Tick Tick

Twilight, where the light hugs the night. It is not a tryst, for the day announces vividly: “Look!  My reign is over now. The center of power is moved.” The scene speaks of itself. There is gloom in the light, shine in the murk. The whole audience looks, many notice, some muse. There are others who immerse so deep in thoughts that it is impossible to tug them out. Once hemmed in, they are lost for all eternity. So, he was there.

The flight of ideas knows no bound. Time and space have nothing to do with it. Nurtured in an outpost, having all the ends of the world within its surroundings, no one could stop him to think broad. He was not a mere farmer like others, sowing all their out efforts to harvest the dreams every season. Rather, he was quite a relaxed person with small land to farm and a lot of space to think. Thoughts neither occupy the acres nor currency bills; they are somewhat free of cost. Independent of every necessity, they just need an observing eye and a listening ear. He was rich in both, hence rich in philosophy.

                Curious about the sun and the days, a group of youngsters found it a better idea to talk to the sagacious figure of their society. He was the only thinker in their world, an unparalleled personality among all. “There is something on the other side of the mountains, probably some aliens or a state of talking animals;” he often told them. And they all envisioned the same for long times.  No one could dare to oppose his hypothesis or prove practically, for he was universally considered as the right person. The other reasons were the woods and the mountain ranges extending to infinity which clogged them to go along the river.

                “Every day is different. The yesterday can never come again, nor do the other days. What is this series of sunrises and sunsets?” “Where does the indefinite period of time extend?” He often thought for hours, similarly the others did. They had never counted the days; these were same as unregulated water of river. The age of a person was an unrelated question, for they just worked and enjoyed the short span of life.

 A saint by nature, he never considered himself as sage. This was not what he wanted; he had his own questions which were still unanswered. “Wiser is he, who can solve the mysteries which confuse me,” he often mused. Directionless, he used to find his answers from the questions of those, who venerated him a lot.

On a fine evening, when the people were returning from their fields, some boys encircled him in the way. He greeted with an affectionate smile and sat on a small cliff. The conversation on general topics continued until one of them said, “Where do the fresh days come from?” The short-heighted chap who asked the question, had just stepped in his youth. “You are not the first one to ask it my dear, but it is a mystery. Probably, these are destined to emerge like fresh leaves, like flowers that are always new, and like every new gush of water in our river.” He sighed as he was helpless. “Just as we cannot locate where the river goes, because of the adoption of its tough path, similarly days come from a world inaccessible to us.” He responded hurriedly, to have a fine escape from the topic. But this question was not new for him. It haunted him since long, when he was a child. The days are enigmatic, so does the age. In their culture, the realities of life and death were disguised in some myths, but not too much advanced to stop the queries and the thought process. They were free people because they could think liberally. The spectacles of nature were not yet hijacked by priests to have their bread and butter. However, the limited resources and the race for survival had restricted them to think frequently. A society is alive as long as it strives for its subsistence. When the basic needs are fulfilled, it has to hold the hand of cultural progression to show that it still has the existence.

Those who love to know cannot stop thinking. He returned home with a burden on his mind. But the question was not about the emergence of days. He strongly believed that it will be answered by a series of people with time. Someone will manage to go along the river to meet the external world. The other one will try to climb up the skies to look at the top. This will continue till man will be able to respond to the teenagers about the days and the time. But what can he contribute to this stream was the real question. People come in the world, live and go unnoticed. No one bothers to remember them except those who have given something to the world. An idea, a thought, or a way of life. These people are admired, loved and honored afterwards. He thought it a duty of every man on earth to contribute something for humanity.

On the very next conversations, people learned many new things from the man.“Everything is in a flow, towards some ambiguous world. The place where death is not death. It is mere flow of things, a metamorphosis probably.  Our days, our life period and our world are part of a great game, we cannot understand. But it will be clear one day.” “What we have to do till then?” the same small guy asked who had initiated the debate. The spiritual father smiled and replied in a sweet tone, “We have to try for the sequence of discoveries, to think out of the box which will lead to some outcome. It will happen only if we stop living for these days and nights. We have to live for ourselves. Our lives are too short to be counted. We have to achieve many a goals for better understanding of the nature.”

The days passed as they are destined so. The seasons changed abruptly. The trees were wrapped in more annual rings. Many died and new beings were born. The teenagers became fathers and grandfathers. No one could forget the spiritual figure of their world. No one could even dare to cross the mountains. People stopped thinking wildly. They were now more concerned in their animals and farms. The rain cycle was much improved to provide them enough yields. Prior to this, they had to fetch water from the river to irrigate. People had more than they needed, so they indulged in upgrading their culture. They left their huts to shift in well-designed houses. The clothing was improved. Modern dishes and new etiquettes were devised to show their promotion. The thought process could not be revised, for they were busy in new things. However, the philosophies of the man were still admired. They were much happier in a finitely timeless world. They did not bother to measure how much they have lived, and it made them free from many worries. They enjoyed conversation as long as they wanted, worked as long they had energy and passed their last days vivaciously, for they were ready to enter a new world. The code of morality was exercised as it was devised long ago.

But, the time had prepared them to present before the external world. Before the world of aliens and of talking animals. On a dark day, when the black clouds covered their homes, there came from nowhere a huge army. An army of men wearing iron, holding iron, and riding on a strange animal with extremely fast speed. They invaded, named the land as the new world, and introduced a small thing along with others that sounded tick-tick. The aliens had not only occupied their designed houses and the land, but their time too. They felt entangled in the tick-tick forever.