The Kinder Death

Another piece inspired by deep thoughts and mundane questions.

The Kinder Death

“I want you to take care of someone, I want you to experience something.”, said a man in an immaculate dark suit.

“What?”, James – barely twenty five – tried to push out words from his throat but all he could manage was this one syllable.

“Yesterday someone”, he strained his brows, “misbehaved with me – sabotaged my vehicle. I want you to teach that person a lesson.”

“Wh-What do you want me to do?” he stammered but got through his sentence.

The man pulled out something from his pocket and slided it on the table, his palm was yet to release the content. He leaned forward, “Kill him.”, he whispered as he retracted his hand while looking deep into James’ frightened eyes.

James took a huge gasp as he finally looked at the token he had been given. A small black revolver. That was his instrument and perhaps his salvation. He startled – a black colt on a wooden table with almost a dozen heads watching. Heads but no mouths. Rarely do people revolt against the powerful – at least not when they aren’t involved.

“I..I cannot do this.”, he had to speak, because he was the one involved.

“It’s not your choice to make now. Death is often kinder that life, and you have the opportunity to shower some kindness, smile as you bestow it.”, the man sat smiling against him. He controlled James’ fate now. He signalled one of his men to take him out to his quarry.

Hundreds of thoughts started passing through his mind as he walked down the street. Why was he here? What bad could he have possibly done in his life to deserve this? So many thoughts, but none a solution to his ordeal. Perhaps he pondered, taking money from the mob wasn’t a very good idea. No matter what the reason, no matter what the situation, if you jump into the river, the river will carry you away, drowning you slowly – taking you away breath by breath, giving you hope and shattering it at its zenith. Once you jump in, the only way out is to become the river itself.

The whole concept of karma zipped through his brain like Buddha himself. Karma doesn’t see the motive, it doesn’t see the rich, it doesn’t see the poor. It only notes what you take and it keeps the note. Slowly you graduate back to your life and start thinking the note is lost. That is when karma wakes up. It watches you. It looks down at your forgotten sin, and when you are at the verge of forgetting your past, it jabs you hard, straight on the face and laughs staring as you are knocked down. No one can win against such debauchery. Not even the gods of the world.

The walk he took across the street was the longest of all his walks. He crossed the street everyday – in rains, in summers, in the falls and in winters – but today his legs ached.

“Your target is in the blind alley”, the escort paused and there was nothing else to say.

The night was cold and silent. Not a single dog prowled that night. The frightening silence started building up and was only broken by a roaring thunder. In the bright flash, he saw his victim. All cuddled up, the homeless sat against the wall near a dustbin. A ragged jacket and worn out shoes – all one could see in a flash. James was rigid. He couldn’t move, the gentleman standing with his arms crossed offered a push.

‘It will all be over soon’ James chanted as he moved ahead collecting all his strength, taking one step at a time. The vagabond was alarmed against the timid enchanting and opened his eyes to look at the unexpected guest. It was dark, nearly impossible to see – only if the government had fixed the street light, it would have been a frightful scenario. James pulled out the revolver as the other struggled to see. He cocked the gun at the man’s face. His hand shuddered, so he added support of another. His eyes filled with tears, his face drenched in sweat. His heart pounded like it never had, he could feel the blood flowing through his body – every part of his body.

The vagabond probably recognised the sound of a gun cocking and stood up alarmed. Another flash of lightning broadened the outlook. James recognized his victim. He had watched him everyday on his way home. As winter approached, all the man begged for was a blanket. He begged on the street, he begged at the stores, but none offered him one. There was a reason to such insolence. The man was a thief. A month ago, he had stolen a woman’s purse. It contained her examination admit card. The woman died a few days later in a car accident – an alleged suicide. People as expected connected the robbery to the death, but there was no tangible proof attached to their connection. Such a man James was to kill.

Did his life matter – to anyone outside? Did he even deserve to live? Wouldn’t the world be a better place without him? Questions popped up in James’ head. Questions to justify his guilt. You cannot differentiate between someone else’s right and wrong, for right and wrongs are illusions. What’s right for the tiger, is wrong for the deer. Like every normal mind, his brain shadowed his guilt under his cause. With a weapon to forge the world in his hands, he thought as a God – as justice. The man ran away towards the dead end, James slowly followed. His hands didn’t shiver now. Only one was enough to complete the deed.

Another flash of lightning brought rain. This time he saw a frightened man, he saw the fear of death in someone’s eyes. He saw the guilty plea, for his life. He saw what was right! With no second thoughts, he pulled the trigger and became the river himself. The vagabond dropped dead and once again there was nothing but silence. But this silence was different, it was dark and James enjoyed it. He wasn’t frightened anymore because he knew, he was right.

The next morning, people covered the body in a thick shroud. Yes, death was justly kinder.