The Guilt ( Flash Fiction)

By
Source: http://fallenpastor.com/
Jagdish returns from work early that day. He sits on the cot unlike his daily habit of going for a bath. His wife Santosh looks at him inquiringly if he is unwell or something. He replies, “I am just tired, need some rest.” He lies down on the bed and tries to close his eyes but the happenings of the day don't leave his mind. The faint image of that woman clutching his feet, begging him to not do it is still so clearly etched in his mind. He had never felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do except just execute his duty.




Jagdish was a hangman and today was his 1000th execution. He hated his job but the more he hated it the more he was unable to leave it. His wife always told him when you hate something it sticks to you. She would ask him to start loving it so that he could get another job. But the small town that he lived in it was difficult for him to find another job. He was known as the hangman since last so many years and that's the way it had been for his family. Even his father was a hangman. What he never managed to ask him was how he coped up with the guilt. He so wished he had asked him that question. 

What guilt you might ask, after all he was just doing his duty. But what do you say when someone asks you, If my husband is a murderer and is being hanged for that. Then who are you, who hanged him?

Popular posts from this blog

Essay: How to mourn the loss of love?

By
Image
Image Source: Unsplash.com I remember the first time I mourned the loss of love was when I was eleven.  For me, dance was love at that time. I had discovered a strange joy as I glided in and out of those movements. Every time I swirled; I could feel my heart soar. Any beat that strained to reach my ears, tempted me to move my body to its tune. I just knew I was born to dance and that is the only thing I wanted to do, all my life.  I had my reasons to believe so and a very simple one at that. It made me happy. That was a reason enough. However, my father thought otherwise. Girls from good families, do not dance. That line was enough to break all those rosy dreams of dancing on a stage. The day my brother was sent to the same dance class which was not good for me, was the day I experienced heartbreak for the first time.  That is the day I mourned the loss of my first love- Dance. 
Keep reading »

Diary of a Lost Wanderer - Lost & Found

By
Image
Dear Diary, I fell in love with Mumbai when I first visited it in 1995. Bombay, as it was then known, fascinated me since then.  If you ask me what made me fall in love with this city, I perhaps cannot explain. It wasn't that I was seeing the sea for the first time. It wasn't even the biggest city I had been to till then. Still, there was something so magical about this place. The trip was a short one lasting less than a week but this city now had my heart. Years later, I arrived here all alone on my first solo trip in 2005 and fell in love all over again. I got my first job and was required to come to Mumbai frequently. The local trains, the chaos on the roads, the crowds, the humdrum, the salty smell in the air, the stale air- everything about this city was intoxicating for me. 
Keep reading »

Metro Diaries: The Art of Making Love

By
Image
Image Source: Unpexels (Cottonbro) “Do you know why is it called making love?” He whispered, pulling the comforter closer.  I don’t remember for how long we had been in that room, on that bed. Lying aimlessly, just feeling each other in silence. I managed to just whimper to denote my curiosity.   “Because that is the moment we create love. We are the closest we could ever be to love, in its purest form. It is sheer magic as we are naked, in every form. Mentally, physically and emotionally before that one person, we love. We know they can hurt us, as much as they want to, in the way they want to. But love gives us that power to trust them, that they won’t.”   “And here I was thinking it is a need. Something you want at that moment and you get it!” 
Keep reading »