Dreams in the Kingdom of Chaos

— Haris Adhikari

There was a man in the kingdom of Chaos. His name was Melodious Music. He contrasted with the warring elements of the kingdom . . . by their uproars, their thundering beats and plays. His silence pervaded among the syllables of coarse voices, and the passers-by believed him to be being-less . . . Nobody realized the weight of his predilections, his love.   

For decades no Columbus came. God took pity on Melodious Music and sent a poet called Plato-banish. This poet was so inspired by Melodious Music’s profundity that he started writing mellifluous lines that emitted the scent of wisdom and wit, while he learned, gradually, with amazing patience and hope, to not pay attention to what the kiddish leaders were swearing and yelling at, and to not zoom in the dirt and maladies but the cool spring drizzles washing them away and the petrichor pervading every rift and razor. He touched, without touching, every flower and thorn, every absence and presence, every tune and tone …     

The same poet came to me in eerie reverie. I was delighted listening to his illuminating insights, but then, I abruptly awakened hearing Chaos laughing loudly. He danced like a crazy shaman, beating a drum, drum drum humdrum, humdrum humdrum. What? Well, he was threatening the poet in my dream!  

He said: “You are a sinful spirit. You’re not welcome without my consent to sneak into a man’s dream in this kingdom of ours! You’ve stolen our captive Melodious Music, and that’s a crime big enough to send you to hell.” He chanted his chaotic mantras, lashing my body with what he called a yak’s hide-strap. I cried to deaf ears. Oh, I cried, and he said: “I’ll cure you of this evil spirit which you’ve so warmly welcomed within you! I’m not beating you, but that perky pesky poet!”

In my desperate effort to free myself from the maddening grip of Chaos, I threw myself at him. Collecting all of my guts, while feeling terribly sorry for Plato-banish who was so badly received and sworn at, I uttered the poet’s uplifting words soaked in Melodious Music’s mantra, and again kicked Chaos down to the ground, hitting, hitting, hitting him with a handy stone. With this pummeling, he finally bled to death. Then, I yelled so sharp that my throat felt heavy pain, veins swelling . . . and I awakened in a panic, sweating all over my body on bed. It was pitch dark, but I could see through the dynamics of the ubiquitous reign of chaos and conflict, my fury stranded in between, and the infinite universe of probabilities.

(First appeared in MadSwirl)

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