The Tweeting Haijin

सिद्धार्थ  क्या मेले के गुब्बारे कभी ख़ामोशी की तलाश में भटकते होंगे? क्या पूनम का चान्द कभी अमावस की आस रखता होगा? शहर की बसों ने कभी ढूँढी होंग किसी गाँव का रस्ता? क्या सागर की मछलियों ने एक दिन किसी वीरान कुएँ का ख़्वाब देखा होगा? मैंने न तलाश की न ख़्वाब देखे हैं, इन सियाही की लकीरों में मैं कबसे गुमशुदा हूँ| पीपल वृक्ष — एक त्रिकोण पत्ते में समक्ष भू Translation: Siddhartha Do balloons in a fair ever go wandering in search of some quiet? Does the full moon ever yearn for the new moon’s night? Have a city’s commuter buses ever looked for the road to some village? Did the fishes of the ocean ever dream of an obscure well some day? I’ve neither sought nor dreamt, for long have I been lost in these lines of india ink. peepul tree — in a triangular leaf the world  Published in Chrysanthemum 17

And so they came to my door. They didn't have to sneak up on me, they knew I had nowhere to escape. The engine rumbled arrogantly; quiet, well-repaired engines are for the powerless. And then it stopped, merging into the night's silence, as easily as it had shattered it. I could then hear them, the sweaty, nervous militia men cocking their rifles. I parted the curtain, and there they were, barrels aimed at my windows. Fully surrounded, as only the might of state can ensure. No escape then, no terms of surrender. I could go out in the blaze of guns the bastards wanted, for their glory, their honour, their shiny medals. Or I could choose a few more days of breathing. Panting more likely; I have asthma and they know it. A kangaroo court, a monkey trial. Blasphemy, treason, undermining the revolution, poisoning the peasants. The impassioned defence, the booing rabble, the shooting squad. It was so tempting then to consider cyanide. And yet no, perhaps the fascination of the imm...