The Minnows & The Prince

He saw it too near to his comfort. It looked to him like a winged Lilliputian.  His initial reservation subsided with the literary familiarity. He was amazed. What is it? It wasn’t alone. There were two of them. Fighting it out for a prized belonging. No, he thought, not fighting. Searching. What must be they searching? He perused their motion with torpid reverence.

They were more than two.  They did, with sheer diligence, the most glorious things there are to do. They sought and flew.


In the cracks where only lizards reigned. In the emptiness of a yellow Sari fluttering in the morning blues, all dry and cold of the morning air – there for three days as her captive fled for ever. In the filth of each day’s ritual. In the schism of a wooden door. Beyond the window. In his eyes. Their search was thorough. They were countless. They filled the sky in front of him with frightening obscurity. 

They spoke too.

And he listened. And he knew what they were saying. He knew it all along. He was one of them, long ago. He sought, and he flew too. He had outgrown them, lately. Grown a tad too big to fly, had lost his wings. Ceased to understand the aery vernacular. But, he understood now. After years of sad oblivion, he understood now what they were up to.

He stood up. He pushed open the better half of the window. He, then, looked up and fixed his eyes on them. They all stood still amidst air. There was a growing murmur of astonishment and pride amongst the flying minnows. There was an appalling fear too, lest he would abstain.

But he wasn’t going to. How could he, after all these weary years of stifling exile? He carefully sat on the window sill. His hands relishing in the wet dirt of the glass pane. He sat with ease. He could hear them singing. A blessed chorus. A blessed song! 

It was the homecoming of their Prince. Their search was done. He jumped.

And flew. 


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