Stories of the World
The world was already old when it was set up.
On that day, the smoke had started coming out of the chimney. The gears in the grass had started turning the blades towards a young sun who was surprised to have been woken from some ancient slumber.
Thoughts burnt in the furnace of the stars and became energy. Energy became light. And this light was then used to keep all that was there together.
When the world was set up, it was almost like a factory where the laborers had just returned from a long strike. And even though, the industrial revolution was still a few million years away, the world had already started producing something - a light stuff made out of non-matter called stories.
Every day when the sun went down, the world sat alone below the peepal tree. And it recited all that it had produced in the day. It related stories to anyone that would hear. But only the crickets chattered in the grass.
As the night drew a close, the world stood up and went back to producing more of these stories. The next night, it went back to that peepal tree to recount all those new tales to whoever would hear.
This went on for ages. The world had by now produced gazillion stories. Each bubbling and shouting and crying through the young galaxies. And every night it told those thirsty stories to all that would hear. But the world hadn’t found a single listener.
Dejected, the world decided that it was about to close its shop. And as it was packing up all the star-dust, left-over thoughts, and the boxes of light, someone called out its name in a strange voice.
It looked back and saw a small two-legged creature at the door. The world didn’t know what it was. It had hands and a face with two eyes. The creature looked back at the world. And the world knew that the creature could see it.
The world went mad with terror and joy.
What was this creature that the world didn’t know of? It wasn’t a galaxy or a supernova or a squirrel or a grasshopper or a chrysanthemum. The world tried to recall every object that lived or died but couldn’t remember any that was able to see it.
The world slumped back in its chair. The creature was looking at it with pure innocence. But this was not all the strangeness that was in store for the world. For suddenly something stranger happened. There was a huge line of similar creatures coming towards its doors and assembling behind the young one.
These creatures were of all sorts- young, old, lost, found, broken, distorted, fatigued, relaxed, complete, and incomplete. A small murmur floated in the atmosphere as the creatures were constantly thinking. The world was perplexed.
It couldn’t stop itself from erupting with a big bang- “Who are you all?”
The creatures all went silent at this. Their thoughts froze midway.
The young creature who had come in first broke the vacuum of silence, “Don’t you know us?”
The world wasn’t consoled by this question. It blasted a supernova and dashed some stars.
“I don’t.” The world said this in all possible wavelengths and languages that it could speak.
It seemed the young creature wasn’t affected at all by the fierce violence of the world. It walked up to the ancient world sitting on the chair, looked into its eyes, and said, “We are the stories that you created.”
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"The world went mad with terror and joy"