Jabagadadash 4.0, the International Intercollegiate fest of Chinmaya Vishwa Vidyapeeth was held on 24 February 2023. There was a blend of thrilling events conducted online and offline, inviting participants from across the nation and beyond! One of the events was  Twisted Tale – Story writing with surprise elements. Participants had to bring out the wordsmith within to reinterpret and rewrite classics. Here is a winning entry –

Men Who Never Repented

Gowri Murali | St. Teresa’s College Kochi, Kerala, India

Absence works in strange proportions. Some days it is the absence of money that sits on your life like a glaring lacuna . On other days it is the absence of a father. Today is morphs into the absence of a cow that he sold to an old man in exchange of five magical beans. His mother’s final threads snapped when he came home with the beans and she hurled a string of curses at her foolish , naive son. Poor woman. Jack would never blame her. The world detested widows and desperately tried to crush their attempts at happiness. Being a woman was a disadvantage in itself and the widow tag made his mother a dirty speck on polished societies. They could not rent a house as old landowners, men to be precise, did not trust a widow or any single woman to have a character that wasn’t questionable. They were suspicious and horrified that a single woman was living in their society. Jack was aware of the privilege that he had as a man and that made him sympathise with his mother. He would never blame his mother.

It was not the cruelty that bothered them but poverty, blooming in their putrid lives. They could not afford the very air they breathed .Jack felt that they dwelt in a ditch that was feeding on their soul. There was no escape from poverty as the heavy weights of industrialisation hung on to their fields and the rich would never allow them to rise above the bottom rung. The onset of all possible variants of industries and online shopping had hampered the bottom dwellers like them. The governments changed like cats in the alley but they ignored the farmers and minimum support price was merely an echo in a valley of their problems. They clung to the mercy of the corporates who never cared about their existence. They protested and pled but the authorities remained deaf.

Thus here he was looking at the beans as the word ‘magic’ kept ringing in his ear to the point of deafness. While Jack slept, drifting through the blinding lights of hope, the beans that his mother threw out , grew into a beanstalk.

The next morning when jack found his way up the beanstalk, magic was no longer a blinding hope. It wasn’t a mere beanstalk but a kingdom in which lived the giant and his exceptionally kind wife. The frail old woman happily fed the young boy and in the realms of their absence they found a sense of comfort. A warming scent of family. She did not have children and when the ferocious beast came home sniffing around and pointing out the lingering smell of an Englishman’s blood, she shielded the boy with everything she had.

“Oh Darling. There is no boy in here. Don’t be silly.”

The giant went to bed and Jack was ready to go home after thanking the old woman. But strange enough, he could not. He felt that his limbs were tied and an unfamiliar feeling coursed through his veins. A strong want. A desire so powerful that it was hauling him towards the sack of gold coins that he had watched the giant put away. The voice in his head argued.

“ Dear boy, take the coins. Help your mother. Don’t you think you deserve a good life? How long will you live in filth dear boy. It is no loss to a giant. Take the coins!”
And he did. What more could a boy do? The depths of poverty forced him. He went home and for the first time in years, his mother was happy. So happy that a hot stream of tears gushed down her hollow cheeks.

But that night, Jack could not sleep. He found a way out of the pits of misery, but he was falling deeper into what would be the intolerable cause of torment. Want for money. Want for a better life. Want for happiness. They had money now but they needed more to buy a new home. How long can he let the landlords insult his mother? He had to do it. Not for himself, but for his dear mother.
Before Jack realised, it was eating him. When the sun sank, the boy was left wanting for more. But unknown to his little heart, not for his dear mother, but for himself.

Outside the little home, an evil chuckle resonated. His plans were working, for these humans were fallible little things. So fragile that they took the bait with ease. Today he could sleep well, he thought.

“Ah! I have lured another one in. Humans are so fragile. Funny things really. Guess I can get a good sleep today.”

