Caged Book 2
Auteur
Onaiza Khan
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
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Chapter 1
Book Two: Freed
by Pablo Armendariz
NOYA
I can see it allâŠ.
I donât want to. I would rather be back asleep and return to my dream about being on some beach, somewhere I can be at peace. Lately, however, these restless nights seem to be coming in more frequently, like a relentless high tide that refuses to recede back into the depthless waters.
As I am learningâgranted, the hard wayâsometimes these abilities, these gifts, have a mind of their own. Between aggravated shifts from one side of the bed to the other, I also cannot help but wonder if this is all a part of growing up?
pat, pat, pat, pat, pat
The sound of shuffling feet along the dirt road. I hear it right next to my bed, like some rambunctious toddler who is staying up way past their bedtime. He runs past where I lay, his footsteps fade down the hall, and the silence returns once again. That is, before:
STOP! THIEF!
A booming voice bellows above my head, sending me upright in bed. Whether out of frustration or shock, I sit up to follow the louder, heavier footsteps chase after the little pitter-patter across my bed.
The moment I sit up, a warm, bright light shines on my face, forcing my eyes to shut into mere slits to break through the sudden arrival of daylight. When they finally adjust, I realize I am no longer in my bed.
I gotta admit, and this may sound crazy, but I donât think I am even in England anymore.
Buildings around me are dirty, but that doesnât shame nor cause alarm to the people moving about. Walls are held up by either rusty metal slats, blue tarp, or old posters written in Hindi. The road ahead is packed with slum villagers. And, somewhere in the distance, I hear the familiar shouts that I heard only moments ago from the comfort of my bedroom:
GET BACK HERE!
Two large men barge through the crowd, pushing anyone who dares step in their way. I race after them, curious to know who it is they are after. I have no problem navigating my way through the crowd. I seem to pass right through them like some unseen specter.
The men step into what looks like a street market. Tables lined with food, clothing, and jewelry fill the street. The men scan both sides, hoping to find their little thief.
While they look around, I am drawn to a table by the intoxicating scents of lovely pastries, samosas, and curries. Gulab jamun glistens under the hot Indian sun. I reach out, almost forgetting my current state wouldnât let me pick one up even if I tried, let alone taste it.
Then I see a small hand reach up from under the table. It needs no guidance, for their precision is quick, yet exact as they snatch up three or four sticky morsels. I get down to my knees to see a boy. He is shirtless with a little knapsack at his side. His mouth is practically stuffed with the orange orbs. He looks my way and, for a minute, I am unable to determine if he is looking at me, or through me, because by the time I look behind, the boy is back up and running, full-sprint, away from the two men.
I race after him, trailing behind as far as my legs can take me. The Mumbai slums whiz past us in a blinding speed of browns and blues. The two men are slowly losing speed, unable to keep up, but they are far from giving up.
I cannot help but feel drawn into the excitement. Am I along for the ride or guilty by association?
The thief takes a right, a left, sliding under fruit stands, over bags of flour, and even through houses, anything to give him the advantage of escape. Itâs clear this is not the boyâs first time playing this dangerous game.
I am distracted by the sudden turns that when we approach the canal, I almost fall in. The boy jumps, gracefully launching over the murky waters and onto the lush green grass on the other side.
I take a running start before hurling myself over. I crash onto the grass with just enough time to witness the two men fall short of their jump and splash into the brown water. Their heads bob over the surface as trash clings to their wet faces.
Behind me, I hear the boy giggling as he rewards himself with another glob of gulab jamun. No time to relish in their pain as they swim to our side of the canal. By the time they climb out, reeking of whatever may be steeping under the surface, the boy will be long gone.
I trail behind the boy, curious to know where heâweâmight end up. I catch my breath as I peer around our new surroundings. Though it is worlds better from the slums, the buildings are still in bad shape.
Most are abandoned. Its glass windows have either been broken or completely bare, showcasing its hollowed-out remains, like buildings that survived a cataclysmic event.
