The rest shall follow

Humanity and nature are two distinct terms for the same phenomenon. If someone conserves nature’s resources, it simply suggests that he is ready to let a fellow human utilise the resource, whom he may or may not even know. This is simply humanity- in its purest form.

As the sounds of glistening water echoed throughout the deserted island and the yellow-coloured fireball blazed at its peak, the two warriors realised that their canoe had somehow departed, leaving the two of them as the only habitants on the Soldier Island.
Inhuman efforts from two tired souls would be required for boating against the tide to the nearest mainland of Honai that was a full thirty-six nautical miles from the Island. Any sort of assistance, they realised, shall not arrive any time in the near future.
Acute panic set in as they realised the trouble of survival against thirst and hunger. However, the previous excursion experience had told them that food wouldn’t be a decisive factor, since Harglow Apricot trees were present in abundance at the southern end of the island, much to their delight.
“But how will we survive without water?” exclaimed Armstrong, more to himself than Wargrave. It is quite ironical how something as universal as water can become a conclusive aspect in a place surrounded by it on all sides. However, this is how nature works- in acute contrasts.
They frantically searched their canoe for any trace of water.
“The Lord is benevolent”, beamed Armstrong as he found fairly large water canister sandwiched between the quarter deck and fore mast. It could suffice them for a week or so. However, a fight soon commenced.
“As my position and age as a senior, it becomes not only my responsibility but also an obligation, to ensure fair and equitable distribution of the scarce resource that we both see before us”, said Wargrave as he attempted to take over.
“Which is- none for me and all for you, sir! I can sense your mischievous smile well.” Armstrong took a break and then spoke again. “Let the youth survive, for the old is just a matter of delay.” Armstrong’s eyes narrowed as Wargrave dragged his hands towards the scabbard.
“No use of a fight, Wargrave. There is a reason that we have been given a brain too, apart from the spinal cord—that you tend to use so soon.” Armstrong argued.
“The result of the fight is not an indicator of who is right, or who has better reasons. It only determines who is left. Better gear up for the fight well. At least be able to offer some resistance before you kiss the sand” the fierce eyes and clenched fists of Wargrave declared the mood.
As true warriors (and imbecilic humans) they decided to face each other on the battlefield the next morning. Whoever wins shall dictate the terms.
As the dawn approached the following day, the sun rose at a warm, languid pace. It had to be the only alibi to the colossal fight. The two prayed to their common God, seeking valour and power. Then they bowed to each other formally. The war commenced.
Wargrave attacked directly on the exposed portion of Armstrong. Armstrong parried and hustled with an admirable cat-like agility. Wargrave had to defend himself wide-eyed.
“Give up your ego. You can’t win.” Wargrave blabbered as he had to take his attacking foot backwards, towards the canoe. Then with a ferocious, overhead motion, A threw his sword on the opponent. Armstrong relented, but stabled himself again. “I will give up my ego. You give up on the canister” barked Armstrong as their blades blazed and clinked. The two sides were evenly matched. No result ensued for another 5 or 6 hours. Wargrave was panting hard now. He hacked at Armstrong’s blade, swiped aimlessly, and then threw himself into a flashy lunge. He shouted as he pointed Armstrong square in the abdomen, or so he presumed. Instead, Armstrong corkscrewed his blade around Wargrave’s and returned to his advancing posture. Then suddenly, Wargrave made a great oblique pass with his left foot outside his right, enveloped Armstrong’s dagger arm with a war-cloak, and delivered a fatal blow at his neck.
Armstrong came crashing down with a thud. A high wave emanated from the anguish-ridden sea. Armstrong could now clearly see the writing on the wall. He cast a final look towards his one-time mentor and friend as he threw away his sword in one last swift action.
Eyes are a mirror to a man. At this point of destiny though, it was hard to tell from the deadpan eyes of Wargrave if he was emphatic at his pompous win over the only existing person on the island save him, or whether he lamented the deed that he had so fastidiously performed. He gently closed the eyelids of Armstrong, prayed for his deceased soul and then rose. He went straight to their canoe, where water canister stood numb at the recent display of gory bloodshed.
Wargrave couldn’t believe his eyes. Probably he was in a demented state- no clarity of thoughts, a blurred vision. What he had done was to create a circular outlet in Armstrong’s throat, from which the liquid rushed out in frantic anger. But here, he could see a mirage at the canister’s throat- a circular outlet—liquid rushing out in frantic anger. No, it wasn’t a mirage. No, it wasn’t. Oh no, it was real! It was water. Armstrong had ensured that if he can’t drink water from the tank, neither can Wargrave. The last look was not that of longevity; it was of a last laugh, a deep-rooted disgust. The last swift action was the direct aim-- at the water canister that was depleted by the time Wargrave reached.
Wargrave was aghast. He opened the canister, peeked inside for any remnants of water. He even licked the canoe’s wet wooden surface. His hopes were dashing down rapidly. He lifted the canister-turned it upside down. However, it was all too desperate and too late. The damage had already been done. Small drops of canister water had already swum away in the infinite body of water that lay below it; probably the drops had died too. One can’t be too sure.
Wargrave cursed, abused and even kicked the dead body, but what good can a corpse possibly do? It was now just a matter of delay-the senior kissed the same sand that he had made Armstrong kiss some hours back. Former died in a pool of water, the later died due to lack of it-while both were surrounded by an infinite pool of water.
The real world is a mere scaled manifestation of the Solider Island. Nature, or the lack of it, can present itself in several forms. Greed of undivided possession-that eventually took two lives on the island; signifies lack of humanity, and is hence ‘anti-natural’ since nature’s law is to co-exist. The canister still has enough water. However, ‘having’ and ‘using’ are two features as different as chalk and cheese. To have a resource needs God’s grace, to use a resource needs human grace. The real problem doesn’t lie in conserving water; it lies in preserving humanity-the rest shall follow itself.