He Knows

The crimson hue relinquished the twilight sky to the purple splendour of the night.


But to me, the nights have been despicably cruel. The blustering winds, unrelenting in their haunting ways do not make me complain. They have been my companions in this long tortuous journey and I have learnt to accept them as they have learnt to accept me. No, I abhor the nights for they serve as a glaring reminder of the fact that yet another day has passed and I still haven’t reached the place I seek. Although, this night affords me a faint smile for I can see the small house perched on the hillock ahead silhouetted brilliantly against the serene moon.


The first time I saw this house it was in a dream and a voice which still echoes in my head albeit stridently had told me that the house was home to someone who could in all his power and might help me rid myself of my ever persistent grievances, who could in divine ways, dispel despairing thoughts which my mind most unwillingly harboured.


For years, ever since, I have been on a quest to locate this house, and have seen and felt the ravaging fury of nature, and have lived through the most harrowing conditions. Blood, sweat and tears to me are all the same now, for bleeding, toiling and wailing are the only things I have done since I embarked on my seemingly eternal journey.


‘No, I cannot rest, the house is too near for me to wait any longer’, I thought to myself as I made my way to the base of the hillock and initiated my ascent.


As I moved up, I heard that domineering voice again. ‘He lives there above, he who holds a key to a life without iniquities and sorrows. He who alone can liberate you, he who alone can help you atone for your sins.’ A surge of unbridled joy helped me relieve my mind of the gruelling exertions I had subjected my body to and with renewed vigour I hurried towards the house.


Finally, I reached the top and for the first time in many years I cried in celebration and not desperation.


The house seemed like no domicile of a man of such unnatural powers. It was clammy and squalid and gave the impression of being liable to falling apart from the most gentle breeze.


I moved inside as the door creaked harder than I had ever heard a door creak.
The wooden flooring, weak and damp almost gave way as I trod over it. I was now in a hall, illuminated by a solitary candle placed next to what appeared to be the back of a gigantic throne.


I looked around, to find that this was the only room in the house. The windows for some strange diabolically intriguing reason did not allow the moonlight to stream in. I felt a lump in my throat, as I wondered whether a place so sinister could offer me what I sought.


‘Go ahead, he is there, he has waited far too long for you’, the voice inside my head now proclaimed.


With all the courage I could muster I walked to the back of the throne.
Wave after wave of apprehension plunged my mind into near dementia. ‘DO NOT STOP’, the voice hollered.


‘I gave up everything I ever had to stand where I am now, I must meet him with the same resolve and with the same intent with which I had begun my journey. He is God himself, he can and will emancipate me from my miseries.’- I convinced myself with these words and I moved around the throne to face the man who I had assured myself into believing would be the only one who would have the answers I wanted.


And at that very moment when I saw his face, the walls of my mind collapsed, the worst feeling of disconsolation incarcerated me rendering me even more lifeless than the very bricks that the small house was made up of. I stood transfixed, sure of never being able to move again.


For right there in front of me was not a large throne, but the biggest mirror I had ever seen.


I heard the voice one last time as it asked me mordantly – ‘How does it feel like to confront him at last?’