Tales from the Random Island.
Her legs were dangling off the floor, she was a bit short for that high chair. She was doodling on the last page of an old notebook; her eyes were on the paper, but she wasn't looking at the vague shapes her hand drew. Though the mind was wandering on the familiar roads, she was stranded on the shores of the Random Island. The next song on her playlist started playing, a melody from the 60's Bollywood film. On normal days she too would sing along to the tune and revel in Rafi's voice, today the music simply reached her ears and ricocheted off the walls built around her senses. She needed to leave this space, get out and do something. She looked around for a boat and found none. Her thoughts were flooding the Island and she had nowhere to run, she didn't know how to swim too. Desperately she tried to silence the voices inside her head and concentrated on whatever she was doing. It was not helping.
Suddenly she tore a paper from the book and wanted to write about all that buzz in her brain cells. Almost 26 minutes had passed by. The sheet was as plain as ever. The pen remained where it was before, a few millimeters off the surface. There was so much she could write but nothing materialised. Words didn't come to her to describe what she felt. Neither her legs set out in their direction to bring them back home. She was getting restless as the clock ran at its leisure. It must have been the writer's block et al. Sure there was a way to get away from here, there will be a door I need to look for, she told herself. Her fingers twisted the pen in a pattern she failed to recognize. The empty page sat there on the table staring at her, as if mocking at her inability to fill it. In sometime her mother will come and warn her of being up past the bedtime. The clock won't stop ticking. This unnamed qualm won't keep quiet. What to do? How to get over this?
She took a deep breath and held it in, searching for something in the mind palace, she stumbled over something she had read a month back. Squeezing the eyes shut, her hand moved involuntarily and her heart was at ease. She knew not what she would write, yet she didn't hesitate for a second and went ahead stringing together the words that came to her lips.
The girl stood on her feet on the edge of the Island. The waves which threatened to take her away with them a few seconds earlier, now danced playfully in the silence provided by her mind. Slowly, as though they had been practicing it all the while, the clouds had glided with a hint of grace revealing the crystalline sky. The Sun was gleaming and put up a warm smile on her pretty face. A voice that got close to imitating Stephan Fry's Brit accent said "You don't analyse such sunlit perfection, you just bask in its warmth and splendour." This same Random Island seemed like Paradise now, shielding her from the tricks that the mind always plays.On her right there was a signpost hanging from the only tree that was on the Island. If she had noticed it before or not she couldn't remember. Without further ado, she ran towards the sign and read it. "What you seek is buried near the roots, the shovel is right here."
A shovel appeared hovering in the air out of nowhere. She wasn't sure if it was safe to touch it, but she did anyway and went on digging around the tree. The shovel hit something hard and clinked. After sweating out all the strength, she fished out an ancient chest which shook violently like a cage with a horrible monster trapped in it.The girl dropped the chest on the ground and hid behind the tree, sticking her head out a little to see what would come out. It took a while before the chest calmed down and now it was whimpering like a lost puppy. She recalled what was written on the sign and walked towards the chest in her own good time. As soon as she placed her hand on the chest, it sprang open startling her. Inside was a book, a pen and an ink bottle; lurking in a dusty corner, there was a glass bottle with a rolled dirty-yellow parchment sealed in it. She emptied the chest of its contents and sat on the beach. The chest ran around her barking like a happy puppy and settled near her feet, looking expectantly at her.
She first opened the bottle hoping that there would be some map for a hidden treasure on the Island. Instead, in green ink, there were three lines written on the paper. "Read the book, stop at no point once you have started. Keep them safe, the pen and the ink bottle, you will be back to where you came from if you lose these two. Finish the story that was left untold and you will find your way back here whenever you need your gold." She was perplexed. Wasn't this the exact thing she needed right now? She turned around to see if anyone was watching her. There wasn't a sign of another soul. The chest pushed the book within her reach, patting it affectionately she picked up the book and read. It was a magical tale about a girl whose ship was wrecked in a sea storm and was left alone on a huge Island. The story had mysterious creatures speaking a different language and dangerous paths leading to the mouth of a cave hidden behind the waterfalls where a treasure lay waiting for whoever finds it without losing their lives and a puppy who was cursed to transform into a chest, accompanying the protagonist in all her adventures. As the girl in our story reached page 12, the book was wiped clean and there was nothing written further. She flipped the pages swiftly to find at least one word but in vain.
