The River

'Come on dear, now you are going to catch cold again'... The lady shouted at the boy splashing through the flowing water round the rocks. She had almost done with her washing. 'Enough of swimming for today', she was heard to warn again.

‘But Ma, Da was saying that I have to swim a lot better to swim down there in the plains’, the little boy stood up from the water just for a moment to answer, and splashed back again. ‘I need to practice a lot…’- his voice sank down into the ever gurgling river.

The lady got up, and bundling the washed clothes at her waist, she approached the little kid. Sensing a captivation, he tried to flee hurling through the knee-deep water, but his mother was faster. The kid splashed a lot of water at his mother, who just bent down a little to pick him up. She trod on the rocky river-bed with a cautious ease, and returned to the bank, with her load of clothes and the kid at her waist. Skillfully she had managed to balance the clothes at her waist, and the kid on the clothes, grasping them together by a single hand. As she reached the bank, she started doing her drape that got messed during her work with the other hand. The kid was no more in a mood for protest. He had thrown his arms round his mother’s neck, and had rested his chin on her shoulder. He seemed a bit tired from the long exercise of swimming. Actually, he was thinking about a puzzle…

Da was saying this is no river, ma… just a stream. Rivers flow down there in the plains. But we call this our river…

The river could not listen to the conversation any more. The lady in the meantime had started for her home, and had already gone beyond audibility. But, for the first time in his life, she got something to think upon… if a river is not a river, then how does she flow? She was puzzled thoroughly, so puzzled that perhaps she forgot to flow.

‘What makes you to halt?’ Gurgled the water on the rocky bed angrily. ‘We are in a rush, and there is no time for your daydreaming…’

And that added to the complication. ‘Did I stop at all? What makes the water think that I stopped? Am I different from the water that flows on my bed?’… The river was totally confused. Just then she noticed the rock again, standing in her way as usual. Mad with her confusion, she splashed hard on the rock…

‘What makes you to stand in my way?’ The river seemed to swell in fury.

The rock was glad. The river had talked to him. It was no friendly manner though, still…, the rock was happy…

But you have brought me here… why do you complain now?

I would never have brought you here, and never had. It’s a lie…

‘Rocks never lie… they need not lying…’ The rock answered in his usual silence… ‘We speak the truth from the core of our heart, always… and so we are given the responsibility to preserve the history of this planet…’

However, his meditation broke soon at another hard splash from the river--- ‘You forget perhaps… it was a long time back when you had rolled me down here from the hills above’.

Long? How long that I can’t remember anything? 

Many cycles before… it’s so past that even I don’t remember exactly… 

‘Cycle? And what the hell is that?’ The river sounded very rude. The rock paused a little, and then threw a question back in return...

Why don’t you find out where this water comes from, and where it goes to?

Rubbish!!! How can I leave this place and go? I serve this village and belong to this very place. It must be one of your fine tricks to caste me away from this very place of mine.

Just send a bit of yours… you need not leave this place… this is yours… The rock sounded very tired from the heat of the conversation, and he uttered no more. The river thought for a while upon the suggestion, but remained undecided. She did not know how to part with a bit of herself to find out who she was. Just then she realized that she herself had rushed forward in the quest, leaving behind the rumbling behind…

It was really very funny… the river never had felt such before. Newer horizons were getting opened before her eyes… and most amazingly… she was feeling the same at home as she had always felt at her village. Newer environment, still in continuation with the previous one, brewing the same old at home feeling, as if one is walking from one room to another in his own house… the river did not know how to react with herself and the situation… 

She went on… her valley continued… the water rolled on… even she felt the rumbling, which she had left behind at her village, following her. Engrossed in her queer feeling, she had not noticed that she had reached the edge of the hill. She could not check herself but yelled out long as she jumped of the cliff.

But it did not hurt, for she did not fall on bare rocks, but had plunged on another bigger river down below. She felt ashamed and apologized, though in the core of her heart, she hold the rock responsible for this. Had he not suggested this very quest, such ill-mannered bumping would never have happened.

