Destiny For A Penny

The afternoon sun shone brightly overhead, through the green leaves of the giant peepal, mocking mercilessly at the hopes of the poor peasants. The heavy gust of the local wind, 'Loo' had fastened its way towards the muddy pathways, producing tiny, spinning cyclones of golden dust. The recurring sound of the gong from the only primary school in the village could be heard time and again. The giant peepal with its broad and firm roots and crooked branches was the only shelter for the tiny birds fed up with the dry weather, while a group of four to five men played cards under its cool shade. The brass utensils at the nearby store, shone as gold as they reflected the burning sunbeam. Yet another day, with no probability of change, was about to end at Panchvatinagar, before the unusual steps of a stranger approached.

He was a short man of about five feet three inches to be exact, probably a short measure for a man, wearing a long and loose green kurta with stitches about its sides and a muddy white turban around his forehead. He carried a red cloth over his left shoulder, which was slightly bent though he was not considerably older. There was something strange about his face, his narrow eyes cornered with dark kajal, could hardly bear the sunrays while his hollowed cheeks narrated the tale of his poverty. His right hand had a long-brown birthmark below his elbow perhaps too eye-catching to be mistaken as a forcibly dug-deep wound. His bulging veins down the mark ran towards his long fingers that formed a firm grip around a large old box of tin with depressions at places.

On a guttural pitch, in a trembling tone as he shouted- "Destiny-Your destiny_For a penny-Just a penny; Destiny- For a penny", the idle humanity of Panchvatinagar, supposedly troubled by fate, got their ears erected.

One of the respected members of the leisure-loving group, under the swaying peepal called upon the approaching stranger- "Oh wanderer! What so miraculous do you carry in your tin?"

"Your Destiny", replied the wandering stranger as he broomed the dusty ground with his red cloth and spread it over, placing the mysterious tin on it. The stranger with destiny sat at one end with the leisure-loving group surrounding him in suspense.

The huge peepal now sheltered humanity seeking shelter under Destiny. The cards of the club flipped over the spade, kings and queens had flown to a distance, and the jack danced over the song of Destiny.

The opening of the suspicious tin invited the owner of the brass store, who had grown even more suspicious so as to what could be in the tin that shone brighter than his vessels. Eventually, the box of tin was unveiled. From the mysterious tin peeped out, rings and amulets, necklaces and wristlets, rare stones with the lusture of crimson and lilac and jam. There were pearls of shamrock green, scattered like marbles over a purple muslin. And there were wristlets entangling blue beads with codes or marks, 'perhaps sacred - perhaps secret.' Also, there were threads knotting unknown rare stones- The carriers of destiny- The chasers of fate.

"Here's your Destiny- How would you like it to dance?" said the stranger, pointing towards his ware.

"Can your ware reward my feet with abandoned wealth wherever they step?" One of the members of the leisure-loving group asked, as his fellows supported his mockery.

"What's that you be rewarded for ?"...Anyway, These are wealth-accumulating shamrock pearls. You may knot them round your neck and they'll gather your wish right beneath your feet."

"If so, why don't you get some for yourself ?" another question popped out.

"It seems you don't trust my pearls?" said the stranger with a frown. "If they prove to be useless you may throw them back to me wherever in the world I may be, with complete reimbursement of your cost"

"However, the tin with depressions, secures gems of Destiny but where in the world can gems mend the depressions of the tin?"- The face of the stranger grew furious as his ware was questioned, simultaneously awakening a strange trust in his clients. After all, it was the valuable quest of Destiny.

The owner of the brass store who aspired to trade vessels of glistening silver found the words of the stranger quite appealing. He wondered what else in the world could turn his brass fate into eye-dazzling silver.

In no time did the popularity of the Destiny trader spread into the afternoon wind of Panchvatinagar. The peon, who had come to bang the gong of the school dismissal, soon became a part of the trade, beneath the swaying peepal.

The stranger no longer seemed strange but a grey-haired fellow in the game of Destiny.

The lilac gem for extremes of fame, the blue bead wristlet for evil- eradication, the jam-ring or the index finger accommodate, for awakening the slumbering fate... and so and so and so on. The brass store owner, the leisure-loving group, and the Peon who supposed his destiny to be equal to the ringing gong, all have made it up to their mind to return home with 'Handful of Destiny' the following evening. And the fate of Panchvatinagar was about to dawn with the waning sun, at dusk.

The Peon banged the metallic gong and a rushing herd of children, screaming and chattering, pushing each other, humming the melody of their own world of imagination, hustled and bustled towards the school gate. Unaware of Destiny, the innocent beings knew nothing short of what they had learnt of the miracles of effort. The playing cards scattered all over the ground beneath the peepal now carried the footprints of the hustling innocence...Perhaps, leisure was being crushed to lose its validity. And so did Destiny?

Well, I leave it upon the readers to decide what did happen to the charismatic aura of Destiny, beneath the giant, swaying peepal.

Did the fate of Panchvatinagar dawn or the waning sun swallow it?

The only end that this tale of Destiny could make way towards, for its readers is that the swaying peepal had new accommodations, chasing and jumping, dancing and singing, a song quite dissimilar to that of 'The Destiny'.