The Hunt

Ignore Idiots I was told. I repeat the mantra in my head . One would be surprised at the number of people who evoke the chant.

That was a lighter note of a multi-dimensional situation.

Survival of the fittest became the norm long back. Most seem to have attained mastery. So what next? That’s when the hunt began. Hunting down the weakest. It’s a sport. An art by itself. It operates in levels. First, the prey’s most painful zone is explored. Then the most agonizing spot is discovered and pounded with a traumatizing weapon. In a brutal fashion. Once the prey has turned victim you would expect them to stop. But they wait for the victim to gain an ounce of energy. And while it is trying to crawl and scamper away to safety the wounded is stepped on. It is pushed further down. It’s an attempt to make sure the prey does not die but sinks into its own blood and chokes for eternity

The prey probably never understands the reason and as we have already discussed is extremely weak. Hence it does not rear up in anger but continues to lie in its pool of misery and question. It questions what triumph could possibly be gained. After all you are destructing an unrelated, little known victim. The prey expects a fancy long answer and finds none. Cause there is none. There is a momentary joy of achievement. Temporary euphoria. A sense of raw power. Worse, cheap thrills!

Little does the hunter care, for in that millisecond of joy he has trampled on dreams, hopes and most important “courage” Probably vanquished it for life. The prey now weaker than before seems to have multiplied it’s pride by a million and shuns pity. This means, another hunter is galloping this way. He has already smelt it. Now he gets to feed on not only weakness but foolish pride too. That’s what he calls an unbeatable combination. The most pleasurable of it all.

Before we delve further it’s important to ponder over the word “weak” and “strong”. Highly contextual in this milieu. Far from physical it is a lot more to do with capabilities. To be precise it’s the capability to be self-involved. It’s the capability to avoid the big picture. The “strong” realm ends with oneself.

These hunters (the “strong” in this context) are not a unique race. Many such spirits remain hidden and peak occasionally from their hideout. In search of similarly haunted souls. They can detect a like streak from a distance and immediately form a society. I use the term “society’, as I believe there is no place for true concern here. Only hierarchy and division of power exists. Greed overcomes fellowship. Little do they wonder about their plight must they slip a little and get stroked by humanity.

Far from this haunted society there exists a small cave. It has millions of tiny fairy lights strung over the dark green walls. The soft sand beneath the feet seems to invite anyone who steps in. It has many warm quilts laid out. These quilts have been painstakingly hand-woven. The threads of love seem to gleam under the flickering lights. Some of these beds are empty. Some have people resting. Some have people making more quilts. They are bent over in concentration. A warm orange light dances across their faces. There are none more beautiful than these tired yet life-giving eyes.

These are the preys ( “the weak” in this context) The cave is silent. No one converses. Maybe because there is a silent understanding. Maybe because they are not here to form a society, but purely out of free will and to satisfy the “self” There is no door. All are welcome and anyone can leave. But few who walk in, walk out.

The sound of hooves fills this small cozy scene. It gets louder. The tired eyes reflect fright. But they do not stop working until the torture begins. The hunter does not see the glowing light. He does not sense the silent peace. He does not feel the warmth.

He sees foolishness. He sees a group of incapable lunatics waiting to get attacked. He sees incompetence in not being able to escape. The lack of retort makes him swell with pride and importance. Therefore a need to triumph and exercise power.

As these “strong” baboons raid the cave the inmates suffer in anguish. Yet they express amusement at the helpless hunter who is lost in his whirl of self-importance and glory. The prey is beaten up and is wounded but still lifts its eyes to watch the hunter walk away unsatisfied and still hungry. The prey drops its head down and closes its eyes. It rests in its warm quilt. Hoping to revive soon. There is work to be done, unfinished quilts, lest anyone who walks into the cave should feel cold and uninvited.