King

Life, just like a chess board, has its Kings and Queens. In a game of chess, a defeated King or Queen can rise again in its glory in the next game; but in real life, a King lost is lost forever.

The Queen hated her King. He was loud and arrogant and, frankly, a lazy bum. The only person she hated more was the Black Queen on the opposite side of the chess board. Every game was a death match, yet her brothers-in-arms couldn't stop joking and fraternizing with the enemy. The King was the worst. Hardly a few minutes into the game, he would begin making raucous jokes with the Knights about the Black Queen's ample bosom. The Bishops would sniff in disapproval, but no one paid them any mind.

 

The Queen was much more interested in the two friends who owned the board. Bal had gifted the board to Rita on her sixteenth birthday. Rita had been a bit disappointed�"chess was supposed to be uncool. But Bal took pains to teach her and make the game interesting. They played every day, even sneaking away sometimes to play in the shed. And Rita got better, so much so that she won most of the time. Bal didn't care. Maybe he liked losing, or maybe he just liked losing to his friend.

 

It was years later. The Queen was tired of being stuck in the box with the King who kept trying to press up against her. When the box was finally opened, the Queen found herself in a different room. Rita and Bal were sprawled on the bed as they used to. But they looked different�"older, more confident. They had grown up. Laughing and teasing, they played through the night. The Queen lost count of the number of games they played, neither caring who lost or won, and many times, the Queen was defeated by an opponent. The Black Queen smiled smugly each time had the chance to strike down the Queen. But somehow, the Queen couldn't hold that against the friends. Besides, she liked seeing her King getting stabbed once in a while.

 

And sometime during the night, Rita and Bal pushed the board away and kissed. The King immediately cracked a lewd joke and the knights guffawed. The Queen wanted to smite the lot of them.

 

They didn't play for many days afterwards. The board stood set on the table collecting dust. Next to it sat a tear-stained brown envelope labelled National Army Recruitment.

 

A thick layer of dust had formed on the board by now. The King had long given up on making a pass at her and focussed his attention on the unattainable Black Queen. The room was dark, but the Queen heard footsteps. Rita shuffled into the room.

 

For a long time, Rita stood looking at the board. Her dark eyes were tinged with red and her skin was ghostly pale. Then, she collapsed against the wall, hugging her knees and burrowing her face between them.

 

A few hours later, Rita crawled up to the desk and pulled out that hateful box, moved towards the board and began flinging in the chess pieces one by one. The last thing the Queen felt before being engulfed in darkness was the coolness of a tear slithering down her ivory body.

 

The Queen didn’t know anything about emotions. She had never loved her King to know what losing someone you loved meant. But even though she relished in the sight of him being beaten, she knew he would always be there, standing next to her in another game, another battle.

 

The Queen wondered what it would be like if she were left alone on the board. No King winking at her annoyingly, no Black Queen bitching at her, no pawns making traitorous bets, no Knights sniggering and making raucous jokes�"all alone as the black and white squares stared at her, empty of its occupants, empty of the challenge, empty of life.

 

She would rather let the Black Queen walk all over her than lose the dysfunctional companionship the pieces offered.

 

The Queen thought of that last image of Rita’s face when she had closed the box. Rita had finally lost the game. She had lost the only piece she had. She had lost her King.