A Game in Hell

The huge wrought-iron gate creaked open to lay bare the sight of a most dazzling spectre. Across the far side of the hall, rested the large anatomy of the Devil in its full resplendent glory, swamped on both sides by lucid melting figures.

My feet needed no orders and took me straight to the cross that was inked onto the cloudy surface in front of his perch.

“Do you know why you are here?” came the Devil’s voice in a loud guttural.

“I can only make a guess, my Lord.”

“And what is your guess?”

“That I have committed an unpardonable sin?” I spoke with apprehension.

“Yes, and what is it?”

“That I have no idea of,” I put in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Of course, why would you? The lines of good and evil are blurred for you. If someone did you a good turn, you wouldn’t be able to make out whether to thank him or detest him.”

“But what have I done, my Lord?”

“You have sold off people’s happiness for your own good. This feeling of success that you have come to enjoy and revel in, comes at the cost of thousands of others. You choose to make others lead a superficial life, not caring once for what the world is coming to. Don’t you think that it deserves punishment - though I believe that even death would be a mercy on you?”

“Possibly, you are right. I see no reason for any empathy.”

“Anything you want to say in your defence, then?”

“No, I will accept your verdict, my Lord.”

The Devil clapped his feet and the lucid melting figures swayed towards me, threatening to engulf me in a huge bubble of nothingness.

“But I am surprised, my Lord. I have always thought that the Devil stood for evil,” I started again.

The Devil raised its eyes, and said, “And so is the case. I epitomize all things evil and cruel and ugly in this world, and that’s why you have been brought here. Otherwise, you may as well have found yourself in heaven, licking at your God’s feet.”

“I am sorry to voice my opinion in such a manner, my Lord, but at least when facing death, I would like to be a genuine man. You are not being the Devil, but God himself.”

“Don’t you dare insult me like that,” screamed out the Devil, with an expression that would have consumed a lesser life.

I lowered my voice to a confident quiver.

“May I be punished and sent to heaven if I insult you, my Lord. But just look at what you are doing. You are punishing me for being evil, and evil is what you stand for. Don’t you see the contradiction?”

The Devil narrowed his burning eyes, and said “I am not sure I understand you.”

“My Lord, you are the role model for all people evil in this world. They look up to you before doing any dastardly act that the society at large condemns. We keep up your spirit alive down there, instilling fear and manipulating people wherever we go. We don’t look for respect, because we know our real respect lies here, at your feet.”

The words seemed to pierce the Devil like a hundred darts. He sat stunned, like a trampled beast.

I continued. “I know no fear, and I don’t care for myself. But I will never be able to stand the thought of my role model faltering when it mattered most. My Lord, you are the greatest that ever was for us. Why then are you playing into God’s hands, by punishing your own pupils, who have chosen the path that you have shown? You cannot do this to your own sons, can you?”

The Devil still sat stunned, eyes transfixed on me, but with more emotion now.

“That is all I have to say. It’s been an honour to come here thus far. Whatever you decide, I will accept it as a verdict that I deserve.”

Two haunting minutes of complete silence ensued.

The Devil clapped its feet, the lucid melting figures subsided, my feet took me outside the hall, and the wrought-iron gates slammed shut.

_____

“Wake up, Philip. Wake up.”

It took me a minute to realize that my wife was screaming mad at me.

“What’s up with you? I have been jostling you for the last half an hour. You have scared the life out of me. Do you even remember that you have a presentation at your board office today on your proposed launch of a new mass hypnosis product? What the hell have you been dreaming of?”

I regained my senses sufficiently and answered with a smug expression, “Nothing, dear. Nothing. I was just selling the Devil himself.”

The Picture

There is a picture on the wall
Bigger than the wall

There is a beggar in the crowd
More numerous than the crowd

There is a spark within the fire
More important than the fire

There is a window to the world
More beautiful than the world

There is a green on the grass
Greener than the green

There is a shadow in the dark
More conspicuous than the dark

There is a thrill in the night
More mysterious than the night

There is a light in the day
More pristine than the day

There is a tear in my eye
More eloquent than my eyes

There is a muffle in my laugh
More a muffle than a laugh

There is a spring in my step
Minus a spring, only a motion

There is a winner at the end
But all is redundant then.

Black and White

Interpretation relies heavily on the senses of the beholder. You and I could go about interpreting the same object and yet, at the end of the day, our interpretations would be unique, merely because our view points are different. The black and the white have intrigued me relentlessly; they seem more symbolic than they were probably meant to be, and more difficult and easier, simultaneously, than the others to comprehend.

Black, most would say, doesn’t signify anything. It’s vast, empty, without life. But how then would one determine the worth of life if it isn’t weighed against lifelessness? Black gives emptiness substance, and in the process, serenades vitality, gives it reason and comprehension. It gives life a place which otherwise it would not have attained, or deserved, for that matter. The beauty of company lies in the despondency of isolation. It is when the good and the bad are juxtaposed, that the goodness in good is manifested more vividly than earlier. So, for whatever else it is not, black is integral, complementary.

Can white then be defined as the antithesis of black? One would feel tempted to, but then that would be similar to treating white like the moon, saying it is radiant because of the sun, and questioning its ability. White is independent because it signifies that which is desirable, that which is worthy of the virtue involved in desiring. It is seemingly perfect, almost spotless to the observer; it is elusive. But it is not a mirage because its radiance doesn’t disappear even on approaching it, but it remains elusive nevertheless. The impossibility of achievement of that which is desired makes the desired further desirable. The elusiveness further enhances the greatness of white, and stamps it with unquestionable superiority.

Black is blind, white is pure. A black on white is not the same as a white on black. The former becomes dirty white but the latter still remains black. Black tries to absorb all, nurturing mediocrity and contagion. White tries to reflect all. The resilient and the determined strive, and in that struggle, become a part of the greatness that is white. That sense of greatness, though, becomes more perceptibly clear when seen alongside the depths of black.