Another mile was covered. And then another. Not a quarter in my pocket but I had to ride on. A week’s journey and I hadn’t reached anywhere. The wild landscape was playing tricks on me. I had become weak and I was falling but I kept on as the land rose and fell and as the sun came up and went down. Now and then, a tree or two appeared and that was all. No days had been as drier as those and even for a drop of water, you had to pray really, really hard. But prayed as hard as I might have, no god ever showed its face or washed my head clean with some of its divine light. I was all alone. People said beasts had made a home there. Even they seemed to have moved on. Not as much as a claw was seen in any grain of sand or mud. I was weak and all grown down but my black steed looked as strong and bright as any ray of sunlight. He was made for such journeys. A creature like that, you cannot lock it up for long. Someday it has got to be set free and when that day comes, let its hooves not stop until it wants to stop or until it leaps off this damned horizon.
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