The Blind Man
Hunting for morning rituals, we scanned every nook and cranny for tea. Everything that looked remotely like a shop.
Ended up finding this place - A tiny dilapidated hut that served every village in the vicinity.
Owned by this really old guy, shrivelled and myopic, with a layer of thick gray eyes painted over his skull.
He looked right at me as if trying to discern the silhouette that had just spoken. I felt compassion erupt somewhere deep down followed by a bothering rumination.
A man serving people in a corner of the world no one knows about and serving how many?
He chose this as a living, scrounging for articles of survival, unfazed by the temptations of a materialistic life.
How many of us can do that? How many of us can disappear without a trace?
The Abandoned Cow
Concerned talks of tigers in the village, yet the villagers had left this poor old animal to its fate.
Tied to a peg to a distant field, the multitude here truly believes that the tiger wouldn't attack this cow.
For they say that it was attacked once, and that a man-eater doesn't attack an animal that it has attacked before.
Strange theory to someone who had seen fear and restlessness in the eyes of the helpless creature a night ago.
Nervous moos rose in the air that night and I wondered if there was a man-eater on the prowl bothering the animal that everyone had given up on.
And me and the cow's anxiety was nothing but mere amusement to them as they laughed at how little did we know about hunters.