DABBLER SCRIBBLES

“This is the report on the sculptures we have excavated at the Mayan excavation site”, Stanius drew the little blue file, from his bag that he packed for the flight at the moment he got a call for the sudden meeting at the departmental office at an hour ago, and handed it over to Mrs. Herlet.

                    A 25 year old workaholic, Stanius was one of the few on the excavation team who have earned their degrees in Archeology. Not sparing a moment for life he has managed to earn a lot of money and a huge team for the Mayan excavation.

         “Ma’am these are the 2 drawings of the sculptures we have managed to excavate so far. They seem to be related to the CHICHEN ITZA, the flying serpent”, Stanius beamed as he told about the drawings. Mrs. Herlet opened the file and glanced through the paper. She flipped the file close and signed Stanius to take it from her and read the content in it. Stanius reached to grab the file but was hesitant as the look on her face was not pleasant at the moment. He opened it and gasped to fall silent. Mrs. Herlet urged him commandingly to read out to her, adeptly hiding a smile on her stern face. Stanius took a deep breath and pitched his voice loud enough for her to hear it. He read”, Dear Jane, of all the people in this world you have understood me the best. I am a workaholic and I also screw up things very often but falling in love with you was the sanest things I have ever done and before I screw this up too I want to ask you….. Will you marry me? PS. this is the gift I promised you for the New Year “He whispered the last three words”, I love you”. Stanius sunk his head into the file and blushed.

            “Stanius you screwed up again”, Mrs.Herlet bursted into a laugh while he wondered about the Mayan papers he mistakenly left wrapped for Jane by the Christmas tree. He blushed and whispered with a smile " yes ma'am i screwed up again".

Never had she wept like she now weeps,

To see their child go to endless sleeps,

The thirsty bullets that spilled the blood,

The walls that saw the red turned mud,

The books that mumble their names still,

The empty benches at the school to fill,

What about the mother that awaits,

To feed her hungry child few sweetened dates,

What about the father who sung them lullaby,

The last one at the grave-yard was his heart's cry,

Which country can earn power by burning innocents?

And see a hundred broken weeping parents,

What human were they if they were any?

To kill a nation’s soul with their bullets raining.

 (May the soul of the innocent kids who were massacred in Pakistan on 16-December-2014, rest in peace and we are always with you) 

“You get the documents and I will wait here”, Arnav urged Faizaan to get the college documents while he waited for him in the dim light of the mosque near his house. The mosque that seemed calm suddenly broke its silence by the “Adhan- prayer calls”. The little steps that walked the muezzin to the Minaret top was beautified by the green flags. The little boy who was reading the Quran Suras just peeped once to glance at the calm and dim aisle. Arnav looked at the Mosque’s entrance which beamed with the lamp at its foot. He played with the pack of sweet and rice that he got from the temple few minutes back.  It was Saturday and Arnav was agnostic enough to offer his prayers at the temple and the pundit often gave him a pack of sweet and rice after offering it to the gods. He was still humming the chants from the temple and the clanks of the bells ringing in rhythm with the prayers in his head.

                           “Excuse me sir, can I have something to eat?” A woman scooted out from the dim aisle of the mosque, covered in her dowdy Burqa, the black cloth that covered the Muslim women from the unworthy eyes of the world. The small patches of green cloth pieces on her Burqa screamed her poverty. The faded mud lines on her face told about her tears that flows more often than she can wipe. She now slithered coping up with her old age and reached closer to Arnav! “Please sir give me something to eat, I am very hungry”, she pointed at the rice pack with Arnav. Arnav looked at the pack of rice and pitched his voice with compassion to speak, “I could give you this pack of rice but this was an offering made to the god at the temple and I was told that Muslims don’t accept the offering from the temples…. Aren’t you a Muslim?

              “I am sir, but before that I am a poor helpless woman who is hungry. What lines of code from religious book can satisfy my hunger except for a pack of food?  Sir my hunger does not see if the food is coming from the temple or the mosque or from the church or a Gurudwara. It is hunger sir, what religion does it have?”