Monday morning, the Court convened. But who was to be blamed for the death? There was no suspect, no evidence that it was a murder. The town sheriff could not collect any substantial evidence, no one could be named for the death. Apparently it was some accidental hit and run. There were no witnesses of the incident. The biggest question was that why the matter was in the Court at all?

The town was abuzz with the talk. People were shocked, and some were devastated. They did not believe that things like that could happen. Not in their lifetime. They had denounced the act, and there was a public outcry to punish the guilty. To punish the blasphemous. So, the Court had to say something in the matter. The public’s sense of justice must be satiated.

The public was still outraged. To speak against God! Oh! The gravity of such an abominably shameful act. The public outrage could not be withheld. And that very night, the poor boy was beaten black, blue and maroon, to death. But the outrage had not subsided with his death. They kept hitting the dead body until the town sheriff had to use force to disperse that crowd.

One cannot punish the whole town! One cannot punish himself! The judge had reasoned with himself the night before. He had condoned the act, he had stood by and watched, next to the town sheriff. He did nothing to stop the people of the town, not even when the boy was dead. He had simply chosen to witness it, silently approve it, and breathed a sigh of relief while he was walking away from the mob hitting the dead boy. The judge had not participated in it, none close to him did. He was impartial and reasoned. There was no other judge in that small town. So, he steeled himself and ruled that the boy was blasphemous, and he had been punished appropriately for the heinous crime against God, by God himself.

It was an unnamed grave, in the backyard of the boy’s own house. The blasphemous do not have a place in God’s house.

Year’s later, when the newborns became young, the young became old, and the old, dead; when the now-old priest was on his death bed, the now-young priest asked him about the conspicuous nameless grave. Then the now-old priest told him of the blasphemous boy. It was during the Sunday morning mass, when the now-old priest had been delivering a sermon that the boy had dared to interrupt him, and had asked about something. What exactly it was, he could not recall; he blamed it on his aging memory. When in fact, he could not have recalled it after 2 days of the incident, no one did. They just knew that it was blasphemy, it was a crime; the boy had to be punished. The boy had questioned the priest over something, had asked to justify what he was saying, he had wanted a reason to do as he was being dictated. This was blasphemy. The voice against God had to be muted, the blasphemous voice must be punished; the voice of reason ought to be silenced.


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