The Gods of Thunder

 

Day 1:  The thunder gods are angry.  I can hear their rolling rumble, building to a climax of house-quaking booms.  Everything pales next to their fearsome temper.  Surely, they will punish our transgressions.

This cataclysm has been brewing for some time, yet those around me go blithely on with their banal lives.  They don’t heed my warnings, concerned more with garnering their nest, or staring intently at brightly lit screens.  I continue my attempts to rouse them, but they hush me, condescend in the most belittling manner, and send me terrified and shameful to my bed.

Day 2:  My attempts at mobilising my co-habitants are stymied yet again.  My housemates treat me with contempt, despite my reasoned and substantiated arguments.  They mock me, mimic my shouts, and then silence me.  I am muzzled by the oppressive authority figures.

The sky darkens, and the war drums of the gods beat their rapacious marching tempo.

Day 3:  I attempt to gain the attention of my housemates, recruit them as allies, by tearing up the propaganda that arrives without fail at our front door every morning.  I steal out unobserved and destroy the material before it can corrupt their minds.  They are unappreciative, and rage against me for my acts of rebellion.  Their indoctrination is deep.

The rumble of the gods’ war drums is punctuated now with sudden jarring crescendos and flashes of fire.  The gods have blanketed the sky so completely that the only glimmers of light come from the battle fires that burst without warning. The unmatched power of the gods is confirmed with each clap and flash.

Day 4:  The darkened sky provides a backdrop for the volleys and bursts of blinding light.  The gods toy with us like children tormenting small animals with firecrackers to watch them cower.  They have imbued this spectacle with all the breath-holding beauty, majesty, and leg-quivering terror of a fireworks display.  And as with every fireworks show, my ears ring in anticipation of each body-shaking boom.  I am caught between the fright that would see me fleeing for cover, and my intense loyalty to those I live with.

Oh!  How I long to run, to give rein to my deepest desires to seek out sanctuary where the wrath of the gods cannot reach me.  I have barked my orders, whined and cajoled; still they ignore me.

I am mute now.  My entreaties are wordless, encouraging my loved ones bodily to shelter.  What words could convey the depth of my fear, anyway?

Day 5:  As suddenly as they angered, the gods are pacified.  Silence returns, but the streets bear witness to tempest that had us in its talons just moments before.

She is by my side; mother, sister, friend.  She reaches her hand to my head, smoothes down my hair, looks reassuringly at me, and mutters softly;

“See, silly dog?  It was just a storm.  You’re ok.”

©Asha Rajan

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