You wouldn't know how it feels to be seventy-and-two, alone, disowned and blind. But Shanti Devi did. Shanti Devi - which meant the goddess of peace - how ironical could things be. Shanti Devi was considered no more than a blind pack of bones by her sons who had asked her to leave 'their' house. She served no purpose and just took up space in the house. She kept crashing everywhere, made irritating noises with her walking stick most of the the time, and spoke no better than babble. Her sons thought her fit to be homeless.
The destitute lady moved slowly with her walking stick unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes had left her long ago and now everyone she had had too.... or maybe she never had them. She had no purpose, no destination. Knowing not where to go, she kept walking slowly, thinking death was her only home, wishing that it devour her as soon as possible. So she kept walking and walking and walking and waited for death.
The world was full of noise, of people shouting, of sirens, of cars, of chats and cries but what was the purpose. People jostled her here and there, someone pushed her, someone stopped her but she kept going steady, apathetic. Death is the ultimate end. Death is the final outcome. Nothing could penetrate her ears now. She had to just keep walking. An uproar happened and a horn blared loudly but did she care? Did she care that on the busy day hundreds of people were restrained by the policemen who waited to go to their desinations? Did she care that she was in the middle of a road which had been cleared for the President's cavalcade which traveled at almost double the speed of normal traffic? Did she care that the first car of the cavalcade was about to crash into her? Perhaps not. But Bhanu Prasad cared. His valor pushed him forward, out of the crowd to be held by the hand by a policeman. He pushed the policeman and ran forward towards the old lady as fast as he possibly could. He pushed her aside just before the braking limo hit him at speed of light. Bhanu Prasad died there and then.
Shanti Devi's emaciated body got a push so hard, she flew and landed onto the footpath and rolled over to the next street on the downsloped road. The policeman Bhanu Prasad had pushed lost his balance, tripped and fell head first into an open manhole. The car in the procession braked so hard, it toppled over, took a few and crashed into the public which had been stopped by the policemen. The rest of the cars crashed into first car and the whole cavalcade was obliterated by an explosion which resulted from the combustion of the leaking fuel from one of the cars. All of the people, including the president died from the explosion. The people who were left alive to witness the explosion ran with all their might, resulting in a stampede and killing many more. Yasaf ali, a suicide bomber whose mission was to kill the president thought he would now have to save his life for another heaven-worthy task. But he was also killed in the stampede and the burdensome weight of people's legs could not be endured by the bomb.
In a matter of 20 seconds, all that was left was Shanti Devi - bleeding from the head, unaware of what happened, in agony and now in pain. But did she care? Perhaps not. She began to walk again and and started to wait again.
The destitute lady moved slowly with her walking stick unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes had left her long ago and now everyone she had had too.... or maybe she never had them. She had no purpose, no destination. Knowing not where to go, she kept walking slowly, thinking death was her only home, wishing that it devour her as soon as possible. So she kept walking and walking and walking and waited for death.
The world was full of noise, of people shouting, of sirens, of cars, of chats and cries but what was the purpose. People jostled her here and there, someone pushed her, someone stopped her but she kept going steady, apathetic. Death is the ultimate end. Death is the final outcome. Nothing could penetrate her ears now. She had to just keep walking. An uproar happened and a horn blared loudly but did she care? Did she care that on the busy day hundreds of people were restrained by the policemen who waited to go to their desinations? Did she care that she was in the middle of a road which had been cleared for the President's cavalcade which traveled at almost double the speed of normal traffic? Did she care that the first car of the cavalcade was about to crash into her? Perhaps not. But Bhanu Prasad cared. His valor pushed him forward, out of the crowd to be held by the hand by a policeman. He pushed the policeman and ran forward towards the old lady as fast as he possibly could. He pushed her aside just before the braking limo hit him at speed of light. Bhanu Prasad died there and then.
Shanti Devi's emaciated body got a push so hard, she flew and landed onto the footpath and rolled over to the next street on the downsloped road. The policeman Bhanu Prasad had pushed lost his balance, tripped and fell head first into an open manhole. The car in the procession braked so hard, it toppled over, took a few and crashed into the public which had been stopped by the policemen. The rest of the cars crashed into first car and the whole cavalcade was obliterated by an explosion which resulted from the combustion of the leaking fuel from one of the cars. All of the people, including the president died from the explosion. The people who were left alive to witness the explosion ran with all their might, resulting in a stampede and killing many more. Yasaf ali, a suicide bomber whose mission was to kill the president thought he would now have to save his life for another heaven-worthy task. But he was also killed in the stampede and the burdensome weight of people's legs could not be endured by the bomb.
In a matter of 20 seconds, all that was left was Shanti Devi - bleeding from the head, unaware of what happened, in agony and now in pain. But did she care? Perhaps not. She began to walk again and and started to wait again.
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