Monday, December 26, 2011

Fighting Fire

The scene was set. It was that time of day when neither day or night exists. It was moments before dawn would break and shatter the wholeness of the dark night. The two kings stood facing each other, separated only by the thin line that distinguishes light from dark and day from night.

Like fire he burned, bright and golden, his steady arms radiating that shine and power possessed only by the sun. His fierce eyes, rimmed with dark kohl looked restlessly ahead at his enemy. The time of beckoning was here. One could not see his features clearly for there was a strong light illuminating from him, but mainly because he was their king and they feared him deeply. They had heard that in the battlefield, a brief look at King Agni could lead to a death so painful, that even the Gods dared not to show mercy on the dying man. It was hard to believe that that same king of kings was the provider of their world of warmth.

In the black of the space stood firmly King Shvet, poised like a statue, cold white fumes emanating from his body clad in silver armour. He stood still, much like the stillness of a cold winter's night. If one looked very carefully, occasionally one could trace white puffs of air flowing out of his lips, indicating any signs of life.

Just as the moon and sun adorned the sky, time stood still and the battle cry was sounded.

To Agni, it was a distant call. He was already in the air and his clawed hands were raised above his head. His body blocked a part of the infant sun as he met the king of the night at the line of change in the sky. Shvet's once immobile body now moved with sharp swiftness. His silver armour shone and clinked as it cut through the cold air. Heat thrust itself forward towards the icy night and the spectators helplessly witnessed this wondrous display of light and dark, the red flames meeting the silver fumes with sparks.

The might king dropped to the ground, cracking it where he fell. The line began to blur.

I woke up to greet a brand new day.