The Shroud of Despair

Manic anger, with an underlying necessity to destroy the first thing he laid eyes on, followed by inconsolable disappointment. He had had this feeling before, and he had known he would feel it again. Yet, he had forgotten the extent to which it affected him. The hollowness, the emptiness, the hopelessness of the situation was eating him up from the inside. How could he resume his daily routine, carry out his normal chores as if nothing had happened? How could he merely shrug off the memory of the disaster, and deceive his mind into believing that all would be well? No, it was just not possible. He walked into his room, deciding that he would never come out again. Yes, that's what he would do. He would deny the incident to himself. He would forget that all was lost, that the day he had been waiting for for so long had just ended in a terrible manner, and that all his dreams lay shattered around him. His room would be his refuge, and he would remain there until the memory of what had happened had faded away in the minds of all those who had witnessed it.

He entered his room, closing the door behind him. But no comfort did his mind receive from this haven of his..... this haven where he had hidden and refused to leave when the news had come that he had failed his 12th board examinations. The haven where he had hidden when he had received the news of his Grandfather's demise. The haven where he had hidden when his father had informed him that he would not be going to college, but would be getting a job in his Uncle's office. All those times he had felt calm upon entering his room. Being among things that were his own and which could not be taken from him eased the pain a lot. But this time he found no solace in the smiling faces of cricketers that adorned the walls, the piles of detective thrillers that had never before failed to help him escape from his own hopeless existence and be transported to another world. But today it just wasn't the secure place it had once been. The cricketers' smiles had turned to mocking smirks, the heroic detectives had suddenly become clueless when it came to solving problems, and the walls of his room closed in around him, urging him to accept that he had no reason to live at all now, that the next opportunity was too far away, and that there was no reason for him to burden himself with hope that was never going to materialise. He had an uncontrollable desire to die, to put an end to his own pain, and the more he tried to fight it, the more it encompassed him. However, his fear of pain was much greater than his fear of death, and the thought of the pain that precedented death removed all suicidal intentions from his mind. He would soak up the aorrow, and face it like a man. For a long while did he sit, sad but resolute, while the walls cotinued to inch towards him, and his heart continued its journey towards complete destruction.

Finally he could take it no longer. He walked out of his room, and, wiping his tear-stricken face, wore his shoes and left the house. He walked briskly, determined not to think at all, but just remove his pent-up frustration if he got the opportunity to do so. After walking for about an hour or so, he reached the beach, his favourite place in the world. He had spent innumerable evenings here with his friends, and sometimes on his own when he just wanted to spend time on his own. As soon as he sat down on the warm sand, he noticed that nature was mourning with him, and that the sea was crashing on the prostrate rocks with such ferocity that could be born of nothing but utmost misery. The sky too, seemed gloomy, and pretty soon, large teardrops began falling from her crimson eyes. He heard a cry of lament from one of the birds overhead. The wind blew languidly, whispering in his ear that dark was always followed by the dawn. Feeling slightly comforted, he stood up and walked in the direction of his house. On the way, he saw despairing faces. He saw morose people sitting in groups and crying. Now, truly, the whole country was grieving the day's tragedy. Suddenly he felt better. This was not his loss alone. It was the nation's loss. and he was sure that this day would bring tears to a billion people's eyes for years to come. Yes, this day, 23rd March, 2007, the day when a hapless Indian team was knocked out of the Cricket World Cup.

Copyright (c) Shantanu Anand, 2009.