EYES TELL THE STORY

 It's Sunday, the holiday for all. But in this village Sundays make the town crowded. The town will change to a market in the evenings, every Sunday in Vadavalli. Both sides of the road will be acquired by vegetable sellers and buyers. On other days Vadavalli seduces people with the steep mountain range that heads up far away in the clear blue sky as the omniscient observer, protector, and the large tree that has people from the sun where birds chirping pierces into your ears but the native feels the best music there but on Sundays, the atmosphere will be completely different, Vadavalli changes it's entire structure, the surroundings will be filled with noisy bargaining the smell of onions, garlic, chilly, and the stinking tomato, the sweetness of milk bun, cotton candy, the strong tea, coffee and the reek of human sweat. 

We were about to quit the days romping around for shopping. Suddenly one among us remembered our plan to make chatt, we were about to cross the road suddenly all our attention was stolen by a family. They were standing in the middle of the road exchanging some glances of helpless a stallion, a mare, and two ponies. We wondered how they could stand like this, the mare put its head close to the stallion as if they were frightened. We ponies were too scared, they might have got into a fight because when we returned from the shop we saw the elder pony standing in the middle of the road and his kith was on the side of the road worrying about him. He stood there head down regretting the worst decision he had taken. 

He stood there alone on the road honking, as buses, cars, and bikes passed him. But he didn't move a bit. Confused bikes went slow, and cars and buses don't fear him. But his eyes had a lot to say. I look into it, and he hypnotized me. He told me the untold story of his life but I didn't understand it fully. His family made no noise but stared at him. Every vehicle rode close to him but he didn't even tilt his head. Like a statue he froze, he even created a traffic jam. A man tried to move him, save him but he was so stubborn. What made him protest against, with a story in his eyes.

I still remember those pathetic looks he threw at me. He had the whole life in it, my sorrow didn't weigh much in front of him. When my friends pulled me to catch the bus for the last time I looked at him. He is still there, frozen like a statue in the middle of the road where busy people are trying to pass him. He was that gangster who had a heart-melting story to tell.

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