreed upon himself to use
the gun. “At the farmhouse, OK! I shall test it at the farmhouse. There at the
little hill, I shall use it.”
The thought of pulling the
trigger which had made a presence in Ravi’s mind did not let him sleep. He
first kept the revolver in his drawer safely, lied down but again he sat up,
jumped down from the bed to open the same drawer. He wanted to hold his
priceless possession in his hands, but he again closed the drawer. He sat down
on the bed. He lied down. He closed his eyes. The suspended thought of desire
did not let him sleep. Ignoring the wonderful thoughts, he tried to divert his
mind. But the magnetic thought of pulling the trigger, pulled him off. He was
now trying to imagine himself at the farmhouse with his beloved, ‘The 7R-990’. He
would first hold the pistol and stand straight, in attention position. He would
then lift his right arm up at an angle of ninety degrees with his vertical body,
facing the mound. He would then lift his other arm to hold and support the arm
which would be parallel to the ground. He would the clutch the pistol with all
his strength and pull the trigger with his index finger. A smile rushed from
his ear to ear on his face as he virtually heard the sound of bang. “Yup! I shall do like this.” An
excitement made its way into the deeper minds of Ravi. The feeling of love and
that he was finally going to fulfil his so-called ultimate desire, began
captivating his five senses. He again got of the bed and took his possession
into his hands. He wanted to do it right now. He could not wait for just 10
hours. “Oh, ten hours is a foolish waste
of time”, he thought. Till the time his mind was so completely engrossed in
playing the harmful yet pleasing game that Ravi could not think what was he
going to do. He opened the dustbin, took out the bullets and inserted all the
six bullets into the magazine and loaded it. He then stood in front of the
mirror viewing his posture. The he brought the pistol near his lips and kissed
the barrel. After positioning himself again, just as he imagined in his dream, he
closed his eyes…
BANG!!!!!!BANG!!!!!!BANG!!!!!!
******Epilogue******
Mr. Shreeprakash Vajpayee, a
retired army general was reading a newspaper named “Akhbari Khabar, The Chronicle of Lucknow”. He had read
four pages and was going to turn to next page, when a news article attracted
his attention.
IIT STUDENT MURDERS NEIGHBOUR, it said. Mr. Vajpayee read through
the words as fast as he could. The article read like this…
“New Delhi: Last night, a student
had managed to murder his neighbor by his self-made gun. The incident took
place at the Ratan Vihar society, at 1:00 a.m. when a DMRC worker Mr. Girish
Chauhan was murdered by a student of Delhi IIT. According to local people, the student’s
relations with the neighbor’s family had worsened. This had been accepted as
the cause of murder. If the lecturers’ talks are to be believed, the student
was brilliant and had a pure image in the college.
At the time the incident took
place, the student named Ravi was holding his gun. After seen by the local
people Ravi lost his control over himself, and also lost his self-made gun out
of his hands. The local people handed the culprit to the police. From the
culprit, the police has collected a self-made pistol which only has R.P.V.
engraved on it.”
The fifty-five year old man
turned the page.
No comments:
Post a Comment