The Violet Train

In a tunnel too dark, stands a man, waiting in the middle of the tracks for his train to arrive. Rest of the world could board one, He couldn’t. Our guy is in a fix. Trains seem to just go through him like an arrow piercing a mist, and in the process of which he is exposed to the interior of the train. Inside the train are paintings hanging on either walls. Now as the train moves along these static images start making sense. They, in their discreet steps, do their best and tell him a story. For eons he has been there. At the exact same spot and every train that has gone past has told him another story. Now, he might not have any idea of time and space, but a memory of one particular train has not been erased. Atleast not yet. This was the violet train. How could he forget this train? Before it he had prayed to die every single moment a train past by. Rest of the world would be crushed by one but, he wouldn’t. There were so many questions! They had shaken his believes. Turned the world upside down! Like, for example there was this blue train. This train told the story of a warrior buried in a grave with his sword on a desolate mountain. No, he wasn’t dead. He just was asleep. Years later when he woke up, he climbed to the surface and saw a whole new world around him. There were lights and sounds, faces and voices. Confused, he asked the mountain, who are they? The mountain replied they were their children. She had adopted them when he was sleeping in her arms. The news filled him with joy. They were his children! He had never imagined that the barren hands of his could father one, leave alone a civilization. In the meantime however the world seemed to gather around him and gave him looks reserved for the strangest of animals. Oh! He understood. He has been away too long. It was his mistake. He opens his arms and approaches one of them. They frown and shoo him away. Oh! He undersood. Just like a child. He wouldn’t mind. “Recognize me O child! I am your father” he explained. “I fell in love with the mountain ages ago and we have lived together ever since” he rationalized. He smiled again and firmly moved to embrace them. His smiles were short lived though, they were followed my instantaneous screams and a shower of stones. Befuddled he stood there watching them stoning him to death. The mountain cried sorry tears but “Fret not” said the warrior. Probably he was never supposed to be a father. He was after all a warrior, the blood he once spilled is being repaid. He watches the red fluid trickle down and the mountain absorbed it all. “We are one, finally” said the warrior. “They are children after all” said the warrior.

By the time the train had left our guy was stunned. How could he? He thought. The warrior so great had just surrendered? It does not make sense!

Then there was this red train. It told the story of a volcano. For years he had remained dormant, but was finally destined to wake up. He was thirsty. No amounts of alcohol could quench his thirst. As his hands tried to grab, the vapours just went further and further beyond his reach! He knew he was the scourge of the planet. Oh! But he was thirsty. He was thirsty for acceptance. Everything he touched vanished. His glimpse had the world famished. He meant no harm, it is just that this is what he was. Molten lava. This constant control bugged him. “Enough!” he said, “I am not meant to be control!” he said. With one burst then he spewed out his anger, destroying everything in his path. In a matter of hours he had conquered all! The full world was nothing but a pool of fire! There was not an inch left for him to conquer, the thirst however remained.

Such waste full thirst! Judged our guy. It makes no sense! It did not atleast till the day the violet train arrived. It did not tell a story. It just showed eyes. Perfect, round, mesmerising eyes. Those eyes were like a calm lake, fenced with eyelashes and a thin line of charcoal. He felt his touch may cause ripples that were beyond his control. For, a moment he felt as if he were on a boat under the moonlit eyes. Right there, that moment he felt that calmness, that he would surrender his whole world to these eyes and as the train past him by he felt a thirst. Unquenchable by any source available. He just had to see the eyes. He just had to be with them. He just had too. Suddenly, calmness of the warrior and the thirst of the volcano made perfect sense. Oh! Violet! He wished if he could be destroyed by a train, he would want it to be a violet train.

Be careful what you wish for they say. He however knew exactly what he was wishing for. So, now today as he stands for his train to arrive, he can feel it in the sound, he can feel the heaviness. “This is different” he murmured. As he saw the train approaching his curiosity became an unhideable glee. “The violet train” he gasped. The train approached at a breath-taking pace, spilling him on either sides of the walls, and the violet exterior was stained red. He however had got his wings and was holding his train in his arms.