Sink It in, Not Sink in It

Drops of rain fall on his eyes...the Warrior wakes up. He has not been sleeping; he has been in a daze for quite a while. He was fighting a battle, he does not remember what happened last. He brings himself up on his feet and feels a lot of pain. The water soothes his pain but not for long. He looks around. A lot of dead bodies with blood splattered everywhere. But now pools of water have formed on the field and what he smells is a mixture of it all: blood, sweat and the earthy smell of the ground.

He does remember some noises coming from a distance : sounds of jubiliant people celebrating victory. Was victory achieved? By whom? Or was it just a dream?

He looks up and the droplets fall on his dry lips, renervating his spirit. He puts a foot forward and he can sense searing pain through his body. But he must find out. He walks slowly but steadily, his bare feet splashing the blood and water.

It is all so quiet. There is no one in sight. But his mind is not perturbed and he walks calmly, not apprehensive about what has happened. He comes to a halt at a familiar place. He looks around and then he sees the Tree. The Tree which gave him shade when he was tired of all the preparation for war, the Tree which protected him and which absorbed his sorrow and pain. 

He feels a sudden urge to walk towards it and sit under its shade. No, he does not want to shelter himself from the rain. He wants every bit of it and it does begins to rain harder, making it impossible for the tree to protect him. And he wonders,  is it really possible that things happen as desired by him. He sits under the tree, still dazed and knowing not what to think. And suddenly it dawns upon him that the battle had been won. 

He does not know how to react. And then suddenly, he starts laughing aloud. And this laughter is different: it comes right from the heart, from the same place where he felt pain pouring out when he had lost the previous battle. It is a victorious laughter: proud, a little arrogant, blissful and sarcastic. He wonders what makes him laugh like that but the very next moment, more pain pours out from the heart. He is weeping bitterly and he is reminded of the losses and sacrifices he has had to make to fight this battle. He wants to reach out and recover all he has lost and his soul cringes even more from this thought. And yet again, the same laughter re-emerges, this time, from the realization that nothing could be undone. And he looks up to the sky and laughs his heart out.

He gets up once again. Everything seems to be coming back. He reaches a small path where he used to pace back and forth, preparing and strategizing. He had spent hours walking here, trying to know himself better, understanding his want and desie and  plotting for the kill. "This would bring me victory; this, would salvage my pride", he used to think. 

And he walks again, this time slowly, enjoying every step, relishing his success, and then stopping and spreading his arms wide, looking up at the heavens, welcoming the rain and shouting back. He has won. He pumps his fists, he shouts for the world to hear. He calms down and starts walking back but his eyes still search for people, all people, his bretheren, his enemies, the common masses: he wants them to know. 

But suddenly, the thought dies. He keeps walking back, letting his feet immerse in pools of diluted blood. He walks back steadily. He feels stronger, more determined and relaxed. He reaches the spot where he lay. He stops to reflect, to absorb all he has experienced in the past few moments. And he looks up and sees his camp. He walks towards it, only to be back. 

The battle is indeed over, the War........has just begun........