Taste of your own medicine

Taste of your own medicine

Over two hours had passed since sunset when he reached for his favourite spay knife of English make on the sand just to make sure it was in place. Crouched under the screw pine bushes close to the tropical beach he could see the moon lit sandy footpath. Probably in 2 weeks moon will rise in full making the stars disappear.

He remembered his grandma’s improvised fables that inculcated the idea when good people die they become bright stars on the sky. He had always wanted to be a bright star in the sky but not anymore. He knew that he could never be a bright star on the blue skies above his motherland. Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Over six feet tall he felt his still strong forearms while tightening the grip on the wooden handle of his spay knife he selected for this special purpose. He remembered his dad’s words. Once decided go ahead and do it.

He had no doubts about his strength even at his late age of 62. He was certain that sooner or later the young beast would pass through this footpath. He decided to wait in ambush. He was proud of his ability to stay cool even in this tense situation, a unique quality he developed since his childhood in school. He was definitely “on the ball” and “never off his rocker” since this morning.

As a strong lover of animals, he clearly remembered the day his pet goat was brought to his house for adoption. It was on its way to the guillotine tied to a rope and led by a Muslim butcher. As the goat passed him he felt a moist cold tongue on his forearm and as he looked back he saw tears in the goats eyes. His knee-jerk reaction was to grab the rope interrupting the footsteps of the shabby looking Muslim butcher.

With no introductions at all he asked “ What is your price for the goat.” still holding the rope.

“ Not for sale” quipped the butcher.

“ Either we have a sale here or you go back empty handed. What do you prefer”

Sensing trouble facing this giant of a figure obviously from the fisheries community of the village, the butcher obligingly replied “ Sir, I cannot sell”

“ How much did you pay for him” he asked while jerking the rope off the butchers hand.

“ Two hundred sir”

He gave three hundred and took the goat home while the butcher counted the money and retraced his footsteps back. It became his pet for the last few years and being well fed it gained fat and looked very cute to become a part of his small family of two children and his wife. He never sat for a meal without inquiring his family if there is enough leaves for the goat to grace.

Even though he was engrossed with thoughts of his pet he heard footsteps and turned his head slowly like a viper waiting for its prey. In the dim lights the face was not clearly visible although instincts told him that the prey is approaching. He saw the bowels of the goat on his doorsteps  and felt his heart tightening. With a deep breath he slashed the abdomen of the approaching figure splitting his bowels out. His swift calculated motion of the favorite knife was not intended to kill. He wanted to see for himself the bowels of the person who killed his goat and put its bowels on the doorstep to be discovered the first thing next morning. It was an insult added to injury.

It was a challenge by an incorrigible beast of a rival well taken by him and accomplished. He saw the challenger still on his feet holding the bowels in his hands and just before the knees buckled he held the neck in one strong grip.

“ You are my goat now. Feel the pain. The same way you cut my goats throat I will cut your throat very slowly”. His knife reached the shivering neck severing it from the body very slowly inflicting maximum pain.

PS: This is based on a true story that over the years led to over 50 murders wiping off a whole family tree.