But nobody replied. ‘Not only the rocks’, thought the river, ‘but, even rivers can be ill-mannered’. She looked up to find if the other one had frowned, but was amazed to find nobody around. It was only her, just a bit grown up, rumbling round the rocks...

The riddle of the other one disappearing came clear soon as she found another plunging unto her. She tried her best to keep her away, but in vain. Soon, the other river crept unto her soul. The river could do nothing to save her own identity for herself only.

She felt tired out of weariness. If she could not remain herself, how was she going to return to her own place, the little village above? It was just a dirty trick of the rock to get rid of her from her own place. She knew it very well from the beginning that he was there only to be in her way. She felt very uneasy of the situation. She wished to stop and return to her old place, but she could not stop.

But distance did a marvel. As the river continued to flow, she felt that she was actually a single river flowing to a single tune. Herself, the larger one she joined in, and the other one that joined her,- none had ever been different. Their courses, their valleys and villages, the lives they support,--- all had been so alike. She flowed on as one… awaiting some more to come and join, with their own loads. She was growing…

And she continued to grow… more rivers came in and made tributes with their shares of treasures… sometimes even rain poured down to swell her up. But that never added to her hurry as before. She had got now much more to perform… to serve and support much more of the planet, but with increased responsibility, her calm had also increased. Even she had learned to distribute shares of responsibilities, and hence, sometimes branched off. Sometimes, as their shares were over, they returned to her; sometimes, they were sent to some other river. The river now knew that they all being the same, it must be her duty to feed others as she had been fed once to grow… to perform… to serve…

And as the river was growing wiser, she was being open to more and more learning. And the more she was learning, she was being more and more eager to share. Hence, when she met the sea, her joy knew no bound. She entered the sea and greeted all her other friends to share all her treasures she had been carrying so long… deep within her. 

The river was still far from understanding the words the rock had said. But, she had no more hard feelings for the rock. She had discovered herself and her world in a newer light of meaning. Instead of standing in segregation, she had started living in integrity. She rather bore a secret desire to thank the rock for his suggestion that had helped her to widen her vision. She had changed a lot since then. Even, she had made friendship with many a rock on her way down to the sea, had left her marks over their bosoms, and sometimes through them. Sometimes she had carried them with her, sometimes had reduced them, and sometimes had deposited them on her banks to grow unto soil in collaboration with humus.

The sun smiled again. It is said that strong desires can do miracles. And therefore, the river learnt of just another miracle of nature. She turned light, very light. She thought that it was good to feel light after sharing all her secret treasures with others. Soon, she turned so light that she went up into the sky in vapours. The river thus turned to be a floating pool of tiny droplets. She did not flow anymore, rather she started floating, floating above all, even above herself flowing below.

The Wind got stronger and blew her harder inland. It was a good time for looking down at one’s own self below. She started meditating upon herself and started to grow again on a completely different plane as she was being greeted continually by other clouds floating in the sky. 

One day, the horizon looked different from the other days. It was blocked by high mountain ranges. She tried to leap over, but failed. She poured down as heavy rain and washed down the mountains.

She was rushing down in small rills along the slope. A rock was on her way. She tried to bend her path away, but failed due to inertia. She collided…

The rock started rolling… it rolled along her… it rolled with her… until it collided with another rock. Then it stopped rolling, but at the cost of the other rock turning to pieces.

Round the rock, the river flows… 

The Snail

The morning was quite hot and humid. It was not very unusual for that part of the year in the region. The pair of antenna sensed the air above and around, and decided to continue the course forward. There were some pebbles, stones, and boulders, merged and submerged in the water that was flowing by, and a large piece of rock ahead. They could sense no more further. It continued to drag the load on its back, leaving a short slimy track whenever it moved across a dry surface. It had no clue about how far the destination might be.

It always had attempted to grow up to be the finest and the best among the lot since it learned to care for itself,- long long back. And, it always had an eye for attaining self-sufficiency. How it always had craved to be like those distant cousins who could play both mummy and daddy and get their own babies on their own... But, it was not like them. It could play either mummy or daddy, but needed a partner to play the other to get its own babies. Life would have been much easier if it had been like the distant cousins... complete in itself...

