Thursday, 4 September 2014


I could see a trail of blood all over the battleground. A clear, deep blue stream flowing down the edge, falling drop by drop on the plains below, creating a small puddle. It was fascinating as to how there was greenery all around. Dark green bushes to parrot green herbs with traces of pink and orange dots which seemed like flowers. I raised my eyes a little and saw a layer of white, stagnant at a side with different shades of blue flowing upon it which seemed like the sky. Tall and slender men with bushy heads were lying still, oblivious to their surroundings, with blood dripping from their bushy heads. An empty caravan with an opening on the top of it instead of the side was lying in a corner. It seemed to have tumbled over. By the caravan, I could see a well, taller than its surroundings and translucent, filled with clear water. After seeing it, all I could do was  wonder about who could have made it in the middle of a battleground. On the other side of the battleground, I could see a long symmetrical structure with a sharp edge on one of its ends and somehow, it reminded me of a spear. The longest spear I'd ever seen. Beside this unusually long spear, was kept, as it seemed to be, a partly white and grey box with one of its sides new and unused and the other one blunt with usage. Everything seemed to be a mess on the battleground except the rectangular white plain which was lying undisturbed at the far end of the ground. As I was looking around with curiosity bubbling within me, I suddenly saw two clamps holding a white dish consisting of samples of the blood I'd just seen, the stream, the greenery, the clear water from the well and, I could also see a part of the sky in it only more vibrant in color than the one I had seen.  I looked in scrutiny, only to realize that the clamps were actually a pair of hands. I dared to gaze above and, I met her curious eyes, her eyebrows raised in question. I noticed one of the dead men tucked behind her ear but, the man didn't seem to have blood on his bushy head, instead, it was clean, the dark brown shade of his hair clearly visible. Amidst my observation, I heard a voice ask,
 "Why are you staring at the painting equipment? Why don't you clean up the spilled paints, wash the used brushes? ", and, I snapped back to reality, forgetting my reverie.