By G.R. Nanda
“Deep into the canyons he ventured, scuttling below rock ridges and frantically flapping away into the distance.”
“And always– always, he was fearful, always on the move from the ever-watchful gaze of the huntsman who was also moving, stealthily creeping along ledges and canyon walls, always keeping a high ground so that he could maintain a vast view of the lands and so he could stay still and melt into the outlines of dotted stars, becoming constellations of poised animals and hunters.”
“The huntsman was like a shadow of the starry sky, always sweeping to and fro, always stealthy. He was majestic and powerful.”
“When Father Hawk managed to spot him, he was carefully molded into a constellation. Father Hawk was usually dark and translucent, but his features were always sharp and large. His chest was broad and heavyset. His long eyebrows and beard were bristling and waving in the wind. Despite his muscly features and nimble movements, his face showed age. It was lined with wrinkles and his hair was grayed.”
“His eyes were hard-set, lined with age, dark and deep with a thoughtful and time-tested knowing wisdom.”
“Whenever his ancient brown pupils laid their gaze upon Father Hawk, an all-consuming fear flooded him, filling him with a desperation and propulsion of energy. He would look away from the watchful gaze and move as fast as he could in the opposite direction.”
“Many days, when Father Hawk found himself in the solace of a concealing cavern, the roof of a ledge or the protection of a wall after flying in many varying directions, all the while dodging the fiery stars of whizzing arrows, he would shed tears and sniffle.”
“Why? Because he no longer felt like the god he was. Here he was in the canyons, small, vulnerable and unknowing like the rest of the busy eagles, squirrels, elk and turkeys he passed now on a daily basis.”
“Father Hawk would scuttle on his weary legs and claws towards the dying embers of a setting sun that was already faint in the starry sky. After being chased relentlessly by the old huntsman, he could walk away to retire to sleep, assured by the reality that the old huntsman would retire to sleep a night too.”
“Father Hawk would sometimes walk past gurgling rivers, mighty winding rock walls, giant boulders, caverns or jagged pitfalls on his defeated nighttime walks.”
“Sometimes, he would pass a herd of proud feathered turkeys or jittery and fluffy rabbits, perking their ears and keeping low, close to the walls. Or groups of a few giant elks, tall, strong-limbed and quick.”
“Always, these animals paid Father Hawk little mind. Always, Father Hawk felt alone, alienated. Everyone else seemed to be quick footed (or winged), on the move to survive. They were too busy herding to pay Father Hawk much mind. No one regarded him with the dignified air of a god.”
“Father Hawk felt terribly alone and terribly unspecial.”
“He was even starting to question whether he was a special god.
“Or any kind of special thing.”
“Nothing came as easy as it used to.”
“Life had changed seemingly overnight. Everyday was filled with anxiety and work. Father Hawk had to feed himself, no longer sustained by the suns of energy and nutrients that he and Mother Hawk had been replenished by. He was far far away from his home. Now, the sun in the sky was lonely and distant.”
“Father Hawk had to peck for worms or fish at the banks of rivers.”
“By the end of the day, after his own hunting and after keeping away from the throes of the huntsman, Father Hawk was simply too exhausted to even attempt flying out of the canyons, away from the huntsman’s sight and back into the cosmos.”
“Father Hawk had never felt so trapped in his whole life.”
“He decided that he was going to escape the canyons– or die trying.”
“It was going to be one-shot.”
“Once concerted effort.”
“The cold red sun was setting on Father Hawk’s 24th night. Twilight was settling in and the canyons were losing their warm luminescent tint. Every night, the canyons turned their dullest darkest shade of gray.”
“The animals of the canyons stopped scuttling, chirping and flapping. Many of them burrowed in for the night. They stayed under the rock surface that served as highways for frantic creatures and in nests made of rare twigs and bark.”
“Darkness settled in. As it settled in every night. Thicker than kupernacle slime. Seeping in. Blanketing the world under a starry sky ruled by a lonely moon glowing dully overhead.”
“The darkness created drowsiness.”
“But as Father Hawk had figured out, it also created a cover, a concealment for those who could fight their nightly drowsiness.”
“He’d been storing grub, worm meat and leaves in a corner of a deep cavern set into a looming cliff, awaiting the night when he would have to consume much to keep him moving through the exhaustion of the day that would inevitably seep into the drudgery of a waking night.”
“He frantically shoved the skinny meat and the leaves alongside the dirt that he dragged along, into his mouth.”