It continued to crawl, over the pebbles and stones and around the boulders,- towards the rock ahead. The cool water eased off some of its struggle, still the uncertainty ahead was quite merciless. The pair of antenna sensed a colony of tadpoles hatching out from their eggs nearby. Swarms of tiny fishlings greeted it once when it was crawling through the water flowing by. It could sense the rise of new lives all  around. It raised its antennae once again to decide its track ahead.

The rock was there, all through, watching the snail closely. It got to observe them a lot during this time of the year. In fact, he didn't remember how long he had been harbouring a colony at one of his crests this season every year. Curiously, the rock studied how these snails appeared each year one by one, arranged for a great party, danced together pairing up, and got new babies to continue the party. However, each year, some failed to set up the right course, and never reached him. Some got lost in the midway somehow. Probably, thought the rock, they ended up joining some other party going on somewhere else nearby. He wished the river to tell him more on this. But he knew the river was always too busy to chat with him...

The rock found it amazing to watch how some got to join the party at his, while others didn't. He wondered about the destiny of this traveller under his watch. The snail, of course, had no idea of being watched so eagerly. Had it been aware of the rock, it would have asked the rock about the great party it was heading for. Had it been a little more like its cousins, it would have saved the toil of the uncertain journey. It had been crawling for long, and had escaped some great dangers that could have ended its journey. It survived some of those critical moments by mere chance. But in the other cases, its instinct helped it to move on, as if, its parents had told it what to do to escape those perils even before he was born...

It suddenly realised then that it would be great to dance with someone in the party ahead who had also travelled for long to meet a partner. It might be a nice experience to share each other's stories before passing them onto the babies. Perhaps for the first time in its life, it was not feeling upset for being so unlike the cousins. Eagerly, it sped up...

But, the rock couldn't realise the difference. It had become, by then, busy following the kid who had been there alongwith mom for the regular washes. The kid's eyes had just rested on the lone snail leaving a wet track on a dry stone popping just above the water. It moved towards the snail. The rock, a little unnerved, watched...

The snail suddenly sensed an approaching turmoil, but before it could think, it got picked up from the stone it was crawling upon. It tried it's best to cling upon instinctively, but the force that picked it up was much more greater. Still, surprisingly, it was a soft, caring grip...

Ma, look... I've got a snail here. It has got away from its home at the rock...

Then why don't you put it back there? And make it quick. I'm almost done here, and it might rain soon...

The kid placed the snail down at the crevice where it had noticed a colony of snails sometime earlier. Eagerly, it ran back to mom splashing water all around stepping through the running water at the prospect of the relief the rain might bring. It had been too sultry for the kid to bear.

The rock was amused to find what miracles chances might perform. It was following closely how the snail was being greeted by many who were all looking partners to dance alongwith. The snail was looking forward to share its story, and learn new ones...

The Owl

It was a dark night. Down below, it was thoroughly visible.

Silently, he descended and perched on the rock. The crystal clear water of the stream revealed no prey for the night. The whole place seemed to be in deep slumber. Only a mild breeze was blowing, rustling through the leaves of the pipul tree. And there was the stream, flowing as ever before. No unusual sound greeted his eager ears.

The great bird closed his eyes. He pushed his head down at his neck and fluffed up the tiny feathers to beat the cold of the night. He readied himself for an uncertain wait…, possibly too long a wait… Who knows what turns up next? One has to be ready for a situation throughout…

Growing up with time, the bird has developed familiarity with such uncertain waits. He knows it well that patience is the key of life. So, he has learnt to wait.

Hello, wise bird…

The bird got startled. He started looking around for the voice. His flexibility helped him to scan through almost two-seventy degree, but he found none. He focussed sharp through spaces at length, but all in vain.

How do you do, my friend? 

He heard the voice again… This time he walked a few steps on the flat, raised surface of the rock over the water, and peeped at different corners. There was none… and nothing like an unusual night… The bird tried to hear the voice again, but couldn’t trace it.

