Portraits of Pain

The heaven rumbled and scowled dark. The rocks rained her body incessantly, on her chest, knee and loin, one hitting her nose, second herburning breast and the third narrowly missing her ear. Blindfolded and handcuffed, she was tied tightly on a thick wood with a serpent-thick rope. She didn’t know if she would die of pain or thirst or aggregate of pain and thirst. Sporadic stones fell from everywhere. Apart from blood, she could now smell death.

She opened her eyes. A wrinkled, freckled, hazel-eyed woman beheld her. She was in her hut. The flames spread across the wood in the furnace, the rain knocked hard on the window and whipped the ground and the roof.
“Breath in, then breath out and push hard” encouraged the woman “C’mon. Courage”

As she breath out and screamed, the heaven lashed the hut even harder and violently knocked the window. And with a thundering growl that nearly silenced her screams. The heaven illuminated the hut white.  Thousand lash fell into every inch of her body. Everything went dark. Everything darkened save the wailing of a baby.

She opened her eyes, there were blur images of an aged woman with a doll. The fire danced merrily at the furnace chewing the woods greedily. She could nearly see the oak tree’s leaves orchestrated by the zephyr. The rain now hardly tinkled the window. The moon pushed away the clouds and peeped into the window watching a new creation of nature.

She carefully carried her baby. Tears of joy streamed from her eyes, rubbed her nose with that of the baby. He was very beautiful and she smelt her lover smell in him.  She rocked him gently for a while and then brought him close to her breast, he suckled greedily. Milk flew like a river into his tiny mouth. A capricious fear and worry encompassed her. What if she is not feeding him in a right manner? What if he cried now? What if he gets sick now? What if she becomes a bad mother? Questions barraged her out of nowhere.

The days where veiled with nights, a strong lamp with twinkling dots and nights into seasons that painted the hut between the two large mountain and the beautiful plain. Now the oak tree turned even greener, the grasses flooded the ground and flowers colonised the plain. Busy bee would move between the flowers and scent of peace prevail the land. The breeze would orchestrate the leaves, grass-blades and flowers. Occasionally, a cluster of wooden houseflies would appear between the clouds heading to and fro. It would accompany sound of big explosion.

She had big dreams for the boy. She was sure that he will resemble his father. That he would bring a a beautiful bride in days of peace and that she would see her love story in him.

Autumn arrived; the oak tree leaves turned red and brown. Winds blew wider. Then came a day when the oak tree shed it leaves. This night she decided to cover her child with more clothes. His cradle was moved further from the window. The stars were dimly lit and the moon was red. She couldn’t sleep and tossed in her bed shifting gaze from the cradle to the moon. Her heart beat hard.

The winds blew ice-cold air, the stars vanished and an owl perched on the oak. It was an emissary of no-mortal Visitor as ancient as the heaven and earth. The grass froze and the door burst open as He headed to the cradle. She screamed into consciousness.  The moon peeped into the window white, the stars danced ligher and darker in the sky. An owl perched a branch. She ran to her beloved. He seems to have gone into deep peaceful sleep with a reassuring face. Her heart nearly skipped a beat but she was reassured with his face. She sat on her bed, waiting for the sun to rise. It did…the most magnificent sun rise she had ever seen.

She headed out and did her chorus. Relieved that it was only a nightmare, she was brightened with the visit of the freckled, wrinkled woman. They chatted and chatted. But she couldn’t stop gazing at the cradle anticipating his cry or crawl. Today, she will feed him by her hand. She would hear the first ‘Mama’ from him she was convinced. And today, she will get to smell her lover again and see his dark eyes again. He will be naughty when he grow she promised herself and would bring her a beautiful bride like she is. But the baby did not wake up. He had the same peaceful, reassuring face on his cradle.

She went to inspect him. He was ice-cold and his heart did not beat anymore. The area fell into dead silence. She placed the baby back into the cradle and walked outside the hut. She wanted to run, fly and jump all at once. She wanted to burn the world and toss it upside-down. She felt imprisoned in big deceptive world that promises but rarely fulfilling. She wanted to cry but not tear fell from her eyes.  Heart tormented, she wanted to jump from the highest cliff but a shred of intelligence penetrated into her emotion. She ran back to her love and embraced him tightly. Rubbed her nose with her beloved's, tears streamed and this time felt on the lifeless beautiful creation. She sobbed like a baby and hugged him again. It was the most beautiful portrait of pain painted by the nature.