by M. Mohankumar
High up on the old banyan tree
facing the temple at the far end,
an unkempt young man, shouting.
Down below, a tense, puzzled crowd
wondering what mischief he is up to
They try to get him down the tree,
sweet-talking first, then threatening
to call the police. It doesn’t work.
He sits on the tree, stiff and defiant,
his eyes fixed on the far horizon.
Suddenly, he turns towards them,
blinks in the morning sunlight
streaming through the banyan leaves.
‘Watch while l perform a trick,’ he says,
‘an escape act you’ll never forget.’
He reaches for the noose of rope
hanging from the bough, tightens it
round his neck. Leafy shadows
play about on his body. ’Clap now,’
he says. ‘Clap to the very end ’
‘Louder,’ he says, as they clap,
and jumps. Yellow leaves fall, twirling,
to the ground. He hangs in mid-air,
flailing, then goes limp. And they,
they go on clapping expectantly.
Pic: https://www.flickr.com/photos/sunciti_sundaram/
