Exploding Rockets I

“Here they come”, that’s the message that ran through the troops. Dinesh felt nervous as his sword slid out from its sheath. It was a curved blade that would have glinted in sunlight, if it had been there. Instead, the sky was painted with a bright orange shade as the sun set down.  He felt a little sadden looking at the beautiful craftsmanship. Today, his sword would not see blood.  Pollilur Fort was what stood between the Firang enemy and their homeland. Dinesh looked on proudly at his fellow soldiers dressed in their orange striped colours of their army. They stood on the parapets of the fort armed and ready. Bows were drawn out and the musket rifles were loaded. However, for some reason (which you will soon discover), the parapet in front of Dinesh was quite empty. Only a few soldiers stood on the edges, ready for the enemy. 

With a few steps forward, Dinesh peeked and stared at the marching enemy forces. Soldiers walked forward in a line with a few cavalry officer behind them and a large cart being tugged. Their dark red uniforms were easily noticeable and their fair faces told of their race. English, East India Company, Firangs, that’s what they were called. Half of the continent was taken over by them and this is place where we stop them! 

His arm rose up and his sword shook in the air, trying to send a menacing message across to the oncoming army. That’s when the first shot rang out and that’s all it took for the battle to start. Dinesh ducked on to the ground. I can’t die yet! 

From his position, Dinesh watched the battle unfolded below and bided his time. His blood boiled, he wanted to jump into the battle brandishing his newly forged blade, yet he restrained himself with a reminder, I’m a Corporal. Tipu has given me a role to play. 

Musket balls and arrows poured out from the fort. The enemy marched forward unhindered. Some stopped and crouched to take a shot or reload, while others marched on covering ground. For every inch they moved forward, plenty of red dressed soldiers just collapsed to the ground with a musket ball or arrow pierced through their tunic.  

However, neither were Tipu’s soldiers untouched.  Soldiers were shot, some slumped to the ground, while other fell from the parapets, and another soldier came from behind to occupied the empty position of the dead soldier. 

Soon enough, the stench of gun powder and the sounds of dying men dominated the air. The enemy marched forward closing in on the fort and leaving behind a trail of dead and moaning men. Their discipline was exemplary. 

Then Dinesh decided it’s time. Ignoring his enemies, he stood up, sword raised in hand, “Now we attack”, he screamed. Standing well behind the parapet his troops let out a roar. The burning flints in their hand were put forward, lighting the threads. 

Finally, the Sultan’s weapon would be used and these, on coming, Firangs would be slaughtered. The 9 inch metal tubes of rockets lit it up and launched into the air. Dinesh watched, with pride, as over fifty rockets cut into the air, rising above and beating the record of any previously set bamboo rocket. The British won't know what hit them! 

Find the second part to this blog post on Exploding Rockets II.  

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When Death Calls

Death called to him. The wound hurt him, it pained him, but it would not be long since that death would come to him. The blood had almost stopped flowing from his wound. His body lay in the mud that had soaked in all the blood, otherwise he would have been floating in a pool of his own blood. And then the final cold wave swept over him and he was no more. 

His body lay still on the mud, the shivering had stopped. The sun glinted through the clouds and trees onto his body, the last of the yellow sunlight had a tint of orange just before it set. 

And then once the sunlight went under, a sudden gush of warm air was pulled through his nose Like a miracle, he breathed life again. His back lifted up from the ground and he took a few more lung full of breaths, assuring himself that he was alive. It was always like this... death called to him, but never took him. 

His eyes glanced at his wound, not even a scratched remained. It was completely healed. His clothes was in tatters, only a part of his pant remained. He stood up and his shoulder fell upon a tree. His body could barely stand up. A few seconds ago all the blood drained out of him, but now it was probably all back. He did not know how it worked. He wondered if he should go search for his murderers or like the countless other times, not bother. They could try to kill him infinite times, but it seemed like death did not want him.... he was resurrection man. 

PS: If you're a comic lover, put Resurrection Man on your list. 

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Don't Know

The only reason I touch the toolbox is to work on my PC, and I only use the screwdrivers. 

“I’m sorry dad”, he apologised.

