This pinnacle, this pedestal, this face

Isn’t this my rightful place?

The superstar hovered above all, the crowds by his feet, the open sky above him. This was the moment he had lived for. This was for what he had endured all those difficult times of trying to make people believe in him, of trying to win the love and compassion of these people. Now, at this moment of his grand performance, he stayed silent, taking it all in.

Even through his tired eyes, he could see the crowds. They were all over the place. Every inch of the open ground was covered with them. Children sat on their fathers’ shoulders to get a better view. Women stood at the fringes of the crowd, trying to absorb every glimpse they got of the superstar. Young men climbed on whatever they could—rocks, rooftops, trees—to see the man they had come to see.

However, what made the superstar feel deeply contented within was that this was not a passive crowd. Many of these spectators were cheering him on, whistling and hooting and applauding. There were many that were even booing him too, wanting him out of the stage. But, he did not mind that—he accepted that no one could have universal appeal. The thing that pleased him, though, was that they were all chanting his name. Every child knew him now. Every household spoke of him. His name was on the lips of the poorest beggar and the richest master. People could ignore him, but they could never forget him.

The difficult struggle had begun to bear fruit several days ago. People who spoke highly of him spread his name. The word-of-mouth brought more people to witness his performance. He was new and his art was something that had never been seen before, but he stayed undeterred; he knew this was what he was born for. He was made to influence and inspire these audiences. He thought of his early boyhood days laboring away with his father in a shed, and he thought how right he was to give that up and pursue his mission. The laborer’s life was not meant for him.

The journey hadn’t been easy though. He had competitors and some archrivals. At every step, he met with temptations to give up his practice—temptations of riches and power. But this was the only thing he believed in. He shunned the temptation with great passion, stayed truthful to his performance.

It had borne fruit too. Just the previous day, he met the King. At that time, he felt as though this meeting was fated to happen; it was in his stars. The head of state was impressed by him. Though he was the leader of this part of the world, he did not look upon him as a superior meeting an inferior, but they met as two equals. Thousands of people lined up to hear their conversation. The superstar met the King with his head held high, and fielded all his questions with poise.

After that meeting, the crowd chanted his name all the more louder. They just could not get enough of him.

Walking up to this grand stage wasn’t easy either. The security detail had been lacking, but that was part of the plan. It was so that the crowd could get close to him, and they did. They even tore his clothes and distributed it among themselves, but he did not mind that. They would get his body anyway. He was all for giving up his body to his cheering fans. He was making history.

The afternoon clouds were gathering now, and it was the time for his final performance.

Hovering there, almost naked, higher than everyone else, he thought of the accomplishment of his three-decade long journey. Now, it would be just three more days and his detractors would be silenced. For generations. And for that, he did not mind the crucifixion at the cross between two robbers.

He knew he would rise again in three days. His rising would restore the faith in the world.


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