Part 1: The Village
Part 2: The Aftermath
Part 3
The Fault
Many...many years passed and so the tradition with the story of now being called Goddess Devera, who according to them had with the will of Lord Nerau descended from heavens to teach the devil a lesson and to mark the end of it, passed from generations to generations and from village to village, shaped and reshaped in varieties until a stage came when instead of nannies believers started slaughtering their daughters.
Yes, daughters... Proud of the legacy left by the ancestors and satisfied by the tradition, plagued by it, they prepared their girls for it. And the girls....well, what could they do than just run, be caught up and then suffer the trial of the history at the very hands of their parents.
In return what they got? They got satisfaction. This regression from raising their daughters as a sacred duty to raising them just for the "sacred duty" was all because of this satisfaction. Tehou, at first, just to satisfy his anger tried to bury his daughter. Maiden, saved the child just to satisfy the human in her. Later people slaughtered nannies and then daughters just to satisfy their believes.
But satisfaction itself was just an accomplice, the main culprit being their present who after rusting in the space of time came down upon the rest as "history".
With time, the news of such barbarism reached to the King's ears of a kingdom in the far far outskirts of which lay those savage villages.
This brutality and inhumanity was utterly not acceptable by the king who being kind-hearted waged war against such practices. He, with a lump of army, set out on the very day of the offerings to Devera and killed all of the men and women in the villages where the offering had been made or was to be made, bringing their children to his kingdom.
On the graves of the newly victimized innocence he carved the following words.
"It's not your fault, my dear. It's Miss History's fault."
Part 1: The Village
Part 2
The Aftermath
She returned back after few days, but with a shepherd, Fehma. This teenager, luckily, had left out with his herd for the mountains before the tornado decided to hit the village. Both, and the cattle inclusive, were the sole survivors of the tragedy.
Well, starting it all over there was definitely insane and a waste of time, they could move a bit from there, but they actually went for the very devastated terrain. This anomaly was because that is what they and those blown away in the space of history thought to be the God's will, a tribute to their ancestors and a victory over the devil ("tornadoes" of course).
They built their own house. The maiden had named the baby girl as "Devera", the goddess, as because of her she was 'alive and kicking'. She, and latter Fehma also, respected Devera and nearly worshiped her, thinking that she had been sent by their Lord Nerau. The boy and the lady farmed, raised cattle, Devera (and themselves), stitching a new start to the mournful end. Their pleasantly paced present overruled their recent horrible harsh history and their future brought a new twist in what would be called an epoch later.
They waited for tornadoes but none were seen again, even when Devera turned 20, bearing 3 children. This too was attributed to the birth of Devera and to the favor of the heavens and not to the ultimate change in climate. Consequently, they rejoiced this drawn-out miracle every year by slaughtering a nanny (she-goat) on the birthday of Devera.
Years passed by. Travelers (the trouble mongers) far from their land discovered this now reachable place and settled here. They soon became native, were told the story, fascinated by it and came in fold of the newly growing religious trend, but they rather took it far by worshiping Devera, respecting Fehma and hailing the dead maiden. But then after few years Devera died, Fehma died and also many nannies died as per tradition leaving behind a sacred belief and believers with empty heads but pure hearts.
Part 3: The Fault
Part 1
The village
There was a village far away from here. Clean from foreign intervention and totally self-sufficient in resources. They didn't trade because they didn't have to and neither knew about it. They didn't travel because they thought there was no place beyond the horizons they met and they didn't have any special education except for what they had learned about farming through years.
This village, far enough, was struck by natural calamities in a frequency that was unpredictable - main calamity being tornadoes.
So once upon a time in this village, unreachable, there lived only few families in the ancient times (as others were destroyed by a recent tornado). One of the families, Tehou's family, was expecting a new addition to their family count - a baby was right on its way to this miserable world.
Tehou was waiting outside his old wooden hut. It was in this very hut that he, his father, his father's father and his grandest father had taken their first breaths. Now, it was his newborn that was heading there.