But he could not. Well, that’s the thing with men who don’t repent. Images plagued his mind. Dead bodies and innocent children that he had killed. A war. Women weeping for their children and husbands. A costly mistake that would haunt him forever. His wounds were bleeding again and it would forever. Yet he did not repent. He was left, wanting to pull mankind into sin, for as long as he lived. Forever that is.

Meanwhile, Jack’s visits became frequent because greed is a demanding emotion. It runs within you until it consumes you completely and leaves you to mourn in the ashes. The sack of gold coins was replaced by a golden egg and then came the magical harp that would indeed be the boy’s undoing. He did not try stealing the giant’s harp because he thought of his family but instead he liked the magical harp and he simply wanted it. Simple want. They had enough money. But no amount of money is ever enough. You always want more. Thus when jack tried to sneak the harp down the beanstalk, the other man watched with an evil glint. A snap of his finger and the harp cried out to it’s master for help. The giant was awake in no time, realising that his olfactory senses were indeed right. In front of him stood a fine young boy like a tempting vial of English blood. But the other pair of eyes watching the exchange would not let his source of entertainment die an early bloody death. Another snap and little Jack ran in frenzy and when he reached the end, he cut the beanstalk without mercy. That made it two bloody deaths. The beanstalk and the giant. The man stood at a distance watching the boy and chuckled in delight. His wounds bled again.

Poor Jack ran home. He expected his mother to hug him and whisper that the beanstalk would grow back the next day and they could have all the gold again with the giant gone . But his mother was furious. She said she hated him for not being careful. She wept over how her stupid son had killed their only source of income. Jack was filled with remorse and sorrow. Not for his old wretched mother who gave him nothing, but for himself. His mother had always been useless. She was old and weak and he had no father. It was her mistake that they had nothing. The woman had no social skills. No wonder that she was the talk of every town they had been to. But then Jack had another thought. It was not just his mother, all women were useless. The stupid old wife of the giant did not warn him about the harp.
“ I should have killed her too.”
His mother wasn’t good enough. Never been good enough for him. They would slip into the ditch again and this time there would be no threads of magic to tread.

Watching this heated exchange stood the pair of evil eyes, of a man who had wandered the earth for some 3000 years. He knew the boy was an easy catch when he accepted the magical beans from the old man. That was no coincidence for he had asked the old man to give the beans to the boy. Now he would trick the boy into investing the money in online gaming platforms and will lure him into stocks and crypto. He will create an illusion that it will double the principal. Oh the poor little boy would totally buy his claims.

The following weeks saw jack investing and buying. He worked with people who had no face but were merely an account online. Initially the money did come as the old man promised. But soon Jack was in a whirlpool of debt and his mother was sick. But he did not care about his mother, she was better off dead. He could save the hospital expenses. But even after the old woman’s passing, his debts did not die. They lurked above his head like a cloud. After a point, the boy felt like he was drowning and he had no help but he never repented. The cruel world and his useless mother were responsible for his plight. They pushed him to this state. He looked around for the old man wearing the hood, but he never saw him. On a Monday evening the ceiling fan shook violently and the neighbour’s dog wailed as if it sensed a loss within the smell of evening chai. Jack was now a memory. A hated one to the many men he had extorted.

Ashwatthama watched the boy’s downfall with a sense of ecstasy. He laughed at the stagnancy of human desire. It always sought money. The boy’s death was not tragic as he had no family. The society merely thought of it as another stray dog dying on the streets.
But Ashwatthama sat outside the house and felt the little incident would at least get him a night’s sleep. Tomorrow he would ensnare another frail sapien. With blood and puss oozing out of his wounds , the evil man desperately awaited sleep. But it would never come. Not once in his endless 3000 years. Death and sleep would never take pity on him and he would be left to find another victim tomorrow.

Funny how little Jack and old Ashwatthama were so alike in their lack of sleep. But then again they were both men who never repented. Repose remained a luxury they could never have.