The boy retreats inside one of them, sneaking behind a plastic tarp covering one of its entries. I follow him, just in time to spot two familiar shadows pass. Unlike the other buildings, it is clear this one is still under construction. Scaffoldings, fresh wood, and tools lay about the open space, as if they merely stepped out for the day.
The boy ventures deeper into the building, where even the late-afternoon light dares to not even venture. I hesitate to follow, certain this is the moment in dreams and visions that results in some monster jumping out of the darkness to gobble up any trespassers like the boy and me.
Still, I tag along, convincing myself if itâs safe enough for the boy, then I should be also in the clearâŠright? As the darkness swallows us, the boy looks around. Is this his first time venturing into a place like this? My heart beats in my chest, as if ushering us to turn away from whatever doom may lurk within.
Be still, child. A voice coos from the deep. Come.
I am not sure if it is the incense overwhelming my nostrils or the power behind the soothing voice, but my heartbeat relaxes into a calm, natural cadence. Even as the walls started to cave into a narrow passage around both the boy and me, I feel safe. Those two men definitely wonât find us here.
Wherever we are, we emerge from the narrow passage and back into an open space. In the corner of the large space, an old man sits with candles around him. A small statue of the god Ganesha joins him for company. The incense smoke fills the air, where the blades of fading sunlight pierce through the shadows.
Come closer, child. I wonât bite.
We creep closer to the man, enough to notice something peculiar about the manâs eyes. A cloudy veil shrouds his pupils and irises. The old man is blind. Yet, for some unknown reason, he is still able to see. How that is possible, I am not exactly sure.
Ahh, there you are. Such a brave young man! And I see you brought a friend with you too.
Suddenly, I feel very self-aware that this is no dream. Is this really happening in real life? Am I really here? How can he see me? Also, how can a man talk when his lips donât move?
Do you have any food to spare, boy?
The boy nods his head. Did he suddenly forget that the man, this sage, is blind? The boy reaches into his bag to pull out a couple of skewers of curried chicken and some torn pieces of naan. He extends his hand out with the food to the blind man, who is also reaching out to accept whatever the boy is offering.
The sageâs hands come in contact with the boyâs own. As if struck by some unseen force, the man lips crease into a smile.
Ahhh, I see you too are siddha.
âWhatâs that?â the boy asks.
You are special. Like me. The sage bites into the chicken. Thank you for the food.
âIs that why you can talk without moving your lips?â
The sage nods his head. Ganesha in all his grace took my sight so I can see what is beyond. Not just for meâŠbut for you as well.
âWhat do you mean?â
I stand behind the boy and the sage, afraid my presence would only cause a distraction. I step to the side, where I can witness their interaction like a cameraman on some film set.
It is when I did that the sage looked my way. He smiled. Just as I take my seat, a strange thing happened, all the rocks, the rubble, and the candles suddenly lift off the ground. They move in an orbit around the three of us.
Siddhi is all about balance and purpose. We are given gifts by the gods so we can make the world a better place. My gift is to show you the road that lies ahead for youâŠand your legacy.
The boyâs eyes beam when he sees the magic all around us. Like watching some Disney movie where the main character discovers their own potential.
Give me your hands.
The boy offers his dirty sticky hands and places them into the blind sageâs leathery palms. He takes a couple deep breaths.
You have an inherent ability to quickly acquire talents. You are very quick on your feet.
As a witness, I couldnât help but agree with the sage.
Though your powers are great, you will always be in pursuit of more, of what sadhus call ananta labdhi. It will come just within your grasp before it is also taken away by another.
âWho?â
âYour first born.â The blind man said, with a raspy voice. âShe will possess a power greater than yours. She will destroy you.â
The boy shivers at the thought, shaking his head. âWhat if I donât have kids?â
Iâm afraid that decision is not up to you. The blind sage muttered from his mind. One way or anotherâŠI am seeing something elseâŠ
The boy keeps his hands out, though it looked like he was slowly losing interest by fidgeting in his seat.