“He gobbled as much as he could and crouching slowly and stealthily, moved out and into the cold grey rock of the night, only illuminated by the faint light of the stars and the dull moon.”
“He moved slowly– cautiously because the darkness shrouded what was in front of him and because his movements might tip off the huntsman. Especially now, when all was so deathly still and what would have been the barely audible noise of stepping over some rocks was loud and piercing, becoming the focus of a world that had become deathly still– deathly quiet.”
“The gray rock only appeared gray at the tops of formations sticking up into the sky. The lower the rock, the darker and more pitch black it was.”
“There were only slivers of dull gray showing atop the topmost layers of rock sticking up into the sky.”
“Father Hawk would not dare to fly into the heavens right away because he knew that the flapping of his wings would be loud and stand out more than it usually did.”
“He would have to creep up and up. Slowly and carefully, inching up a slope of rock and more slopes of rocks that were further up until he was at a topmost layer, then he would be close enough to the stars and fly away.”
“By the time the great huntsman heard him, Father Hawk would be long gone into the depths of space.”
“Father Hawk was surrounded by giant walls of rock, which was a problem. The walls were sticking out and upwards pretty narrowly.
“He could not get on even footing with the walls when they shot up so starkly.”
“They were mountains he could not climb. Mountains that were out of reach.”
“All that he found himself doing was wandering aimlessly throughout the endless corridors of scraggly rock and jagged ravines of water that whispered in its soft gurgling flow between the giant walls.”
“Pockets and large holes appeared out of the rock spires above Father Hawk, showing swaths of stars, endless and sprawling– dizzyingly so.”
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
The story suddenly paused as the noise of the whispering winds came into a much larger focus than before. The man who had been narrating coughed and cleared his throat.Then, he inhaled deeply and slowly sighed.
Then, he continued.
“Father Hawk was alone amongst the looming walls and ledges of rock whose underbellies he purposely sought out in order to hide as far below as he could from the sky and the sight of the huntsman.”
“But now, he felt more trapped than he ever had before.”
“His muscles ached, he trembled with exhaustion and his feathers quivered.”
“Finally, under all of the pressure and the pain of missed sleep, Father Hawk heaved forward and crashed on his butt.”
“The proud boisterous god who had once known no limits in the universe was now reduced to a withered, skinny stooped-over animal with dirt and grime caked into his dry feathers.”
“Defeat and the pain of his hurt ego caused tears to well up in his eyes and stream down his face, dripping off of his feathers and his beak.”
“He moaned in anguish and squeezed his eyes shut. He gritted his teeth and when he opened his eyes, they were wide and furiously glaring. He bared his teeth and shot a hateful look at the sky. His anguish had turned into anger and resentment.”
“He stopped moaning and started screaming.”
“‘Curse you universe!’”
“Tears continued to flow from his eyes. They made his vision murky, blurring the white wells of stars together amidst the blacker and bigger well of space.”
“‘Curse you and your wretched- stupid huntsman! If I had to destroy you both, I wouldn’t care if I had to take out myself with you!’”
“Father Hawk jumped off of the boulder he sat on, legs trembling. He shook a fist at the sky.”
“‘I don’t care if I’m destroyed! As long as the universe is destroyed with me.’”
“Father Hawk wiped away tears from his eyes.”
“Up above him, he saw more clearly and what he saw was a group of stars falling down. They were six stars in the shape of a rhombus: three hanging towards him and three trailing behind. The one in between was the corner that was the part the farthest away.”
“They all seemed to blur, brighten and grow larger, leaving hazes of faint luminescent auras in their wake behind them.”
“Suddenly, a broad body with thick limbs appeared as a blue haze behind the descending stars and their glowing white trails.”
“There was a sharp howl, followed by a ‘pop!’ that cracked and thundered through the heavens as the body pushed itself onto and out of those stars.”
“The stars were back to normal and now provided a spectre-like illumination for the edges of the huntsman, strong, glowing and hovering above Father Hawk.”
“He held a wiggling whip above his head. His beard flowed to the left and his eyes bored into Father Hawk’s under the huntsman’s frowning bristling eyebrows.”
“‘Well, that’s an awful lot of anger,’ he spoke in a grating aged voice that boomed from the heavens to the canyons that vibrated in effect.”
“‘More than I’ve ever seen in any of the animals I’ve hunted and have graced these canyons.’”
“‘I almost don’t want to hurt you………..out of pity for all the pain you’ve inflicted upon yourself.’”
G.R. Nanda 