LINEAGE-FICTIONAL SKETCHES

2 Did I descry the jounce in his eyes and the acedia of handshake when I introduced myself to them? I had all the shabbiness and the ill look of a merry andrew and that odd strabismus which set me out from any rout.

Sometimes it was my carapace to keep away from unwanted company.

Sometimes it was to my dolor that people took it as their apanage to disavow or delay those things that I merited.

There was a surplus of mosquitos in the room, that were crowding to hit the people at uneasy interludes making their shanks swollen and black. I had my name written on a slip that another man Friday, maybe a more trustable one accepted and handed over to Damo, my cousin the royal prince and future king. From childhood, we disliked these subterfuges, those trivial squabbles over things that are not permanent and in the hasty grabbing of it, man acquires more covetous qualities. Damo also had the same sentiments, maybe in a more intense way and he never sought the throne, neither for its own sake nor for any private gain in future. But circumstances were wrought in such a fashion that he had to accept the wand of the prince.

When we met, he sobbed. He called my name and cried like a kid. I too cried. Perhaps he was reminiscing my mother or his own mama or those happy years of childhood, free from concern and craftiness.

3 What is his life now? Who loves him now in a genuine way? Does his wife have that passion of youth and loves him from the depth of heart?

Can he, who is no less than a bundle of bones, love her with equal strength of body and spirit? From the plethora of sycophants who surround him and waste his time, can he with all the sharpness of mind distinguish the true one? Not likely. His cousin called my name and said