Special Edition: Snigdha Agrawal

Snigdha Agrawal

The Reckoning

Run... run, faster, faster!

they whispered, urging from behind.

The villagers moved like packed

tins of sardines, fleeing the orbit

hovering overhead, cathode rays crazed,

whipping a tide of dust,

blasting apart the granary’s heart,

spilling winter grains,

scattered to the four winds;

flattening ripe cornfields,

filling the air with the stench

of human excrement, from mobile toilets

placed near the granaries.

This then must be the apocalypse!

they cried, panic-stricken,

rushing headlong toward

the horizon, not knowing

where the land ended,

stumbling over the cliff’s edge,

plunging into the dark abyss beneath,

into the frothing sea,

meeting their death in watery graves,

both humans and animals.

The deserted village lay still,

a flattened relic of its past,

like an abandoned flatbread, left to decay.

She stood unmoved, watching the mayhem,

sadness writ across her face.

For once, her motherly instincts

failed to rise to the occasion,

failed to protect them.

They were undeserving of her sympathy.

They had let her down; her belligerent children;

disregarding the laws, etched in time itself,

tearing down forests, filling up water bodies,

consumed by greed, chasing wealth, at any cost.

Now, as the earth groaned and the skies wept fire,

she whispered, her voice echoing through the ruin:

"You were warned."

---

Setu, February 2025