He returned to his old place on the rock, and resumed the posture. Just for once, he had thought of changing the place; but he was curious. He was sure of the voice, and wanted to trace it. He was a bit proud of his typical ‘binocular’ vision that enables him to know things at even considerable distance, and surely of his flexibility, that allows him to turn around almost at every angle, gaining on almost every perspective. If only he could turn his neck through a complete three-sixty degree...

So the bird waited. He waited and waited. But nothing turned up. Not a prey, nor the voice. He was confused after a long wait. Just then, again the voice was heard…

Why don’t you look up closer?

For the first time in his life, the great bird started feeling being hunted down. A great hunter as he is, he is gifted with a great telescopic vision. But as close-ups are concerned, he is really poor at it. Lamp illuminates around itself, but at its bottom, it remains the darkest.

The rock beneath was cold. That started chilling the great hunter down. He was able to feel the chill coming up through his bones. He closed his eyes.

Suddenly, he realized. It came to him like a lightning, out of the blue. He knew that what can be heard, can be seen. Now he understood what can’t be seen, can be felt.

He started feeling the situation… close to himself…the rhythm surrounding him. He knew he was perching upon a rock. But for the first time, he felt its presence below. He felt the rock speaking to him in his language. He was glad to feel the most unusual friendship on the planet.

He was not feeling cold anymore. The new friendship seemed to warm up his bosom. And the warmth of his heart flew down, and it seemed to touch the rock.

It had already started to dawn by then. The great bird stretched its wings to embrace the wind to get back to its home. The rock below was feeling proud of its wiser friend.

 The Yellowed Leaf

It was just another day… another usual day… just as bright and as sunny as the other usual winter days in the valley. The sun was already there, up in the sky… bright and smiling… warming up everything down heartily. A cold, mild wind was blowing playfully all around… rustling through the leaves of the Peepul tree, startling the little waves down the river, whispering around the rock below… fluffing up the feathers of the early birds basking in the warmth of the morning light. Everything was in the usual rhythm. But the Peepul tree had noticed something different…

It was about one of his leaves… all of them were rustling pleasantly in the northern breeze… welcoming the season… and the brightness of the morning… and were waving their green into the very heart of the valley. However, one particular leaf at the end of a branch had lost its usual green lusture, turning yellowish. The Peepul tree knew the signs. Soon the leaf would lose all its green… and would turn yellow and brown… and then would end up dropping down. And soon, the same would occur with all the other leaves… it was just the beginning…

The Peepul tree would have bursted into tears… if it had human eyes. Everything all around was so happy… just it was very different,… and so very different with the Peepul tree only. He was very well aware of the bare truth of the coming days. When everything will be bright and colourful under the sun, he will be left bare… standing colourless in its mere skeleton… all alone with its helpless, skinny shadow trembling down the river. 

The Peepul tree was not mistaken. He had observed the same phenomenon for years. And perhaps, as he dreaded and disliked this bare fact utmost in his life, the pain always seemed to increase each and every time he discovered his leaves turning yellow one by one… Moreover, he always expected others to turn compassionate and sympathetic, but they all seemed to be least concerned… paying no heed at all.

Hence, at such times, the bitter Peepul tree actually hated the friendly playful jest of the wind. Though the wind played along its boughs and branches almost throughout the year, at these times of the years, he simply turned mad at the wind. He himself always had been very friendly with the river flowing by… bending down its branches often to say a friendly ‘hello’, and rising back happy being touched by the startling waves. But during these periods, it had occurred to him, that the river only leapt high to mock his bareness. Even, at such times, he disliked the attitude of the rock below, down in the river. His silent presence, that seemed always to be a friendly, wise neighbour-like attitude during the rest of the year, seemed quite bantering these days. His peace was gone for the days…

The leaf was quite aware of the Peepul tree’s suffering. It was not that he was not concerned, but he preferred not to approach the tree to soothe his pain. Rather he believed to trust in one’s own capacity to realize the truths of life. He had been feeding the tree like his own since very long, since his very own childhood. He himself had turned quite old. Still, he was not relieved of his responsibilities. None gets relieved actually, for each age has got its own responsibilities to bear. The toxins the leaf had accumulated in himself from his experience of life was to be turned to life again through his own death… It just waited for the ripe moment…

The wind blew again to kiss the leaf the final goodbye… It did not drop, rather it rode the wind to glide to the rock down in the river. The rock seemed to have waiting for his friend for long. The fallen leaf ran along the surface of the rock, in a swirling motion, as if, bidding him to join, before it leapt into the river. A small wave pushed him gently to a sheltered part in the shallow bank. Lying there, for his final rest, the leaf winked at the rock. The Peepul tree observed painfully its first leaf to fall for that season. 

