Sunday, December 30, 2012


“Hey! There you are. I have been trying to get a sneak peek of you. But these palings are so high till I found these partitions in them suitable.”

He was startled. Was it addressed to him? He tried turning to his right, a little backward, but his neck refused to budge. Vertebral disorder? Damn! The result of being amongst humans for, the Divine knows, how long. He cursed himself, as if the existing one for which he was serving his verdict was not enough. The voice had, by then, gone.

The next day:

Hey! I am back. By the way, I suppose you don’t talk. Well, no stone talks for that matter. But I will talk to you. It’s fun! You know, for once I can speak in open and aloud and someone will listen, just listen in silence, a stony silence. "

He strained his unyielding neck to have a glimpse of the source of the voice which, had chosen to qualify his demeanor as a stony silence; a pleasant looking girl with a pair of talking eyes tainted with a blue hue and as tall as not even half of the wall over which he had been leaning for light years now. She seemed lost gazing at the evening sky.”Avian!!!” Came a call and she glided down the stairway without looking back.


The next day:

“I told my Mother about you and she asked me to stay away. Well, I am neither afraid nor bothered for I love this independence of hearing my own voice, crisp and clear. My Mother is a sweeper and my father is a mason. We are slaves, betrayed by money and life. Ah! I thank my stars for letting me here to this Cathedral for work. Are you wondering why am I telling you all this?  Your stony silence adds colour to it.”

He listened to her while she swept the place; the mention of stony silence pricked him. He wished too, to pour out his grief that had added to the aura of the silence since that day when he was ordained to be in his present form. His plea for mercy had fallen on deaf ears of his Master, the King of all that was surveyed. The sweeping broom seemed like gnawing at his wounds.

Another day:

“Oh! The city is so beautiful from here - the tapering roofs, the unwinding roads. There! It is so appealing to see the Royals and Nobles appear like crawlers. I have seen them scowling at my father for no fault of his. Oh! How I wish I could fly and see what lies beyond?” her words broke into a soft hum.

Beautiful did she say?  He felt helpless having been turned into a hapless piece adorning the Cathedral of Notre Dame, in an endless wait for his moment of salvation, all for that one display of a forbidden mortal behavior that had rubbed onto him. Had he been allowed to remain, history would have been written in golden words.  Now, he smelt the brewing revolution which would leave nothing but a trail of blood. He scorned at the thought of his Master.

It became a routine soon. The companionship was a welcome change - her persistent rattle for him and his stony silence for her, through autumns, springs and summers. He watched her keenly from the corner of his eyes, his neckline still adamant at its rigidity, while she continued her routine of sweeping the place, collecting the red flowers with a yellowish tinge at the corners that fell from the overlooking tree branch, coherently with her daily rants. Some of them dived in what she described as her philosophy of good living, ending with a prayer.

O! Voice divine, thou speak to me,
Beyond the earth, beyond the sea,
Let me hear and sing to thee,
The hymn of truth and love.

She hummed without any inkling of what lay in store and he could do nothing with elbows firmly rooted on the cement railing, chin resting on palms and a protruding tongue tied down with despair and desperation, but foresee the unfolding of hatred and bitterness into a violent turmoil. Often, he got a pat on his feathered back in return for the stony silence.

It was nearing dusk and yet there was no sign of Avian coming. He could see the Bastille burning and it would soon engulf the Cathedral and the rest of France. Is she safe? Could he do something? Just then, did he hear her whisper?

“I came to bid adieu my dear silent friend. We have to leave this town before nightfall. My Mother is missing. They killed my Father...."

She trembled against his back as tiny tear droplets trickled down his shoulders.  

In a carriage, ambling its way out of Paris to safety, a Mother wept inconsolably for her only lost child. Her misty eyes, while seeing the plundered Cathedral, failed to watch Avian taking off, safe under the wings of her protector.

The stony silence had been broken, at last!


  1. Ah, such beautiful hues!!...Your colors of silence offers a sneak preview to a silent world ...where only colors speak and provide opportunity to view the dance of hues.

  2. Couldn't you upload the badges, Novel..?

  3. Panchali!

    At last! yes, maanaged to load the badges and may I ask you to please subscribe to my page too!:)

    Thank you! yes! silence is colourful too. Glad to see you here and pls do keep coming! :)



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