Chapter 1 – Old Beginnings
Bane knew not where he came from. He was finishing his teenage years and entering into his tiesage. All he knew was someone or everyone must have hated him to call him Bane. His beginnings were very difficult. As far as he could remember, the people of Manar never accepted him as one of them. He had to beg and plead for work to fill his stomach. Not being able to generate honest work, he even tried his hand at stealing and anti-social means of survival, but that only got him in trouble. Fraza the village headman tried to insinuate him into the village, but would repeatedly incur the wrath of the villagers. Fraza gave up trying. Bane continued to live like a dog. Feeding off scraps and kicked around. The only thing positive was he was becoming immune to such treatment. This must mean he was growing stronger, but was being stoic, strength? But underneath it all, Bane was not a nice person. He wasn’t always this way, but life made him so. He loved to dream, he hoped to achieve it all. He was ever optimistic. He was a tender person, pained to see animals hurt, pained to see the weak beaten. He felt sad when someone cried and cried with them even if it wasn’t in their presence. He wept when he heard sad songs or when he heard widow’s lament. He loved the blue skies and green plains, the strong black and brown mountains and the placid lakes. He spoke with the animals as if they were his kin.
Bane was skinny as a tree trying to grow in a fire ravaged soil. Grime and he were no uncommon friends. He was used to the rancid odors from his body. His shorts provided sustenance to the sewer rats that crept out in the night when he tried to sleep. Many even tried to bite at his legs. His black hair was nest to various insects and must have held quite a number of species living harmoniously together.
Manar was nestled in the cleavage of the dark mountains. It was small and poor. Poor may be a generous term to give it. The squalid huts made up for most of the size. The headman’s house was the largest the village, but that was only by a shade. The streets were not cobbled and were narrow with many alleys. The alleys were mostly used to hide trash and refuse. Utilities were minimal and only where necessary. The villages cooperated with each other only out of convenience. Being neighborly was not even a concept here. The clothes worn by the villagers were functional and threadbare. The tools were metal, but crudely made. The village had pallor of gloom around it. It was a wonder why it came up in the first place. However, Manar had plenty of fertile lands and many mountain lakes though no one ever knew what was beyond the mountains.
It was supposed to be Manar’s feast day. Bane thought he would at least get to scrounge up something to eat at the garbage dump. People always tend to waste food when it was not being paid for. Some even wasted it when it was paid for. The square where the feast was to be held was colorful, by Manar’s standards and busy. All preparations were going on in full swing. As Bane sauntered along the street with his eyes filled with colors, he felt a hard kick to his side. “Stay out of the streets, you mangy cur!” yelled the cart driver as he raised his whip above his head. Bane ducked into the narrow alley. He cowered, but glowered internally. His anger was never enough to make him raise his head in indignation or defiance. In the alley a rat glared at him. Bane could not even raise his hand to scare away the rat. He was actually paranoid enough to think if the rodent was actually a spell from someone to spy on him. The rat was bold enough to scurry near his feet and snatch away a bit of bread there. Cursing his fate, he began ruminating how he reached where he did.
He remembered what he remembered first. It was raining heavily and he hadn’t eaten for days. Hunger gnawed at this belly like old iron left in the rain. The rumble in his six year old stomach was louder than the thunder outside and it felt like the alley rat was chewing through him. His companions were the Smith’s mule, the visiting Minister’s mare and some warrior’s steed. All three regarded him balefully. As if they were too good for him.
Bane decided to brave it in the rain. As soon as he stepped out, it seemed even the gods mocked him. They sent a torrential blast at him. The mighty drops seemed to lance through his ragged and threadbare clothing. He was sure if he risked a glance at his own body, he would find lacerations. He looked furtively left and right. The streets were bare. Who in their right minds would want to step out in this rain!
Bane crossed the street and smelt something. It was wonderful! The baker was making fresh bread and left it on the table to cool. The fragrance from the bread wafted out the open window. Bane peeped inside and saw the dark golden crust of the bread on top and the light gold at the bottom of the bread. It was still steaming from the oven’s heat. Bane was too hungry to think of the consequences. Besides, the smell made him completely oblivious to everything else. He climbed through the window and sat on the bench beside the long wooden table. His eyes glistened. With trembling hands, he reached out and tore out a chunk of the bread. He almost yelped at the trapped heat emanating from the bread. He scooped butter from the dish with his grubby hand and it seemed to melt even before it touched the bread. The smell of the bread and butter was too much for him to tolerate. But before he could savor it, a sharp pain shot through his ear. The baker had returned and caught him by the ear. Bane howled with pain. It felt as if his ear was torn off and only the pain remained. The baker reached out for the large peel he used for his baking in his large hand. He let go of Bane’s ear and just as Bane was making his escape, he gave a cruel whack at Bane’s bottom. Bane flew across the room and skidded across the rough floor skinning his knees and elbows. The baker continued to expertly minister Bane’s tender body as if it were the dough he was preparing for the bread. The more you incorporate air into the dough, more it will rise. But in poor Bane’s case, he seemed to shrink. The baker twisted his arm till it turned white at his elbow and trussed his foot with it. He then sadistically pinned them both with his peel. Bane’s wailing was in poor comparison with the shrieking winds but his tears were as torrential as the rains itself. When Bane finally fainted from the pain, the baker picked him up by his foot as if he were a rat he just killed and equally unceremoniously, threw him into the garbage in the back yard. He probably thought Bane was dead. Not that lives were costly in Manar.
Bane was bleeding from his nose and mouth where the baker had punched him. His joints bled copiously. He must have cracked many a rib. A mangy cat was licking up the blood and this was what woke him up. He could hear the rough scrapping the cat’s tongue made against his skin. Bane promised he would never steal again.
It was evening by the time Bane crept out of the alley. He literally crawled along street to the only person who did not treat him like the others.
“Come in, young cuss, come in.” called Ogin the Old “I may not be able to see you, but I can surely hear you. I am not stone blind, only deaf as a bat. No, no, don’t leave your feet outside, I would only shoo you out.”
“Bah! old one, why are you so affectionate towards me? Can you not be like the others?” Bane asked gently.
“Ah! young one, would that everyone knew why they treated you so. People are very superstitious. That gives them large comfort so that they can blame everything wrong on something that is not within their control. We are inherently weak. We pride ourselves on being strong and try to exhibit ourselves as such. Sometimes, the more weak we are, the more dogmatic our verbiage. We create social structures, and the smart ones bend them.”
Bane came in lugging the huge load of deadwood as was his routine all evenings. He looked forward to the banter with Ogin. It was his only education. All his childhood and teenage evenings were spent with Ogin and it was only now he was able to grasp Ogin’s words. Ogin had once told him, “If someone kept knocking on your head, you would either dodge, block or take it like a block of wood. But at some point of time, you would learn to block or dodge and return the compliment.”
Ogin said that today Bane would leave him. Why would I do that? thought Bane. Brushing aside the thought, Bane proceeded inside.
Bane laid the firewood by the side of the fireplace and added a few sticks. It was cold outside and Ogin the Old was all skins and bones. Funnily though, Bane never saw him shiver. Ogin was nursing something hot from a cup. Bane peered into the cauldron on the fire and wished he didn’t.
“So, what are we discussing today?” Ogin began.
“You tell me?”
“Since this is your last day, let me tell you the secret of life.”
… to be continued.
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