The rock smiled back at the leaf. He knew the leaf would wait for him to join there… when washed to small grains by the rumbling river, he and the leaf together, they would bring life to the soil again… where the Peepul tree will thrive, and many more will grow. 

The wind hurled back to the other leaves of the Peepul tree to share the news.

 The Caterpillar

The day is approaching dusk. The bright light is fading into the dark labyrinth of the night. Po heaves a deep sigh. It is not a sigh of relief. Po is burdened with his life.

As far as Po can remember, his life has never been easy at all. Well, people might eye Po and smile a little at the corners of their lips, if they somehow hear those words that Po never has uttered publicly. But, they are not to be blamed. Common people easily fall prey to the most common mistake of judging things by their appearances. 

Apparently, very few of the colony are as fat and sleek as Po. He can’t remember when he hatched out exactly from his egg. But he remembers very distinctly that he was the last one who hatched out on that leaf. All had hatched out before him. He was desperately looking for a place to start his share of the great feast of the peepul leaf he was on with his other mates, but in vain. The other ones in the mean time had got charged with some extra calories from the peepul leaves, whereas Po had to rely upon his share of the yolk only. Evidently, that was not enough to push through the other larger and fatter and stronger caterpillars to make a way for his own. His tiny body was there all alone to fight out a lost battle.

But what was inappropriate to fight the other caterpillars, came very useful to fight the wind blowing often around the tree. The wind easily caught the fat ones, and dispersed them at its freewill. Somehow, the wind acted foolishly, thought Po. Caterpillars never grow into trees, if dispersed, like seeds. Why the hell the wind was so keen on blowing them out again and again? Po is still to solve the mystery. However, this foolishness of the wind helped Po to gain some advantage in his battle of life that he thought had already been lost back then. The moment turned out to be quite lucky for him when he was gifted the security a comfortable edge of the leave he was on as the caterpillar munching there suddenly got blown away in the wind.

Did not he get his clings? Po still feels very uneasy today as he remembers the incident. Po had started munching the edge almost immediately as it was left by the previous one. However, the previous one was luckier than the poor fellow that fell below on the rock today. He was blown to another peepul leaf a little downwards. But the fellow today was not that lucky.

Po had soon started to grow as a caterpillar. The peepul leaves are plenty here. They are green and fresh too. As the tree is huge, it gives them shade too. Else, they would have found the sun too scorchy. But, life has never been all smooth. The place has a good number of birds who find the caterpillars very apt to feed their offsprings. They hunt the place every now and then this season. However, the peepul tree has been too kind for Po. He has gifted Po his leaves to grow, and cracks on the branches to avoid the wind, when it has been fierce; or the birds, when they have been hunting other caterpillars to feed their little ones.

Po had fed upon the peepul leaves voraciously for a good many days. Yes, in the process, he also had deprived the right of many new born who came after Po from some other egg colony. Sometimes, Po’s conscience reminded him of his first battle of life. But strangely, somehow the pricks were as volatile as wisps in the marsh. These late comers never got any consideration from Po for their share in the feast. Po never had guided them to the cracks of the tree either.

Po is feeling very stiff at his neck and body. The nutritious leaves has gifted him some extra fat. He slowly starts moving his head round, as if keen on doing a bit of exercise to melt the extra bit, and not to notice the world around him. He keeps his eyes closed. Po is trying to think. He is trying to see inside himself.

How did he survive the good many days? The wind never blew too hard on him, he thought. He had his crack on the bark of the old tree, too. He used his clings wisely… and yes, Po was ever cautious of the birds too. But still, he was not the cautious one alone. Po remembered the guy from another branch nearby who fell on the rock below today. For some unknown reason, he was fond of Po, and used to advise him at every opportune moment about the ways of the world. It was he who guided Po often on how to avoid the dark claws of death. And he was learned enough to teach many smart fellows, remembered Po. Still, he himself could not avoid his untimely death. 

