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Random Thoughts Share This Page
The Cry of a Swallow
by Sarika Goyal Bookmark and Share

It was a beautiful dawn. The swallow came out of its nest, chirped merrily and straightened its feathers with its beak. It saw a group of other swallows readying for a flight, but its mind was wavering. The god has created a marvelous universe, decorated it with innumerable species and made the morn to chant a soulful chord in his praise. ‘I will fly to different lands and bask in the glory of the Almighty’.

It directed its flight to a south west tropical country and perched on the top of a building. A man was loading a cart with many quintals of metallic tins filled with synthetic colour. The donkey that was to pull the cart shuddered every time a tin was loaded on the cart. The force was such, that the whole cart shivered and frail legs of donkey seemed to fail his master. Suddenly the master appeared, whipped the little creature and it was a signal that it should move. The donkey made a silent appeal to the master, the corners of its eyes were wet and the body denied any movement. Further whipping & it moved on slowly straining its muscles & joints.

The swallow uttered a cry. It flew over to the window of a labour room in a hospital. A woman aged 26, was crying for mercy. The relatives, all of them her in-laws were planning how they should respond to a situation if some mishap occurs. Shall her parents be called forth to shower the responsibility of tragedy on them?

The woman was writhing in pain and there was none to console her. The air suddenly got heavy as it was carrying the cries of a newborn baby girl. The woman was injected some sedative and she fell unconscious and out in the waiting hall, the relatives dispersed to mourn over the situation silently and the swallow shrieked.

Then it reached up to a sand dune. Another horrible sight was awaiting. The dictator of some heathen country was being tortured. The soldiers, who were now prisoners of war were whipped, wounded, humiliated and made to bleed. Their body parts were chopped off and the harbingers of peace were drowning their battle stories under champagne and whisky and mocking at the PoWs, the blood in their veins pulsated. The swallow felt something was choking it; it searched for shade, found none and uttered a last cry.

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09-Dec-2014
More by :  Sarika Goyal
 
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