The Stained Sword – Story By Anirban Saha

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Summery: Much Best we for the cried ordered prosperously hey hey capitally unselfish some caribou.

They fought a fierce unparalleled battle. Both valiant warriors, achievers by their own might, proud of their legacy and lineage.

The victor chuckled, pointing his sword towards him. He who fell to the dust, against the might of the victor..
He shivered, having lost, in shame. Blood ran down his forehead, his head taming down, the swords edge at his neck. He kept kneeling down in front of the Victor. The drops of blood trickled to the dust, disappearing in a moment.
The guards came in, the victorious conch-shell blew. He was caught by his arms. The clouds roared, it was getting dark.. the day of war was about to end.. the sun was about to set.. The sky was painted with the golden streak of lights hitting the dark clouds. Vultures reigned the evening sky today, the birds refused to fly by..
The Victor trembled once.. shook his sword, swung it high up.. roaring revenge. He huffed pride.. a strong breath and decided to face his death eye to eye. A lot had been said, a lot done… forgiveness seldom replaced by pride.. Crossed eye brows, he looked at the victor.. and was surprised to see tear drops in the eyes of the Victor.

He shivered, looked into the eyes of the Victor. His heart crying out “O brother, how can you misunderstand me so much? How can you trust the other so much? Let me have a word.. It wasn’t anger, it was love. It has been years since I spoke to you last, It has been long since I embraced you and proudly proclaim you my younger”. The Sword stopped in the air.. the crowd silenced with awe. So was he forgiven? Is all the love accepted and acknowledged? He wanted the breeze to catch fire.. he wanted all to be blazed to death.. he wished to cry till his hearts content. He wished to embrace Victor and tell him, that he still is his elder brother. Nothing much had changed since he last left him.. The house remains the same, the stewardship ready. The honour remains the same.. Years of anger, seeding in a misconstrued event.. years of willingness to hug, all ending with him kneeling down, guards holding him tight.
For some, it was chivalry, for some it was pride.. honour, duty.
The sword swung high up again, swinging back to his neck, slashing his head off his shoulders. The head fell on the ground, already painted red, splashing more of the colour to it. No one cared to close his eyes.. It thundered somewhere, no one seemed to fear. A hundred questions remained unanswered, a hundred confessions kept secret.. all dying down flowing with the red. The pride turned to overconfident chivalry, the victor stood high amidst the red chaos. The conch shell blew, the trumpets sounded high… soldiers drummed, clapped, cheered.. The quest of the difference ended, with the horizon coloured with the golden and the red… and sun finally set. Darkness enveloped the field.
Let it rain, wash the sins with rain.. sing the way, the way the sky sings today.. just the way the sky looks at me, look at me that way.. let my heart cry the way, the forest cries when the wind takes with it all its dry leaves.. the true wealth remained unshared, let me cry.
Photograph: Anirban Saha Photography.

Written By: Anirban saha

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