The chest barked and nudged the girl's knees. She saw the pen and the ink bottle lying on the sand. Something rushed inside as the puzzle had solved itself for her. There was a small boat wobbling on the waters now. Grabbing all of her treasure she lifted the chest into her arms and named it Fluffy; got on the boat and off they went rowing all the way to a place she called home. In the solitude of her bedroom the girl now would be finishing the story, adding more escapades with every new chapter. She would read it out to Fluffy for an approving nod or a bark filled with delight. The music too is helping her let loose the reins of imagination. A week has passed since she came back from the Island. The story is almost done and I hope it has turned out well. I met her this evening and asked what will she name the book. She said, "Tales from the Random Island."
Suddenly she tore a paper from the book and wanted to write about all that buzz in her brain cells. Almost 26 minutes had passed by. The sheet was as plain as ever. The pen remained where it was before, a few millimeters off the surface. There was so much she could write but nothing materialised. Words didn't come to her to describe what she felt. Neither her legs set out in their direction to bring them back home. She was getting restless as the clock ran at its leisure. It must have been the writer's block et al. Sure there was a way to get away from here, there will be a door I need to look for, she told herself. Her fingers twisted the pen in a pattern she failed to recognize. The empty page sat there on the table staring at her, as if mocking at her inability to fill it. In sometime her mother will come and warn her of being up past the bedtime. The clock won't stop ticking. This unnamed qualm won't keep quiet. What to do? How to get over this?
The girl stood on her feet on the edge of the Island. The waves which threatened to take her away with them a few seconds earlier, now danced playfully in the silence provided by her mind. Slowly, as though they had been practicing it all the while, the clouds had glided with a hint of grace revealing the crystalline sky. The Sun was gleaming and put up a warm smile on her pretty face. A voice that got close to imitating Stephan Fry's Brit accent said "You don't analyse such sunlit perfection, you just bask in its warmth and splendour." This same Random Island seemed like Paradise now, shielding her from the tricks that the mind always plays.On her right there was a signpost hanging from the only tree that was on the Island. If she had noticed it before or not she couldn't remember. Without further ado, she ran towards the sign and read it. "What you seek is buried near the roots, the shovel is right here."
A shovel appeared hovering in the air out of nowhere. She wasn't sure if it was safe to touch it, but she did anyway and went on digging around the tree. The shovel hit something hard and clinked. After sweating out all the strength, she fished out an ancient chest which shook violently like a cage with a horrible monster trapped in it.The girl dropped the chest on the ground and hid behind the tree, sticking her head out a little to see what would come out. It took a while before the chest calmed down and now it was whimpering like a lost puppy. She recalled what was written on the sign and walked towards the chest in her own good time. As soon as she placed her hand on the chest, it sprang open startling her. Inside was a book, a pen and an ink bottle; lurking in a dusty corner, there was a glass bottle with a rolled dirty-yellow parchment sealed in it. She emptied the chest of its contents and sat on the beach. The chest ran around her barking like a happy puppy and settled near her feet, looking expectantly at her.
She first opened the bottle hoping that there would be some map for a hidden treasure on the Island. Instead, in green ink, there were three lines written on the paper. "Read the book, stop at no point once you have started. Keep them safe, the pen and the ink bottle, you will be back to where you came from if you lose these two. Finish the story that was left untold and you will find your way back here whenever you need your gold." She was perplexed. Wasn't this the exact thing she needed right now? She turned around to see if anyone was watching her. There wasn't a sign of another soul. The chest pushed the book within her reach, patting it affectionately she picked up the book and read. It was a magical tale about a girl whose ship was wrecked in a sea storm and was left alone on a huge Island. The story had mysterious creatures speaking a different language and dangerous paths leading to the mouth of a cave hidden behind the waterfalls where a treasure lay waiting for whoever finds it without losing their lives and a puppy who was cursed to transform into a chest, accompanying the protagonist in all her adventures. As the girl in our story reached page 12, the book was wiped clean and there was nothing written further. She flipped the pages swiftly to find at least one word but in vain.
The chest barked and nudged the girl's knees. She saw the pen and the ink bottle lying on the sand. Something rushed inside as the puzzle had solved itself for her. There was a small boat wobbling on the waters now. Grabbing all of her treasure she lifted the chest into her arms and named it Fluffy; got on the boat and off they went rowing all the way to a place she called home. In the solitude of her bedroom the girl now would be finishing the story, adding more escapades with every new chapter. She would read it out to Fluffy for an approving nod or a bark filled with delight. The music too is helping her let loose the reins of imagination. A week has passed since she came back from the Island. The story is almost done and I hope it has turned out well. I met her this evening and asked what will she name the book. She said, "Tales from the Random Island."
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