A Chicken Story Centuries ago, somewhere in middle India, amidst the dense jungle lived an enlightened soul, the Guru. On a bright morning during the days of evolving knowledge and wisdom that humanity is bestowed with today, the Guru called upon his disciples to explain the difference between heaven and hell. He sat under a large banyan tree on a flat solid rock, with a mat on it, made of dried palm leaves while the followers sat in front on him on the ground with starry eyes waiting to experience yet another moment of knowledge and wisdom. “There is no place for a sinner but hell”, said the Guru. The disciples were all in awe and wonder and a quick wave of introspection ran down their gut trying to remember any sin that they might have done. While others waited for next set of words to flow, a young bright follower asked, “what happens in the hell, Guruji”? The Guru, with his eyes half open or half closed, started to reply, “The sinners are chopped off starting first from their head, and their skins peeled off with no remorse, chopped further to inches till the toe and fried in boiling oil; a befitting end to those who intend to bring the wrong on this land”. The certainty, heaviness in his voice and the dread description of hell sent a chill down their spines. Silence prevailed. Few yards away, a young chicken was listening to this dreadful description. The tiny heart trapped in his little body was pounding heavily to jump out his mouth any time. Scared, he ran to his mother, a medium sized hen. “I heard Guruji saying that all sinners go to hell and that they chop off the head, skin and fry the pieces in boiling oil! I don’t want to go to hell Ma!” cried the chicken. The hen wrapped him around with her feathery warm wings and tried to calm him down. The chicken was now relaxed as he felt safe with his mother. The hen then replied, “As much as I love you son, I hate to say that you don’t have to go the hell to experience that. You sin or not, you just to grow healthy to a point when someone finds you out. So better have fun while you are here.” Centuries later, across the length and breadth of India, the fate of chickens has not changed. Between stories of hell and heaven, the chickens share same fate of hanging on open flames, with nicely diced body parts placed between metal rods. Between what is right or wrong, the theories of universe, the conspiracies, the philosophies, the sciences, the cultures and religion, there live the chickens born and bound to be fed and to be fed upon. For they sin or not, they meet the same end and what else shall be awaiting for them to be punished or rewarded for when they have savored the worms in open fields all their lives, courted some pretty hens around to a point when their heads raised and chest swollen of pride and contention before they get noticed as a healthy and happy chicken by other hungry souls. The chickens may have a bigger head, a bigger heart, have two hands and legs with creepy fingers and toes or they might even believe they think or reason but at the end of it, all we are but a chicken story.
Posted on: Thu, 15 May 2014 10:15:00 +0000
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