The Number Game

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9............................and counting.

He always used to do this when stuck in traffic. There was no particular reason for it, he did it just to see how far he could get, counting at a leisurely pace. That was the trick to his never getting bored of counting. It wasn’t done in a hurry nor at a deliberate slow pace, he had mastered the art to let the numbers count themselves, stand up and shout 'present'. . A game of self control. Numbers would struggle to rush, to be out before the bus started moving again and he would watch the struggle fascinated. At those moments, when whole of the bus got tense or sleepy or tense and sleepy, he would be engrossed in the 'count to freedom' game as he liked to call it. yes, it was a count to freedom , he would see the journey of each number, each entity pop out of his brain , out of his body along with each breath exhaled and he would feel the anxiety each number felt as it tried to come out of his brain . He would see the anxiety turn into joy but slowly. And all of it spread, it spread into his heart, his eyes, his hands, his lips. He would be anxious for each number and he would see it turn into confidence and then to joy as it came out with his breath. He didn’t know, but his eyes turned into fear, groping in the dark, to confidence, sure of its footing and to an adrenaline rush when the numbers came out with a silent celebration. A celebration silent but poignant , hidden but lurking in his eyes, proclaiming the freedom through the half smile playing on his lips which just moments ago were quivering in anticipation of the number getting through. This was a fascinating game, steeped into irony. It started when everything stopped and it was over when the life went back to normal. some kind of serenity crept in when the bus stopped and it would leave its trail long. Long enough for the journey to end and he could still see the serene trail full of floating numbers rising and falling almost lazily along with an invisible wave. An invisible wave of air and silent , happy, free floating numbers.

he was gaining a little part of that freedom everyday. He could feel it. He increasingly felt getting free as each number rose along with the hot air each day, each moment. It was exhilarating when they rose above the world, and swept past the city, wandering to unknown places... places unheard of. Infinitesimal parts of him scattered all around the world and free. They were a medium to achieve salvation. Each number achieved that little bit for him and he was getting closer day by day.

Today was the day. There was not much of his self left in him now and with the self were gone the rules that bound him to the society. Today was the day. The numbers, carrier of his soul were not coming out at a leisurely pace today. Of their own accord they had accelerated. They came in droves and out they went and with each number out, he felt an uncontrollable joy. Each number out sent a shock wave, an adrenaline rush through him and he shook with it. He did not care any more if the ones who were sitting beside him or in front and back of him thought of him. He was vanquishing his self, his ego, his identity; he was becoming one with all in the world. The freedom that had once played on his lips came out in silent screams of pure rapture and he shook with it. The fear that had once darkened his eyes slightly now made his heart tremble , will 37 make it ? and he shook with it. It was too much to hold , the fear and the joy. He felt the cosmos fight its battle of light and darkness inside him and he felt the fight growing ever stronger with each number and that infinitesimal part of his soul getting free. He was winning, now there were only few seconds left for the signal to become green and somehow he pinned all his hope all his energy onto this number, which was slowly rising out in a cry from his heart. This number was different; it had defied the speed of earlier numbers and was steadily changing into a momentum and taking all ounces of his energy along with it. In a flash he knew it.

He had reached the moment; if this number comes out in these few seconds left he would be no more ‘He’. He would be nobody, he would be everybody, no fear , no pain, no joy, no sorrow.

He willed '37 to come out. He prayed for ’37 to come out.

The number defied his will. It would not rush. It would seep into every corner of his body , it would take all his feelings , his thoughts, his dreams out with it. Tears were streaming down his eyes, lips were taught, hands trembled and he was being sapped by the number on its course to rise out, to snap all his bonds. This would not be a silent celebration it would be majestic, an uproar of salvation. ‘37 rose like a huge cry and the air rushed from inside his throat to his mouth and the bus moved ! The bus moved.

He could feel the number dying on tips of his lips. It was a huge number, it was his very soul dying. He chocked with it. Not able to breath he tried to hold on to something and fell from his seat. People who where already afraid from the unearthly look of his eyes and the uncontrollable shaking of his body rushed in to help him but the bus had moved and the breathing....... it had stopped.





Finally

He was free.