“It’s okay, it’s okay”, the father repeated as his fingers were busy turning the tap handle. His back was bent as he was engrossed in his work.

“It’s been leaking for almost a week now”, the son commented, “I tried to fix it, but I just can’t make out head or tail”.

The father loosened the handle and pulled it out. A bit of grime got on to his fingers and he cursed silently.

“It’s about time you started learning you know”, the father commented.

“I know, I know”, the son spoke helplessly, acknowledging the futility of his situation.

“Pass me the spanner”, the father requested.

There was a tool box at the son’s feet and it’s from there, he dipped in his hand and after sometime of digging, he produced a stainless steel metal with two tiny claws.

“Here you go”, the son spoke as he handed it over. Without glancing up, the father took hold of the spanner and began rotating it back and forth, loosening a nut. Afterwards, more of the tap was dismantled.

“I think the nut's a bit loose”, stated the father, “Hand me the tube from the tool box.

Once again, the son’s hand vanished inside the tool box and a second later, a small tube was gripped between his fingers. The father took it and with a slight squeeze, a little gel slid onto his finger. He applied it inside the nut and put the tap back together.

“There, it won’t leak any more”, the father pronounced with a tinge of pride in his voice as he stood up.

“Thanks dad”, the son spoke as he walked his father out the apartment door.

“I know you were too busy with college and now, you’re busy in the office, but you need to learn all this. There is no certification for it, but these simple tricks will help keep your house together.

The son stood there silently brooding to himself, that he should have learned these tricks when he was at home, but he didn’t.

The father sighed silently to himself waiting for the elevator to arrive. His son, what would he do if he had to run a house of own with his own family. I won’t be here forever. There was a time once that his son would just absorb everything, from how the bulb turned on to how the plugs in the house worked. Somewhere along, that curiosity died out and he never bother to pick up on those thoughts again. He was just never there at home, maybe I could have thought him something!

‘Ting!’

The father’s thoughts were cut with the elevator parting doors. He stepped inside and sighed again silently to himself.

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The Savage Man

Over twenty people stood patiently and impatiently at the bus stop. All of them waiting for a bus to reach their destination. In front of the bus stop was a road packed with vehicles zipping away. In the distance a red bus appeared and suddenly, everyone was edging forward on the road. A slight tensed feeling seemed to float in the air among the waiting crowd. The bus rolled onto the stop. At least a dozen hands, taking the shape of claws, must have shot out, grabbing the railing inside the bus to haul themselves in. 

A dozen hands acting at the same time, all for their own gain. 

It must have been 30 seconds, that’s how long the bus stood there before the wheels began moving. A small number of people were still trying to shove their way into a bus that was already full of people.

“Janwar !”, screamed out one man, “You scratched me! Should I throw you out of the bus”. The screamer was a thickset man who stood inside the bus, just in front of the entrance. He was shouting at a thin, lanky man who had a confused expression on his face. “You scratched me when you jumped into the bus. You savage!”, the thickset man accused again.

His hands were raised, elbowing several passengers, as he showed a few slim scratches on his hand. The thickset man had an accusing glare.

“I... didn’t do it”, the lanky man managed to answer against his accuser’s aggressiveness.

“You savage! You liar”, cried out the scratched man, not giving a care of the passengers around him, both his hands shot up and grabbed hold of the lanky man. “Janwar! I’ll throw you off this bus”.

In a mad rage, he started pushing the lanky man out of the bus. The poor souls behind the lanky man battled for their life against the anger of thickset man as they hung out from the bus.

“Oye! Oye!” the bus conductor shouted from the front, but his voice was far from them, had no effect, and there were just too many passengers in the passageway to reach and stop the man in time.

“Stop this!” a shrill voice of a woman called out as she was shoved down the bus’ staircase. Her feet were struggling to stay on the bus and her hands fought to keep hold on the railing. All it would take was a slip and she would tumble down the staircase, out the bus and so would everyone else in front of her.

A dozen hands move in unison, all with the same purpose. They grabbed the thickset man’s collar and jerked him back. Now, you can guess the rest of what happened to the savage man who gave in too easily to his anger.

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