A creepy, crawling encounter

 

There must be cockroaches in the house otherwise why would a big rascally centipede enter the house. Well, rural houses usually have many claimants including snakes, rats, lizards, frogs, spiders and many more. Maybe the centipede got angry for not finding a cockroach. An angry x, y, z is almost suicidal, be it humans, reptiles or animals. And if there is an angry creature nearby, you feel the pinch. I felt it. A sharp pain in the left big toe. I’m watching news, sitting on a chair, right leg crossed over the left, leaving the left toe open for attack by the angry centipede. The body seems to be its own master. We overestimate our conscious, voluntarily done efforts to save and preserve it. It knows far more than we think. My conscious part is absorbed in the political slugfest going on the television. But my toe has independent authority to save itself from a big, bullish centipede. I find myself jumping in the air. The toe knows how to save itself from a centipede that has decided to bite the hell out of it. The automatic vigorous shake by the toe and its ally foot and their bigger sister leg is enough to undo the centipede’s brazen attempt to taste my blood. There is a needle sharp pain. Thankfully it couldn’t pierce the skin.

The calculating and planning human has taken a backseat. It’s only the life force in the body responding to the emergency. The left foot is angry as can be understood. O God, the way it counterattacks! It swings into action. And the slippered foot is pounding the enemy, knowing exactly how rapidly to strike with full force. It’s done so swiftly. The centipede is a juicy mass in an instant. It happened so quickly. I’m staring at it as if someone else has done it. Where was I while all this happened? It wasn’t me who did it. The body did it of its own volition! Imagine the instinct of self-preservation ingrained in each cell of the body. And still we overthink and burden the mind about  preserving it. The way it strikes at a centipede in retaliation over a bite at its toe proves that it’s always on guard against the predators both visible and invisible. I think we can allow it more freedom in its functions and not burden its natural operations with our unnecessary worries.

I’m not sure how a saint would have behaved if attacked by a centipede. I hadn’t even stepped on it. It just attacked. Some karmic balance I suppose. Of course the saint’s body would have jumped in air at the bite. But I’m not sure about his foot going into retaliation of its own in an instant.

I don’t think I could have caught it alive because it would have crawled under the hideouts available in plenty in the room. As a normal person staying in society, you have to put a boundary beyond which the parameters of sin cease to operate. You have to take measures to maintain the safety of your place. Maybe that dharma is bigger than the killing of poisonous reptiles that sneak into your place.

Little Maira, my two-year-old niece, is enthused at watching her Tau’s body jumping like a monkey. She laughs. Thank God centipedes don’t have blood. It’s a watery juice of life oozing from the carcass. And a child would always take you out from the complex world of thoughts about sin, nobility, kindness, etc. As I’m staring at the consequences of my foot’s retaliatory strike, I hear Maira mumbling, ‘Tau isne sussu kar diya.’She meant‘uncle it’s peed’. And that lightened the moment instantly. Holding my leg, she is staring at the dead multiple-legged crawler mired in the watery discharge of its life force. We both laugh then. God would always pardon you if you are sharing laughter with a little kid, even if you are laughing at a dead centipede.