The golden ring on my left hand was glittering. Why it was glittering? Because it was gold! It glittered because of the sun's rays fell on it through the windowpanes. And the rays failed to pierce through the metal and reflected the beams into my eyes. So glittering was gold! Till a few minutes ago. Now the beams widened, like a smoke screen. Smoky human forms emerged on the screen. They seemed to me as souls of the past.  

 There was an abrupt feeling of chill behind my head - the cold barrel tip of a gun! I was about to turn my head, when:  

"Don't get panic. I'm your friend - Life. Do you know, the gold in a single wedding ring generates three tons of mining waste? How many millions of gold rings are there in this world? How many thousand souls and how many thousand tons of mining waste did they dig out to feed the greed and to fill their hungry stomachs? Poor souls!"  

"I know not what you are up to. But I'm sure, you made them poor souls. Leave me alone."  

"How can I leave you? I am your life! I lead you, at my wish. Now let us come back to our topic. Yeah? It would be apt to say, this planet is polluted by these poor souls. The tall buildings, wide roads, big bridges, agricultural crops and what not they made for you. You could just wonder at the wonders of this  world they made! They vanished into the vastness of this universe to be forgotten for ever!"  

"Does it mean that their names must have been etched on everything they made, produced - even on each grain they produced? Humbug! But by being  so soft towards them, you cannot absolve from your misdeeds, Life. You led them making their living miserable. Don't you?"  

"Don't you tag your writings, stories and verses with your names? Why? How many times you visited a Taj Mahal, a big wall of China, an Empire State building? Don't you get inspiration from those monumental classics? Did you make any attempt to know whose hands were behind all those wonderful monuments? Could you find their names etched on those wonderful  creations? No!"  

"You are still evading my question. Who's responsible for all these? It was you who rendered them anonymous poor souls."  

"You writers never forget to attach your names to your creations! 'Cause you are selfish."  

"You continue to harp on what you think. Writings are creations.  How can you describe it selfish? They are like own children. All those monumental wonders are just adopted children - children of those poor souls! I would explicitly say that whatever I do is for the good of human race."  

"Yeah! Your thoughts fly above the Ozone layer! Are you an environmentalist? Sometimes, your thoughts revolve around humanitarianism.  Are you a philanthropist? Humanitarian? Samaritan? But don't you spend more than what is necessary for your life - A roof, dress and food? Also a pen, paper and ink? And a few books? Why this expensive suit on you? Are you not indulging in the activities tarnishing the nature's image, if not directly, indirectly?  How much of paper you waste scratching and scribbling? All for your own name and fame! You are selfish. And you are a coward. You have no courage to face me!"  

"No, no. I am just an ordinary humanbeing - not an omnipotent with  unlimited power!  You said, you are leading me. With all your power, where could you lead me? Do you think, with your gun on my back, I can live peacefully? And don't think that you are superior to me. All those souls left you in the lurch of solitude and you had to run for shelter. Without a shelter  like me, you are non-existent!  

"……………."  

"I will reiterate, you're the root cause, for, you lead us always in a wrong direction. Towards comforts, sidelining humanity! Showing the way to hatred, not love! Sowing the seeds of egoism, not selfless service!' 

"Your gun is overloaded with only bullets of pain and pleasure! And you say life is an amalgam of pain and pleasure! Where the love has gone? You use the love to feed hatred! Your love is full of opportunism! You turn the good into bad, sane into insane, generous into greedy, peace into war and so on! And you say, you're teaching lessons! The kind of lessons that stress a stressful living! How can I address you as a friend? Load your gun with love, true love! And transform the world into a paradise!"  

"……………."  

