The sparrow without feathers
The piece of writing was found dilapidated and crushed; its contents smeared with cart marks, footsteps, tar and other undistinguishable sources, by a lad of twelve. Draped in western outfit and listening to Pachai Nirame on his iPhone X, he walked down the street kicking away pebbles, with his face sporting a look of lassitude and disdain. His mother had brought him along to this desolate suburb, to visit her ailing cousin who was dying of Giardiasis. He initially refused, but knew better than to not embitter his mom. So he tagged along with demur.
As his mother was consoling the god-forsaken cousin of hers, he walked down the narrow lane disgusted with the atmosphere of the house and the putrid odour it produced.
He noticed the crumpled piece of paper and was about to kick it away, when some inner instinct galvanized him to pick it up and have a look at it, for it showed scribbled letterings with ink and coagulated blood. He opened it;
O’ Almighty!
It is time for my reckoning! Your miserly child begs you for his salvation. Please redeem me of my sins and purify my blasphemous soul.
The boy was aghast and amused at what he had read. Piqued, he went on;
My father, drunk as a skunk, comes home and canes me everyday, and today being an exception, I was bludgeoned by a liquor bottle. Sometimes, I am lucky enough to survive with just ten thrashings a day at untimely, relentless intervals, but some days I manage to barely hold onto my breath with twenty, incessant blows.
Whenever he isn’t home, I run with my wounds and scars, sometimes even with a fractured rib or a finger, to the nearby newspaper vendor who graciously tends to my wounds, stitching them with a packing wire, a paper cutter and a few drops of coconut oil. He loans out the discarded academic material by the gifted to me for free and I find solace in them every day.
If only you were that kind enough, you would take me to you! I come and try to visit you in your Abode everyday. But Your Followers, don’t allow this reclusive vagabond into Your establishment.
The remnants of the sacred offering which is left to the pye-dogs is my everyday meal. Seldom do the strays leave me unbitten and unravaged. A handful of soya beans, chunks of coconut meat are what I flee away with usually.
I had heard from the vendor that people can die of blood-loss. And as I write this with untended bruises as a result of a rabid dog’s gnawing bite, I only pray that you would open your doors to me and take me away before I pass out on this street, only to be stepped on by hordes of unmindful, unconcerned people tomorrow. Nor do I want to be thrashed in a cell accused of false drug charges, the same way my pal was, last month.
I apologize for not prostrating You in Your Abode. O’ Saviour! Please allow me the privilege to accompany you. ALL HAIL TO YOU!!
With that, the despondent note ended and the rich lad was swallowing tears and sweat along with bated breaths. He wished that if there really was an unforeseen, potent entity in this world, it had removed this accursed lad of his woes.
Stupefied and distressed, he flung the piece of paper and started to trot back to his mother. As the paper hit the wall and settled on the unsophisticated road, the other side of the paper revealed the face of a political candidate contesting for the Local Body Elections.
