Of Cabbages and Kings

September 16, 2007


Filed under: Fiction, Random musing — Chinmayi @ 2:06 pm

The pounding drums always frightened her. She felt a rising panic as they rounding the corner – the hysterical bobbing colourful mass in lurid red, jaded gold and searing pink oozing into the street, and the fever pitch rhythm to which it oozed and bobbed.

All these people gyrating possessed and commanded by those drums. Gyrating oblivious to the half-inches by which they missed breaking a leg in a ditch or slipping the slush and being trampled into it. The vision always made her shut the windows against the drums, draw the curtains and hide beneath her clean white sheets on uncluttered bed breathing the unpolluted air in her silent uncrowded room.

The next morning she heard that a young man had drowned among those drumrolls. Walking among the hysterical dancers, looking to join the festivities, he crossed that half inch – he slipped into the muddy tank and died in the sludge and among the dancing. And to the rhythm of the drum rolls, his father and his brother saw his dead face on the dripping mass that was lifted out of the water by a crane.

She listened and she shuddered – she could almost hear the drums pass by again. And she wished very hard for window-shutters and bedsheets that could shut out the vision.


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