Out of your spirit will come two. Dharma and Karma. Both will possess a great power. One creates while the other destroys. There you will find Mohini and Kali.
âWhat? That doesnât make sense.â The boy disagreed. âYouâre telling me I am going to birth two goddesses?â
The sage shook his head. It is what I see.
âWell, maybe thatâs why you are blind. Because what you are seeing isnât possible.â
Maybe, but Vishnu, in all His wisdom, has given you a gift. It is up to you to choose how you will use it.
âMaybe I wonât. I am Dalit, an untouchable. The only future I have is cleaning up rich peopleâs shit or dying in my own shit.â
The floating rubble orbiting around us falls to the floor as the boy storms out of the open space. As I rise up from my seat, the sageâs hand extends out towards me in my direction.
âCan you see me?" I ask the sage.
The sage nods his head before turning his head towards me. Sit closer, child. I brought you here so you could seeâŠ.
What I did see was the horror of the blind man aging before my very eyes. His eyes, while sunken in, grew more cloudy, as if summoning storms in his pupils. His hair turned grey and then fall off his head. His wrinkles form deeper, fragile grooves on his face.
And, just before I was certain he was going to die right in front of me, another man enters the space. The moment he steps into the light, the air suddenly turns cold, sending a shiver down my spine.
My eyes see the man that I killed not even two weeks ago. My father. Yousef.
Unlike the boy who stormed out moments ago, this man is dressed in a white three-piece suit. He towers over the blind sage, who could barely keep his head upright.
âI donât want any riddles this time, old man.â Yousef bellowed. âWhen I ask a question, you are going to answer.â
The sage peers up briefly before shaking his head. As you wish, though it pains me to see your place in the balance of the universe.
âUse your voice. Itâs why you have it.â Yousef dismisses. âA couple years ago, you told me I would find Mohini and Kali. Where can I find them?â
The sage is quiet for a moment. Then shakes his head. Your pursuit for power has gotten the best of you, boy. It has sucked the very thing that made you special. A wandering soul, a vetalaâŠ
Yousef heeds no time in explanations. He steps into the blind manâs space and lifts his frail body off the ground.
âI said no riddles.â
And I gave you none. The answer to your question is as dark as my eyesight. Because what I see is that you know where to find them as much as you do not know where to even begin.
Yousef growls: âThen I guess you wonât be needing it then.â
With the sage in one hand, Yousef produces a knife in the other. He throws the man to the floor. He takes the tip of the blade and uses it to carve into the blind manâs eye sockets. The sage cries out, loud enough for me to plug my ears. Even as I plug them from hearing the screams, I heard them in my head too.
A force flows through the room, from the blind sage into Yousef. As he removed both eyes, he was also stealing his ability. When he finished, the blind man, the very person who brought me into this vision, was dead.
I sit, petrified in horror to see the depth of my fatherâs power. He cleans the blood off his hands using the old manâs tattered clothes. He isâŠwasâŠruthless, eager to do whatever it took to acquire absolute power.
Then, he turns his head to look directly at me.
âHello there, beautiful. And who might you be?â
Before I could scream, I found myself sitting up in bed, back home, back in England, miles away from Mumbai. Sweat soaked through my clothes and sheets as I caught myself out of breath.
It was all just a dream. None of it was real. It was a vision. It was just one of my many abilities rearing its ugly head. They say these things are a gift, but why do I feel cursed?
Hush, sweet one. It was just a dream.
I heard a voice coo at the edge of my bed. I couldnât see where, or who, it came from, but the voice sounded familiar.
No more words, just sleep.
My eyes suddenly felt heavy. The sleep was crashing in, like a tsunami over a village. Soon, I would drift back off to sleep, but not before feeling a large hand fall over my own.
Oh, blind sage. I hope that is you. Because I canât afford any more danger.
