THE CURSE
Thirst!. Unquenchable Thirst!!. The pain of the thrashes and the bleeding from the crown of thorns!
Along with that the insensitive and cruel ridicule of those whom he loved, and above all the monotonous loneliness on the cross. He was totally exhausted. He came again.
He was naked. Nobody gave him clothes.
HE was thirsty, but nobody gave him water.
No door opened for him in the thick darkness of the night.
He felt that the pain in the heart was more unbearable than anything else. The cruel persecution he faced was nothing when compared to pain of immense loneliness of the outcast. He moved like a tired person. Blood was still coming out of the pierced hands and legs. His constant prayer was that the days to come should not be harsh for the hapless.
Prayers! How much of advices!! Miracles!!! Empowerments!!!
Ahh What an unbearable thirst! HE knocked at the door. Somebody opened the door. It was the old blacksmith. He was the one who made four nails instead of three and was cursed for that mistake.
“You again!”
“I am thirsty”
He asked in a feeble voice
The blacksmith went inside but did not bring water. He brought three nails. He counted them again to ensure his mistake is not repeated. He crucified him on that remnant of the tree stump.
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