"A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life"
- R.K. Narayan




He suffered claustrophobic fits every night. He was not meant to be this way - he had all the power to break free, but he would not. He was trapped, not by they who put him here, but by himself, by his own love to see them happy. It seemed like they needed him here, in this dark and dank corner, and he accepted it for their sake.
 
He was the one who created everything, right from the start. Every particle of matter, every inch of space, every beam of light, and then, just so that they wouldn't be confused, he put in place those inexhaustible sources of energy that magically packaged heat into packets of light and invisibly wafted them around on winds of radiation. Just some toys that would help the creatures wrap their head around, lest they are rendered maddened in the pursuit of finding His identity. And then, after preparing everything for their grand entrance, he had put them into that world. How cute they were, so innocent, so lively, so creative just like him.
 
No wonder they were His dearest creations, His children. He would do anything to see them happy.
 
And so it came to be that they summoned him down, and locked him up. It was to be his sanctum sanctorium. He was touched by their worship and adulation, by how they would clean him up every morning, and adorn him with the best flowers everyday; how they sang his praises. But that is where his joy would end. They had "installed" him there, meaning he had to be stuck to his throne and watch them marinate in their mediocrity outside. They would come close to the sanctum but always stood few steps away - never close enough to feel his warmth. They would bring butter, oil, milk, and all those precious savouries and dump it on him, like they were rejecting his gifts. They would light candles for him, while he yearned for the light outside.
 
The sanctum was dark and had grown grimy over the years. At nights when they locked the doors, he would cringe. He had created such vast space for himself, but lived like a prisoner now. On several lonely nights, he would make a resolve to escape the sanctum when they opened the doors the next morning. But by morning, his heart would have given way and he stayed on. On several noisy festival days, he yearned to walk out and sway his wand, so he could mute the sounds and make people listen to their own inner voice first. But seeing their joyous faces, he would suppress himself and let them be.
 
Every night he wailed in desperation, and by morning, when they opened the doors, he would be ready with that smiling fa├žade. Just so that they don't lose heart. No wonder, they called him God.
 
 
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