I wanted the donkeys to climb down the hill

I wanted the donkeys to climb down the hill


Working like a donkey is a cursing judgement on work exhausted of its labour.

However, when I see donkeys carriying the heavy baggages of devotees of Sabarimala Ayappan, the ‘secular god’ of south India, to the hill top, I curse the god. I hate his devotee. In anyway donkey is not a devotee of man-made-god. But the animal being hired by the man to his empire; and, god is the custodian of men’s holy fears.

Once I asked a donkey : ‘hei, have you ever seen a god (of men) in your dream?’.
She was alone in the street; an early morning, the donkey and I was looking for a breakfast without much dreams. I was jobless. She was preganent, looked sad, to try for a dialogue. I had plenty of time. She, I do not know. However, the silence of her was enough for me to assemble a picture of any gods I met, though I have n’t met any. Because, silence have rooms for fears.

My grandma used to see gods and used to have exchange with gods whenever and wherever she wanted. I get feared when she do that: its like that they two were alone in the whole plannet. There, I would start fantasizing my fears.

The donkey carrying the luggage to the hill top is a sympol of the brutal harmony man made with god. The donkey carries the luggage like a duty entrusted to. But it is not. It is simply a hand out picture of man : he would say, ‘See he is doing his duty’.
The donkey I met in the street had eyes washed in dreams. Which I met later in my own eyes : I was a donkey when I was doing my duties in silence; and it had many rooms for fears. Still.

I wanted the donkeys to climb down the hill, with out the luggages on their top, without the fear of those man-made-gods; although what I saw was more fearful : the silent line of donkeys to the hill top was succeeding mutely through the mob of black clothed men, who were calling loudly the god on the hill top.