The Incessant Win

There amidst the garden bloomed the most beautiful flower

The flower that had taken quite a centuries to grow

And the shrub that had taken a few millenniums to flourish

A clan of gardeners had worked days and nights, months and years,

Decades and centuries,

To make it happen.

They named the shrub 'Indus' and the flower 'Indoi'

The scent of the flower could rejoice one's heart

And it's beauty mesmerize one's mind

People from far and near came to witness such sight

And the tale kept spreading by word of mouth.

Came the humongous wind, came the treacherous sun

Also came the devastating rain

But none could harm the littlest to the mighty Indus

A few more centuries passed,

And Indus had by now grown into a huge tree.

Covered with beautiful Indois all over,

Indus was a delightful sight to behold.

People from other towns grew envious

And tried hard to mould a replica of Indus.

But alas, had they known that Indus was not a human creation

But a divine art sculpted by the God himself, only one of its kind

Let-down, they sought to other plans.

One such tribe was those of the Britons.

The weakest by power, shrewdest by mind

Unaware of the Britons' brutish desire

The world mistook them to be mere travellers

Who like other voyagers wanted to cherish the beauty of Indus.

But once inside the territory, the tribe began

Unveiling its inner colours

They started pulling off twigs, and plucking away helpless Indois from the tree

The size of the trunk was reduced to a quarter

And the shade of the tree cut down to half

But the mighty Indus stood strong

And to their utter surprise, every new day Indus gave birth to hundreds of new Indois

Who clung to the tree, whatever come may

Prepared to die but also fight to keep Indus beautiful

Infuriated by failure, the devil now chose to take the cruellest path

He filled up a huge cup with his favourite poison

Dug a hole, and poured it in the roots.

He emptied the cup, and watched, laughing the devilish laugh.

Religion, was what they called.

'Dharam', was what Indus knew.

It was a poison for which Indus knew no defense.

Dharam started tearing apart the roots,

The soil holding the Indus started rotting,

Pests and insects climbed up the branches of the tree.

Withered Indois laid scattered on the ground.

Indus, once laden with bright colours was now a naked debris.

The Britons got up, packed up their bags, and abandoned the garden.

Leaving behind the injured lion.

The horrendous Dharam played off its last strokes

The earth cracked, the wind shuddered

And the mighty Indus was tore into half.

It fell with a huge noise,

And with it fell an epitome of love.

A masterpiece that was sculpted by God's own hands.

It rained, heaven cried that day

Which gave birth to new Indois on the two separated souls named Pak and India

New Indois, ignorant of the happy past

Stroke off a new war

And there sat the devil,

Already having won long back, laughing his devilish laugh

Not one last time but, every time.