Streetlight

The streetlight flickered on.

It's incomplete glow flooded in through the French windows that separated the balcony from the living room. It was in the latter that it reached out to grace human life.

Sharad lay motionless on a mat. Eyes closed, his head rested upon a cosy arm, he gave out a stifled yawn. Sleep was incoming, but he had decided to wait. The streetlight blanketed him with assurance.

The streetlight was positioned conveniently(or perhaps inconveniently)across from Sharad's apartment. It stood out as a beacon, supervising the silent street. It weighed down the silence with a stern yellow glow.

Occasionally, wandering dogs would pass by, bowing down low to this source of light and then leave without a word, a whine or a whimper. Distant howls would fade upon touching the beams of light.

At the foot of the streetlight gathered men in a small number; five perhaps, or six, or four. They'd speak in whispers, cold whispers in the chilly air. Warmth was to be sought in the wiry tracts of cigarette smoke that rose to merge wth yellow light.

Around these men were houses; thatched roofs, ligneous doors and wooden windows. These were empty and showed no sign of animation save the odd swaying of a window shutter.

Sharad would witness the scene every midnight. He'd stare into the yellow light, deep in thought. He'd ponder perhaps, about life; his or someone else's, or in general about the affairs of the world, or random nothings.

Not every night was like this though. Once in a while, the streetlight would just go out, throwing the street into helpless panic. The howls of dogs would circle in, the insects screeching at this uproar. The wind would be disturbed, or lost, unable to find its course in the dark. In the pitch black then, Sharad would hear the rumble of engines. He deduced these were the sounds of several motorcycle entering the lane. When the engines were silenced, several creaks followed. Sharad felt the houses around him spring to life. He could sense the opening of doors and windows. The darkness would last for a few minutes before the streetlight flickered on again. This time, it highlighted the empty houses that seem unmoved and shone upon the gravel below, which, (as true to the nature of mosaic,) revealed no change.

Was there a trace of a sinister event in the air? Sharad wondered.

Sharad was a keen observer. A man of good memory and adequate intelligence. He had made an observation. The streetlight would go out only on a specific day of the month, the new moon day. It was evident that the miscreants, (if they were miscreants), wished to take refuge in complete darkness. As curiosity would have it when it meets intelligence, Sharad made a plan. He installed a powerful floodlight in the balcony where he used to sit for his midnight-thinking sessions.

He had it all sorted. When the light flickered off that night, he rose from where he lay. His drowsiness waned off when he stepped out into the chilly air. He heard the motorcycle engines rumble through the air. He waited for the creaks to follow. They did. The engines stopped. It was then when Sharad switched on the floodlight.

The floodlight might have been superior to the streetlight, for it revealed as much as the latter hid. It was just like Sharad had imagined. Motorcycles had come in from both the ends of the street. The whispering men from under the streetlight had risen to salute them.  The doors of the seemingly abandoned houses had opened, and people had come out through them. The people held in their hands pots of some kind.

Sharad had seen enough. That's what the people down there believed. A muffled gunshot propelled piercingly through the dense winter air. Sharad had no time to react, he was blinded by shock. He saw no more. He heard no more. Neither the howl of dogs, the wave of whispers in the street below, nor the rumble of departing motorcycle engines. Sharad had fallen flat upon the balcony floor.

A second gunshot had put the floodlight out of function; much the better for the arrival of its yellow companion across. The streetlight had flickered on, its glow on Sharad's face now complete with the emotion of death.