The Obiter Truth: All Rise, for the Black

Evenings in the park are busy, mostly with residents from colonies nearby. Old regimentarians with that brisk up-two-three-four that trumpets years of public service. Rosy-eyed lovers with interlaced fingers wandering so languidly that they cause the more serious walkers to dodge them to keep pace. Young women who stop mid-stride to fuss over their pets, disrupting the flow of all those behind them, for who is so heartless as to keep walking when a damsel is in distress? The park is a public space like any other should be. A beautiful bouquet of mismatched strangers and colours and sounds in perfect harmony. Everybody is welcome. Even the oddballs dotting the fringes, making noises about this cause and that..The warmth of the sun usually gives way to a greyish haze on wintery evenings like these, and night descends thereafter. But something unusual is underway on this particular evening of all others. Today, darkness engulfs the park with an abrupt thunderclap. Like the insides of a secret envelop dropped in open court, disrupting a plea for a man’s freedom. Or the other side of a door closed for a secret hearing, hurriedly convened by the accused one Saturday morning. Or the colour of the hour when a bench is reorganised, right before an important compliance is listed for review the following day..The park-goers look up at the sky, the trees, each other, confused. Sensing danger, but not seeing it. Did they see something lurking in the woods? Was it someone they crossed along the way? They shrug at the thought with a pious optimism that has come to define the culture of the park. Everything is in god’s hands, they tell themselves. Somewhat unconsciously, their steps gather pace in the direction of the exit, and their eyes inspect others with Sherlock Holmes-like suspicion. A surprising volte-face for people who’ve exchanged fond greetings for many years..Some ravens perched high on the branches of the tallest trees are shrieking now, in alarm or despair one cannot say for sure. They hop about animatedly, their puffed black plumes reminiscent of robes draped from the shoulders of those sworn to abide by law. They seem to be pleading with the gods in the skies, donned in judicious wigs of white clouds. Dispel this darkness, your lordships, let justice be seeeeen. Show them that guilt will be punished, and innocence, set freeeee. Without promise of redemption, chaos will rule communities. This beautiful park won’t survive the fear and anarchyyyy. See for yourselves, how the park-goers tremble anxiouslyyyy..Down below, the park-goers are trembling just so, but they pay the ravens no heed. Why should they trust a handful of shrieking birds? The whole darned species is too clever by half. All they do is lord over the world from afar and speak to the gods in some lofty language only they understand. They talk too much, shriek too much, and charge too much for disagreeing with each other. Half of them are yet sitting pretty, saying very little, doing even less. If they can’t make up their minds, why should they presume to dispel wisdom or warning to the passers-by below?.Walk on, walk on. Just keep walking..As the park-goers tread gingerly down beaten tracks, the black closes in around them, leaving traces of soot on their clothes. Emboldened by the darkness and the chaos in the skies, stray dogs of a uniform khaki step out of the shadows and onto the tracks. Where did so many dogs come from? How have they transformed from a pliable scatter of furs into unit after unit of menacing beasts, snarling at every one who walks by? Like well-trained watchdogs, they keep an eye on every flutter in the park, driving fear deeper into the hearts of people. For the first time, the park-goers notice that each dog has a collar. And for the first time, it strikes them that they might be in someone else’s territory, that the park is no longer theirs..It is time to drop all pretences of normalcy and run. Some people try it, hurling themselves towards the exit with cries for help. The dogs charge at them in fury. Grabbing at their limbs, tearing into their flesh, carrying them into the darkness beyond the trees. Others walk on as if nothing has happened. Their pious optimism refuses to leave them even as silhouettes disappear and cries for justice abound. It is so dark now, they tell themselves, it is impossible to tell what is going on, who has fallen to the darkness, or why. Maybe it is those fringe elements who didn’t belong to the park in the first place..That ridiculous man of well-read eyes and white hair and weathered skin, mumbling to himself about rights, not his own, but somebody else’s, the funny chap. Why waste peaceful years of retirement on such ridiculous things as the rights of others? It is not at all surprising that he has secrets which need to be tucked away in envelopes. He should have known the dogs would chase him and he’d be too tired to run. And that silly girl who came here all alone, mouthing something about harassment, pointing fingers at the skies. It is wise to obviate her quietly, for who is so brave as to betray one of their own? And if there were such uncompromising betrayers, is it not fair that they should be transferred to the shadows under the cover of darkness?.Walk on, walk on. Just keep walking..Slowly but surely, the night takes all. The ridiculously righteous and stupidly courageous and treacherously uncompromising. And when it gets too dark to tell the difference, it takes the optimists who did nothing but walk on. No one reaches the exit. No exit can be found.