Friday, April 10, 2015

Mother Racketwali

She sat quietly, immobile, waiting for the attack. She offered her body for the sacrifice. But she was not going down without a fight. She was armed.

Right enough, the promise of food, the scent of blood, the sitting duck lured them from their corners. In ones, twos, almost invisible in the shadows, they emerged and reconnoitered.

She waited. She felt their pincer grip but sat still. She wanted the army out, not these minions. She towered over them, and so the damage was not significant. But it was not their bite which was dangerous. It was what they injected into her system. Even one minion could poison her system, but she was willing to take the risk.

Nothing happened for a long time. Only the minions got drunk on her blood. She was getting angry now. It was not an easy call, this decision to kill. Largely peaceful as a person, she felt that she was justified in killing because she was being attacked. It was pure self-defense.

She saw the fat ones moving up closer. She swished her weapon - the electric racket - and heard the satisfying burst of the body against the electric wires. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt another one bite. Swish, swish, swish she went. Crackle, crackle, crackle she heard the response. She smelt burning bodies.

She had promised herself, she would kill only those who came to her. And that the stream had to end. But like Raktabeeja, each death caused at least two more to emerge and strengthen the attack. The frenzy to kill consumed her. She bent low and looked far. She caught the tiny bodies in mid air and swung her arm with relish.

But it was unending. 11. 11.30. 12.00. She must go to bed now. She will resume the battle the next day.

The survivors hovered, having won another day.

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