A twist in the tale : Story 3 : MORTAL KOMBAT
A twist in the tale : Story 3 : MORTAL KOMBAT3 mins 225 3 mins 225
He was hurt. He was tired. Exhausted, mentally and physically. His legs felt like they would give away any moment. He risked a glance around. There were more than ten of them, with stance like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey. But he… he was alone. Everyone else had perished. But, no wait… no he was not alone. His loyal friend Rohan was out there too. And he looked just as beaten.
They were standing a few yards apart. The second either made a move, the enemy would swoop down on them. And neither would be able to withstand the attack. His head started throbbing. He felt like giving up, like surrendering. But just when he had almost succumbed to the feeling, thoughts of her flooded his mind. Emotions, very strong emotions, welled up inside him.
She was his first love. And, his deepest. He thought of all her struggles, her sacrifices. She deserved it, and he owed it to her. She had trusted him with this. He would do anything for her. Die for her, kill for her. All he lived for was her happiness and her wide sunshine smile. And he knew she would be proud of him. Very, very proud. Knowing this, he felt reassured and peaceful. And for the first time in the last few minutes, a little hopeful. She always had this effect on him.
With renewed energy that belied his bearing, he held on strongly to the only weapon he had, and somehow found it soothing. He would face them. He would do his best to take them all on. If he succeeded, then he would be a hero. HER hero. If he didn’t, then he would be a fallen warrior. He caught Rohan’s eye. It reflected fear. Deathly fear. As he was contemplating his next move, he saw the enemy pelting him with it. It came rushing at him, like a bullet from a gun. He lashed out with his weapon, using all the might he could muster. It connected. The effort had nearly killed him. He was drained. He sank to the ground, on his knees. He heard his friend call out, but the world had momentarily ceased to exist. He was finding it hard to breathe and was gasping. Beads of his sweat were fast drenching the ground beneath him. He could hear Rohan come running to him. How had the enemy let him? Why hadn’t they pounced on him yet? He stopped thinking and closed his eyes and ears, shutting everyone, everything out. And he relished the temporary calmness.
Through the bleakness, slicing the silence, came the loud call “SIXER!”. It was shock that made him open his eyes to see his teammates come rushing at the speed of wind. Suddenly someone had turned up the volume in the stadium. They had won the world cup. His last ball sixer had done it for them. He was patted, banged, punched, thumped, hugged and even kissed. His teammates carried him on their shoulders around the ground. All through the shouting, praising and clapping he hadn’t said a single word. His eyes only sought her. And he found her, on the roof of the stadium, standing tall, her majestic tri-color, unflappably flapping to the tunes of strong winds. Yes, he had earned a billion smiles. He had done her, India, proud.