The Untrodden Path

He walks amidst the dusty storm: directionless. It's completely dark in the desert now. Every subsequent step is only heavier with his body and mind wanting to submit at every single inch. His parched lips, which will be happy at the touch of even the slightest trickle of sweat are chapped and are mumbling something; Something hard to decipher, for what can you say when your soul is too drained to voice out. Even before his brain can register, he falls on his knees with a thud. Unable to keep his eyes open and balance steadily on his knees he drops with his head half dug in the sand. Lying their motionless, inside and out, he thinks of what is and what could have been, although he has got no fair idea of either. An honest answer to all the choices in his life has always eluded him.

Under the long heavy breaths he can hear his heartbeat, slow and loud. He is aware of his increasing reaction time and decresing agility . He tries to open his eyes but then gives up. In these moments of stillness which feel like eternity, a strange sedated calm bestes his being: a solemn state where there are no wishes, an inert space where there are no positives or negatives, a co-ordinate where there are no rights and wrongs. He is at a strange composure and total acceptance of himself.

What circumvented him from being what he was now for whole of his life? Why had this Shangri-la inside had eluded him?
- Was it his own cowardice hidden behind confusion?
OR
- Was it so important to seek the approval of the so called society; Which is nothing but a bunch of lunatics determined to pull you down at every step and dedicated to enslave your free spirit.

May be it was an amalgam of both of these and some dross like fear and 'looking good'. But it didn't matter now. Oh, it shouldn't have mattered then.
He found it sad that how a child, carefree and freewheeler, losses the battle of his innocence, bit by bit at every step where his free spirit impinges with the suffocated sphere of society, until both coalesce and he becomes the society himself, unfortunately, lamentably.
He was amused at his naivety for what seemed obvious now was not even a considerable option then. Blinded by worldly desires, given to indulgences, overshadowed by fear, passion, jealously, greed, oh how could he fail to see the obvious!

Fleeting glimpses of past flash. The base of all the moments when he sees that he was completely, as they say, in-the-zone was freedom.
Freedom from fear and freedom to be; freedom so thorough, a freedom so free.

It's midnight. Suddenly he comes to present with a shudder owing to the cold in this merciless desert. A thin trail of saliva drips down from his mouth and none of the body parts respond to the signals from the mind. Inspite of his grave physical condition, his mind is immaculately peaceful and this serenity is visible on his face. There is no one to be and no where to reach. He experiences a freefall into an infinite tunnel of white light. The weightlessness experienced by his body is an understatement, for what he felt touches the realms of metaphysical and further deep.
A lullaby starts playing in his mind, the one his mother used to sing for him when he was child. He tries to hum to the tune until he falls asleep.

Next morning few travellers from across the border find a man on top of a dune. There is a thin layer of sand deposited on his torso, appears that the desert had blanketed him so that the child who had lost his path or may be found his destiny, may sleep unperturbed. The serenity and smile on corpse's face is uncanny. Roostam was at peace...finally...