A Privileged World

Yaakov watched the sun religiously rise up as sweat trickled down his temple. His eyes instinctively lowered to the barbed fence. He halted abruptly; trespassing onto the other world was never heard to yield favourable results. The grim sheath of separation, as he regarded it, was constructed such that it seldom offered any, or, in some cases, even absolutely no scope for crossing; moving across it was a fantasy he dared not dreaming about.

Though his heart wandered across his artificially limited habitat, regret often followed soon, for craving a leisure so scarcely warranted to the likes of him. He couldn’t ever quite reckon how or why the “masters”, could so easily pass that line of doom, or rather, what it was told to him to be.

Yaakov tried his best; at least, once, in his entire life, did he want to see what the other world had to offer. Although truth could but belie that he hadn’t ever seen the other world, for fact remains that he had; Yaakov had seen it whole in flesh. But, that could barely justify, for on his account, he remembered nothing of it. The other world to him had been out of bounds ever since he was thrown behind that barbed fencing, caged up like a goat, waiting to be slaughtered at the whims of their so called masters’ tyranny.

Despite the attempts of others to dissuade him, from people around him, including his capricious friends, or the closest to friends he could have, there, Yaakov had it clear; nothing was going to stop him from entering the other world.

His life was confined to the field he lived on, and cultivated; although he couldn’t ever call it his own. For the major part of his life, he’d been on the field; forty out of the forty eight years he’d lived, to be precise. First, as the son of yet another indentured labour; next, as one, himself. Reforms in the lives of people like him had evolved substantially since the beginning of the new century; the twentieth century promising betterment in the lives of him and his kin.

However, as politics changed, reality retained its former shape. They were merely slaves, to whom even living was essentially forbidden. His own house, his own family had all been left behind, pertaining to his four decades of indenture. Cultivated indigo was the only colour he’d ever relished in his entire life. Ironical, it was how the indenture of his labour was so unrequited that it didn’t even exist.

Time was running out; he couldn’t live this way, anymore. Yaakov knew something needed to be done, lest he should be able to see his mother, for whose face to remember he fought against his senile memory, once again, that is, should she be alive, still; for he had not a single mean of correspondence.

He needed to do something if he wanted to live, not as bonded labour who tilled on the plantations of quirky masters, but as a free man, who had the liberty to breathe free air; something that was only entitled to the elite few. Yaakov needed to step into the world; the world which was now so estranged from him; the world he was dying to see, yet again, relinquishing his confinement. Yaakov needed to step into the other world which he’d left behind, decades ago.

Though not very proficient with his oratory skills, he knew that his mission would only be successful if accompanied by the support of the other hundreds of people who suffered the same. Mobilising a mass movement was, undoubtedly, beyond the powers of his diligent determination. Nevertheless, Yaakov, of all the things he’d ever learnt from his life, etched in his heart that giving up never reaped anything wanted.

Moreover, even if he failed in his mission, what had he to lose, anyway? Standing firm on his resolve, he put into force what he’d envisioned. Mustering all the courage that ran in his blood, he finally spread word of his thoughts through the entire clan of labourers.

Over the next few days, there was quite an unusual commotion in their gloomy quarters; nothing like this had ever come up, before. Factions were created; some in support, some against, and some, too scared to even hold an opinion.

Quite expecting this, Yaakov didn’t give up; this time, he sought to personally speak to everyone he could gather, rather than relying merely on word of gossip.

“Friends, we have been used as pawns, as pigs for slaughter. We were promised work; paid work, at that. Work, which we got in wholesome; but what about the money we were promised but never received? What about their claims of letting us go back, whenever we needed to, but never freeing us, binding by preposterous permissions? What about freedom? If they shall have it their way, then it’s high time, we should, too.”

This, obviously, did cause unrest among the heavy crowd, who couldn’t help but add in their comments and concerns.

“Yaakov, you need to get back to your senses; this is pure lunacy!”

Supporting him, another added, “I couldn’t agree more to anything else. As it is we’re suffering, here. Can you even think of the outcomes of such an act? We could all die, for heaven’s sake!”

More and more exclamations poured in torrents; all seeming to be lost in the deafening deluge of Yaakov’s fervour. Although none in his favour, his confidence didn’t once waver. Once the consternation died down a little, Yaakov reassumed his poise, ready to face all the scrutiny that was to come, hoping to eventually get rid of it, for good.

“I’m aware about the implications all of you have just stated, and I completely agree with the fact that here, we have more than just our work to lose. But thinking in broader terms, if we succeed, we’ll be able to put a stop to all the atrocities committed by our masters. We may even be able to be our own masters. All we have to do is get out of the world we’re chained up in and step out into the other world, the real world, where we ought to belong, innately.”

Of course, utopia it was, but to practicality it didn’t cater.

“Yaakov, how exactly do you plan on getting out? It’s a law that we aren’t allowed to step out unless we have permission from the authorities. If we do, then we’re doomed.”

And another wave of cacophony burst up.

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Why should we have to need to take permission, in the first place? Aren’t we humans, just as they? If we don’t stand up for our rights, today, we won’t be able to, forever. Moreover, if it’s our lives we have to lose, then so be it. We’re not truly living, here, anyway, are we?”

The sermons continued and sessions like this became a common routine; the evolution from scrutiny to support was slow to come up. Yaakov wasn’t backing off, but he couldn’t take off alone, either.

Days passed by, so did weeks, and ultimately, months; Yaakov finally, got a troop of accomplices, who had acquired a similar zeal within them. Having people with him, Yaakov’s courage boosted tenfold; every shred of fear in him seemed to have abandoned him.

The much-awaited day, finally, arrived.

The sky screamed the much-needed encouragement; the soil bloomed motivation; the loathed indigo suddenly seemed uncannily bright, reflecting across it, the purple of mysticism.

Bars were lifted up, fences torn apart, and doors, unhinged. The soldiers of the fields marched in unison. Peace contained within, peace reflected outwards. Though socially powerless in comparison to their highly influential masters, they walked without trepidation.

But, of course, their utopia was invaded by the conflagrating oppressions of influential social powers; the strike was clamped down upon by brutal violence; the masters showing their repression; the slaves, their resilience.

As the brave warriors bled, shedding their precious blood, each drop registered as the seed to the tree of liberty. The cost of each drop accounting for the legacy they were leaving behind them; beckoning the coming generations to water the seeds they’d sown, to nurture them and attain the fruits they’d wished to cherish.

Each of the warriors fell; one after the other, reassured within themselves that this wasn’t their death, rather, the birth of yet another generation to come, to unite the two worlds which were built.

Each of the warriors fell; one after the other, reassured within themselves that the efforts had started; the line of doom was beginning to faint and the other ‘privileged’ world seemed greatly closer.