Roars of thunders. "It has been 4 hours, Lord Nerau, please bless me with a boy now. I can not wait more, my Lord. I can not.", prayed the 45 years old Tehou. Roars of thunders again and he was blessed, not with a boy but with a tornado. Aghast he looked towards the farthest. All black. Thunders banging the drums to rejoice the arrival of the dancing devil, as the villagers had termed it.
His eyes watered but his ears charmed when he heard the first cry of his newborn. In a vibrant hurry he went inside. It was a girl. The local nurse (a maiden) stood aside, letting him see his daughter. He held his daughter high, started crying and then took her outside to bury her alive just to avenge his God (yes he didn't care for his wife who, as apparent, was begging him not to do so). Hustling wind blew his loincloth here and there. The pricking dust was...well, pricking him.
He approached to put the innocent victim in the newly dug grave but then roars of thunders. He stopped. Terrified, he went inside and while going inside, he fell, had his neck hit hard on a stone and he died. The daughter he was holding had landed safely on the ground.
Maiden rushed and took the innocent survivor in her hand (she was standing outside watching all what was happening and she couldn't save the baby because she had once been banged with the small axe by the dead man amidst save-the-baby wrestle and she couldn't take another one, for that would have taken her life then).
She didn't take her inside, instead, bandaged her head and looking at the approaching tornado she ran and ran to find a safe place and after few hours of journey she was on a mountain from where she could see her village being destroyed again by the calamity...
Part 2: The Aftermath
Part 3: The Fault
He fell down. A dark abyss pulling him towards the unknown. Yelling, screaming he begged for help but who could listen or answer his echoes, in that well of death, but himself? The deeper he went the darker it got. He was falling on his back for he could see the light diminishing in front of him. Nothing was visible but a hollow space craving for his soul, as he turned his head to see where was he falling. In vain went his thoughts, in vain went his desires and in vain went his memories. Mother, would he ever be able to meet her again? Or April, his eternal love. Would he ever be able to kiss her again? What it mattered after all? Just 21 and working like a dog whole day. The bright future he had always wondered and desired about when he sat at his working table in his cabin....was it of worth to him now? Similar thoughts were rushing through his head when he suddenly noticed that now he had been completely devoured by the darkness. Now he could only see 'nothing'. He just had gotten aware of the prevalence of the blackout when something harder like a rock hit him in the back rotating him to his front. A loud shriek and immense pain took him. He clinched his eyes shut, cried and cried. The pain was unbearable when another one banged him on his chest and flipped him again. Another shriek. He couldn't feel his heart now. He couldn't feel the numbness even, but realized that his ribs and spine are no more in their earlier state. He realized now he was not to live again. There was no way out. In the midst of the pain and suffering he also realized that there was no air hissing in his ears, nor any catching his nose. There was no air now. He was being sucked in a vacuum. Deeper and deeper. He toiled hard to catch a breath but no, he couldn't. Suffocation led him towards hopelessness. He gasped and gasped. His lungs yearned for air....
Such weak things we are. We try harder to exceed our earnings, we yearn for wealth, dignity and prosperity forgetting our final destination; death - the ultimate end. Could his earnings, savings, dreams save him now? No. Desperate he just....fell. He gave his hope away and suddenly hit the floor harder and......woke up in his bed. In the middle of the night bewildered,panting hardly catching his breath, his forehead drenched with sweat and his eyes wide open as if he has seen some one dead coming to life again. Indeed it was him who came to life now, after such a dreadful dream. Heaving in relief he put his hand on his forehead. It was blazing. "Just a dream. Just a...dream.", he said, exhaling a loud puff. Relaxed now, his throbbing heart gaining normal pace, he was about to get up to fetch himself a drop of water then he suddenly stopped. Traumatized. It was the grieve pain in his chest and spine that stopped him. The dilemma returned, from which he had recovered, as he observed that he couldn't get up. It was wet, he was lying in the pool of his own blood. In the awe of his death he tried to skid off the bed onto the floor and reach for the door as no one was answering his call for help. As he moved to the edge, he fell.......not on the floor, in a dark abyss.
