Friday, 25 December 2015

The Watchman

Each day the night fell upon him, engulfing him, calling him out with a loud shriek. And each night he would surrender himself to the sumptuous hours of darkness with a post in his hand, strong as the darkest hours and a thin muffler swaddled around his thin lips covering his long curled moustaches. 
"Darkness." He would whisper every time, trying to let go of the fear in his heart. 
The word was like a muse for his power and strength, with which he walked the streets lit by the streetlights trying to keep up to his duty.
Daily he would walk silently, pounding the post till 3:35 AM. Although he made no sound it was his mind that raged with a fire of thoughts, burning regularly. And it was those thoughts that kept him going throughout the hours of darkness. 
Thoughts of getting his wage at the end of the month and watch his family smile out of destitution. A conviction of running away from the night someday in order to work in the daylight, letting the bright rays of the Sun pierce through the pores of his skin. 
While his mind was a battlefield, each night, he tried acquainting himself with the Darkness with a belief of surviving it someday. He tried talking to her, blew into her ears, told her stories that he borrowed from his childhood, touched her face - peering into her eyes, touching her lips. But nothing worked. It continued to scare him, constantly. His efforts - all in vain. 

But that night, things were different. 
He came out letting out huge steps. He walked with a bounce while he had the same post in his same sulky hands. 
That night the moment he stepped out and started walking, he didn't strike the wooden post, instead he first glanced at the muffin like clouds stitched to the clear sky and smiled.
Maybe it was his new strategy of acquainting himself with the night. And thus, after he did as if it were a ceremonial activity, he started pounding his post. 
While his hands and post did its work, his eyes twinkled the stars he delightfully gazed at. 
He then searched for the Moon waiting for the clouds to move. 
"Voila." He cried softly and a tear fell from his eyes the moment he located the Moon. He wanted no more to work in the daylight. He was already in love with the night and the night couldn't love him less. 
It was then he realized that it was not only the night that demanded his love but the treasures that she owned and daily carried with her, that needed him. 
That morning he went his home and told his kids the story, borrowed from the night. 


  1. I'm a night owl. The night definitely has it's charms. It also has its mysteries and dangers. The day does not comprehend the stillness of the night. But the nighttime commotion is of a different breed from the day.