Thirty-six

 

They could hear the villagers coming. There were scores and scores of them. She had heard them singing, the first night they were in the village. They had arrived at the house and stood outside. They had looked at her eagerly. And then, she remembered the strange sight of the door full of heads!

‘We are so happy you have come,’ said one of them, ‘for we have waited for you over the years. You will rid us of our crimes and our entrapment, as is said in our legend, and today we have witnessed your great power.’

‘But what brought you here?’ asked the little girl, ‘how did you come under the spell of The Serpent?’

Voice after voice spoke, confessing of crimes in their life on earth, of how their simple and ordinary lives had been transformed, once they had sold their souls to The Serpent. They went on and on, the tales of woe, of lives woven around lies and betrayal, lust and rage and of pain they had caused. These were tales of shame, of wanting, of envy and of insatiable all-consuming greed. These were the corruptible people, the ones who sold their souls for a profit. They were the ignoble selfish, who lived their petty lives seeking only how they might benefit from the sorrow of others. They were the commonplace and everyday people. And yet, they were the debasement of human decency, of all that was good and kind.

‘I cannot forget,’ said one man, ‘how utterly evil and despicable I had become. I think about it all the time. Why, I ask myself, why, why, why? And I can only say, The Serpent must die, so that this viciousness ends once and for all, and my mistakes are not replicated by another.’

‘I don’t quite understand,’ said the little girl, ‘how exactly you might have caused so much harm, or committed such evil.’

They hesitated at first because they were embarrassed to confess before a little child. Then, like a dam that had burst, they poured their hearts out. All the pent up shame came tumbling out, as they spoke. Accountants who fudged records, bureaucrats who sold contracts, politicians who lived only on gifts, journalists who made up stories, lawyers who told lies, policemen who looked the other way, businessmen who sold drugs and, often, children and women. It seemed to go on and on, this endless self-betrayal.

‘What did you get out of all of this?’ cried the little girl, as she tried to shut her ears to all the stories. ‘How could you do it? And for whom did you do it?’

‘What we got out of it…?’ said someone, not as a question but as a statement. ‘Money, power, recognition. And we craved all of that. Strangers stood up when we walked into a room. We were respected. But we did not know that it was all an illusion and that behind our backs, they abused us as scum. We were the vultures that preyed on the living.’

Another said, ‘I did it for my family, and they revelled in the joy of a better life. But when the police came and I was sentenced to jail, my family disowned me. “It was your responsibility to look after us,” my family said, “we never asked you to steal. That was your choice and yours alone.’”

‘Do you feel betrayed then,’ asked the little girl, ‘by those for whom you stole?’

‘No,’ he responded, ‘I feel shamed by those I stole from, for I took from them their dignity and their life, so that I might find respect. True, I did find respect, or thought I did at that time, never realising then, that it was all an illusion.’

‘So, you would like me to give you back your self-respect? Is that it?’ asked the little girl.

‘Yes,’ they all responded unanimously.

‘You will join me then, in defeating The Serpent?’ said the little girl.

A murmur went around. What was she saying, many asked. Once the word got around, whispers became strong and there were loud words of dissent.

One of them shouted and said, ‘You have no right to ask us to face The Serpent. We already have and that is why we are here! We have paid our price for the sins we have committed!’

Another said, ‘If you are truly The Awaited One, do your job! If you are not, die and join us!’

‘Let us help her,’ said a woman in the crowd, ‘it is as much our battle as it is hers.’

‘Shut up, you bitch! Think of the despicable life you led and the many you corrupted with your body. Give no advice to us, for it is the likes of you who have brought us here!’ screamed one in the crowd and many spat on the poor woman.

‘Have you lost all sense of decency and good will?’ cried the little girl, in dismay as she ran to the woman. ‘Even when you are dead, why do you wallow in evil?’

‘They have not learnt to let go, my child,’ replied the little boy, ‘they still live in memories. Even when they realise it was all so wrong, they loved the good times!’

‘I cannot help you,’ said the little girl, ‘unless you learn to help yourselves.’ She turned away and walked back to the house.

‘Are you going to abandon us, you stupid girl?’ asked one man.

‘It’s all been a game, has it?’ asked another.

The little girl looked at the boy for answers. She was totally confused. The little boy said to her gently, ‘They live in the past, in memories of times that were. They know they did wrong but they cannot let go. Neither the wealth they had, nor the bodies they defiled. None of that was theirs in the first place, but that is something they are yet to reconcile with. So, too, it is with the poor woman who gave her body, for she gave it without love and she gave it out of compulsion.’

‘Is it all an illusion then?’ asked the little girl.

‘In a way, yes,’ replied the little boy, ‘but when you live it day in and day out, illusion becomes reality.’

‘I will come with you,’ said the old man with one leg. ‘I had promised that I would be happy to lose my other leg too, if it helped to vanquish The Serpent!’

The little girl turned towards him with affection and respect. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, ‘if only others could be as brave as you...’

The man looked at her and said, ‘You are powerful enough to destroy them all. I will accompany you. Leave the others alone. They will only get in the way.’

So saying, he turned and hobbled away. ‘Going well,’ he whispered in a hiss, ‘going rather well, I would say! Humans are so delightfully predictable.’

‘Could you smell the awful stench?’ asked the little boy.

‘Yes,’ responded the little girl, ‘and I could feel his evil presence. The manner in which the villagers behaved was such a giveaway. It reminded me of how the old balloon-maker and his wife were treated at the picnic.’ She paused before she said, ‘I wonder who it might have been.’

‘I’d wager it was the old man with one leg. While all the villagers refused to go along with you, he was the only one who offered,’ said the little boy. ‘But let us wait and see how this unfolds.’