"Life, you are the greatest coward on this planet. Not me. At the sight of death your gun melts away and you run away to another shelter. Where is love in your friendship? You are just a shadow, which moves around me, hiding from the sun, and vanishes away into darkness. Look at me! I am here or not, my love will live in the hearts of my lovers - at dawn and at dusk! But, alas, you! You will run forever, searching newer and newer shelters as long as this Universe exists! Do you think that your gun would scare me? Never! The power of a mighty pen evokes wisdom.  Not your gun; nor it has ever accomplished lasting peace! I have my pen and I will write, scribble, scratch at my wish, whenever I like, wherever I like. And certainly, I'll add my name to it. That is my sign of victory. My sign of work! My peace of mind! And I will rejoice over your debacle, dear Life!"  

"………….."  

 The golden ring was glittering still in the evening sun. And on the screen of  rays, I saw the anonymous souls dancing, in praise of  the debacle of life!  
 
 SK Iyer-8-99/1/8/99 
 

The alms-seeker was swimming in enthusiasm that morning. He heard that the Poet was in town and would attend a function next day in the town hall. So what? The Poet wrote a poem on an alms-seeker, which brought him international acclamation and a coveted award. It had become talk of the town and the people were proud of the Poet, who brought fame to the little town. And that the poem on the alms-seeker made a lot of emotional impact on the audience, during the award-giving ceremony. 

The alms-seeker's imagination went a step further. The people present in the town hall would get more emotionalized especially when the Poet was a native citizen. And they would become generous. And his income the next day would be nearer to a windfall. So he decided to make a small change to his routine, by shifting the venue of alms-seeking in front of the town hall on that day.  

He started, as usual, to the City Square. He looked at the big billboard announcing the Poet's achievement and the fame he brought to the little town. Felicitation was by the Mayor and the function would be attended by the big-shots of the little town. The Poet would read out his great creation that fetched fame for him, his little town, and his country. The function would be between 4 and 6 in the evening and the inaugural speech would be given by one of the cabinet ministers.  

The alms-seeker's mind was brimming with joy. All high society people. Not nickels, but currency notes would be thrown at him along with merciful looks! However, he had a fear somewhere in the corner of his mind - if more than one of his kind joined him, the income would be divided into two or more. And to that extent his earning would go down. "No. Never. This is my invention, my idea. And I will alone cash on my idea!", he thought and vowed to keep his plan to himself. 

That night he had sweet dreams. A poor man's ambitious night! The rough floor of that dirty shanty at the outskirts of the little town was a bed of roses for him. 

There was a long chain of cars parking outside the town hall. The alms-seeker was punctual. And he surveyed the area with his gleaming eyes and satisfied with the turnout. Outside the only gate of the town hall he could find a little space to squat by the side of a Cadillac. He lifted his head and stared at the clock tower. It was just five minutes past four. There was enough time to have a nap. So he did, thinking about the emotional crop that he would reap soon. 
 

The hall was almost full to its capacity. The people the little town were very punctual and disciplined. Yet they were impatient to hear their now-most-favorite Poet. After every speech, people clapped their hands as if there were performing a ritual. Then it was the turn of the Poet, the great son of the soil. He spoke - slowly, clearly and in a tone of a hero. Of course, he was the hero, after all. He was more proud of his achievement - it was natural. And finally he started reading out his masterpiece, the great poem that earned him and his little town and his country laurels, name and fame.  

Pin-drop silence remained in the beginning. As the poem became too emotional, people were busy collecting handkerchiefs from their pockets or vanity bags. Literally the hall was flooded with tears! So touchy was the poem on an alms-seeker! Audience wept! The accentuation and its rhythm were so pulsating that the audience was sitting spellbound. Where on earth could he find such words? And how could he compose the words in such a beautiful way? The minds of the people were filled with the poor alms-seeker's larger-than-life picture! 

The function was over with a vote of thanks by the Mayor, after a citation and presentation of gifts to the Poet.  

"After all I am a beggar! The City Square would have earned me today's bread, at least!", he told himself. 

He stood up. Then bent down to collect the cloth. And stood there for a while, as if he had lost something. Then walked westward, toward his shanty. 
 

SK Iyer-8-99/2/8/99