The Sunless Tomorrow

H.K. Bharti

It might have been about two in the afternoon, the postman knocked at the door. The very manner of his knocking made me feel hamstrung. I perceived that the postman brought no good tidings. I knew the post man for years, ever since I grew up, so well that from the mere manner of his knock, I could tell what the contents of the letter can be. I knew even this much that he will not budge from the door till I receive the letter. Knowing that there is no avoiding him, I got up with my legs atremble to open the door. The sun light outside had a pallid hue like that of a corpse, as if a cobra had given it a bite. I felt perturbed concerned: "God forbid, if it were so, then?"

The postman stood there knocking that peculiar manner without a break. I reached with my legs cowering beneath me, from the corridor to the compound and then to the gate, feeling that it took me ages to cover the distance. The courier handed over the envelope to me as I opened the door. Then he turned back, mounted his bike, and wheeled away. He did not even so much as wish me. But in that brief moment, I noticed that his skin had turned like felt, and it had got profusely wrinkled and on the ridges of the wrinkles there was a dense hairy growth like the fur of a monkey. I forthwith opened the envelop ... It was a telegram intimating

"This is my last day. I will not rise from tomorrow. I know what your plight will be after me, but I cannot help it". Yours, THE SUN.

"So, the Sun is not to rise tomorrow ... Is it for this that it has a cadaverous hue? My anxious concern has come true that the King Cobra has stung it". I thought. Then I folded the telegram, and for the first time caught sight if its backside. The courier had written in his own hand with a violet pencil: "You might be thinking how come that I did not even wish you today. To tell you the truth, ever since my skin hardened and got hirsute like that of a monkey, I have lost the power of speech; instead of speech, a monkey-chatter emits from my throat. Who can have the patience to draw meaning out of my chatter? That is why I have stopped talking .. rather chattering".

It took me an effort to put the folded telegram in my pocket. My knees seemed unhinged, a haze covered my eyes. I tried to take a pace, but could not do so. I was about to flop down when two men were there to keep me standing, entering as they did from under my arm-pits. The hardness of their bones made itself felt even inside the clothes ... skeletons put in, filled in the suits. I could only sense this because the mist before my eyes had got denser and my last feeling was that the earth had been stung by the King Cobra. Thereafter, I got unconscious.

When I came to myself again. I found that I had been laid supine on an operation table. Around the table, there were four men looking at me with their heads lowered. They wore white aprons and their eyes alone were visible. Overhead from the ceiling, hung five six blazing electric bulbs, emitting more heat than light. I could see no one's face clearly, partly because their faces were covered with bands, and in part because the light fell on their scalps and not on their faces. All the four were completely bald, not a single strand of hair stood on their heads. One among them lifted his hand gently and laid it on my forehead. The hand was cold, cold as an icicle. Laying his palm on my forehead, he made as if he stretched his claws and brought them down as a scorpion does when it brings down its pincers to sting. He pressed my forehead with his hand and kept it their for quite a while. He perhaps liked the warmth of my forehead, or perhaps he wanted to suck it out. I knew that if he took away all the warmth he needed from my forehead, I would not be wanting in it, I would not be exhausted of all the warmth; but the hard bony fingers of his hand felt against my forehead and the grating sound that was produced as he moved his hands about, pained me much more. Closing my eyes, I frowned my face and he slowly lifted his hand away from my forehead.

Both of my eyes were closed, fearing that if I opened them, he might again lay his skeletal hands on my forehead. In the midst of this, there came a sound of walking, and I opened my eyes with a start. All the four men were there, taking some consultation at some distance from the operation table. My eyes for the first time fell on the wall of the room behind them. It was a queer wall, all made of paper, glued at the edges with a paste. The paper was written over everywhere; some of the contents had faded and others were still clear and distinct. It seemed that the wall had been erected by joining countless sheets of paper; some of the pages were upright, and others upside down, still other askew and awry. The wall too, had turned pallid and blotched blue at innumerable places. There was a crack all across the wall, and there was a hole, too. I made an effort to read the contents of the writings on the wall, but could not do it because I had lost my spectacles somewhere before I had got unconscious. I narrowed my eyes and, after a pause, tried to decipher the writing. The plight of mine was perceived by them also and they came by my operation table.

"You do seem now alright"? one of them asked me.

"Yes", I nodded my head.

"What were you trying to see there on the wall with your eyes narrowed down?" he asked.

"Nothing,", I told him with a shake of my head. He moistened his lips and looked at me in a manner that I for the first time became aware that below his forehead in the deep pits of limestone, there were eye balls also.

"Is it that you were trying to go through the contents of the writing"? he asked pointing to the wall with blue blotches.

"Yes", I conveyed with a nod.

"Can't you read it"?

"No", I shook my head again for I could summon courage to talk. The conviction had grown in my mind that if I tried to speak, I would give forth a monkey chatter instead of words.

He looked towards the wall again and pointing to it with his skeletal hands, spoke out, .... "These are the pages of a history from the beginning of time..," He brought his hands towards me and tapped my forehead twice, no thrice with the tapering tips of his bony fingers, and proceeded forth saying, "...the sunlight passed even through concrete walls, that is why we had to raise there a paper wall. Some glue had stuck there by mistake. Then some bird pecked at it and bored a hole in it. The event is enchained there in words, albeit the date and the year got torn with the pack".

I got so impatient as to tell him that the event is orphaned there, but I was apprehensive that I would emit monkey-screams for words. He suddenly felt silent and the second one began.

"The crack there in the wall is due to our own mistake. The events were flimsy, we should have taken a thought beforehand that they would not bear the sunlight. We should by no means have used them".

He had barely completed the sentence, when both of them came near my operation table and then so bowed towards me that their heads joined. Meanwhile, the light in the ceiling bulbs diminished, but their heat increased.

"You scream aloud, then only you shall he able to die. Give out a shriek". One of them spoke to me.

'The electric bulbs emitted only a thousand candle light, but their heat had augmented. I was drenched in sweat all over, but yet I did not cry. I was sure that I would scream like a monkey rather than cry.

"Give out a scream! Scream out!"

"Do give a shriek, only you shall be able to die".

"Give out a shriek!"

All the four raised a furor, and I screamed out of fear, crying out.. aaa,aaa,aaa.

My scream continues still. continues even today. I do not loose my breath and the scream does not come to an end. Now the cry turns by and by into a monkey chatter and my skin gradually turns into felt The felt wrinkles out and on the ridges of the wrinkles bristles a hairy growth. The paper wall is now riddled with countless blue blotches... it is all blue through and through. Outside perhaps that tomorrow has come, the tomorrow that will see no sun.

I still scream out….1 continue screaming even today.