What has Po done in his life? He has secured his life till now. Different people has helped him on his way at different times. Po will never forget the caterpillar who fell on the rock below today in his life. And the peepul tree? How can he forget such a friend of his? And why not the wind? Has he not been a bit partial about Po? Would Po have been able to fight him out if he had been keen on blowing Po out of his place? And, were not the birds helpful overlooking his extra fat every time they visited the tree? 

Po is feeling more stiffness in his body. He plans to move a little to stretch out his body, but can not. He tries to open his eyes, but for some unknown fear, he can not open his eyes. The stiffness is steadily growing into his body, reaching his mind. What is wrong with him?

Po tries to think. What has he done to repay his life? Well, he had faced his share of oddities. And he was able to make them even too. He had received much in his life, he had seen many in his life, and now he must pay back... Yes, he must… He must... Must...

Po does not remember how long he was meditating with his newly set aim. But he was keen to pay his life back, though he was not sure about the way. His keenness has done a marvel. Po suddenly has sensed a riot of colours. He is overwhelmed with the possibility. He is going to pay his life back with all the colours of the world. Po spreads his wings.

The wind murmurs. The peepul leaves rustle. Po flaps his wings to spread the colours throughout. The sun smiles to encourage Po.

The Rock

Round the rock, the river rumbled-

Old fool. Always in my way! Can’t move aside for a while even...

What’s up dear? A bit sour today? 

A fish swam forward. He was eager to hear in details.

Just have a look... That big lump is always against my flow, turning me out of my rhythm.

Hm... They are always like that. Headstrong fellows.

The fish streamed straight to the rock as if to throw it out of the way. As he neared, the swaying moss on the rock caught his attention. He started pecking the rock gently, the moss was rich.

Huh...

The disgusted river leapt forward. She had expected the fish to come up for her.

The rock was as silent as ever. With his eyes shut, he was feeling the fish pecking at the moss on his body. He was there even before the river came. He had never cherished any desire to be in somebody’s way. He wished if he could roll a little. He was very lonely there,- all alone amidst a crowd. Suddenly, the rock opened his eyes wide. Something strange was crawling on his sun scorched back. It was a caterpillar, blown by the wind by chance from the peepul tree overhanging the river.

Uff! Its burning here...

The caterpillar crawled for a shade. But it had fallen on the bare top of the rock that has pushed up from the water. There wasn't a single spot covered. And the autumn sun overhead had made the bare rock tormenting enough for the caterpillar. Wearily, it started creeping down looking for a crevice. And then it slipped, perhaps the rock was too hot to grip, or the worm was feeling giddy while climbing down.

Down dropped the drop... The worm had circled itself during the free fall. The rock was feeling very uneasy. The splash, though faint, reached the fish. It turned back, and in no time darted forward- gulp...

It is always good to have moss dipped in caterpillar sauce, but one doesn’t get them often now-a-days. Do you have a regular supply?

The fish asked the rock, but didn’t wait for an answer. He swam forward steadily for something new that has attracted his attention.

The rock sat there silently. Was he thinking about the caterpillar? They seldom reach him, incidentally blown by the winds. Even the butterflies, they prefer the shade of the peepul tree, and don’t come to him save occasions. Was he feeling sorry for the worm? He didn’t know. Was he thinking of the fish? Perhaps not. He knew that the fish was there for the moss. It touched him because he has moss grown over his body. The only one who was always with him was the river, though it complained and grumbled without a single break about him being there. 

The rock breathed heavily. He was unable to think anymore. The heat of the sun was charring his brain. He wanted to have a deep dip into the water, but sat there, unable to move.

Time rolled to the dark hours. The cool of the night turned the rock sleepy. His dozing turned to a deep slumber under the starry sky...

A giant rock rolled down along the river and crashed into the rock. For the first time, since he could remember, he rolled out of his place, but in pieces…

What the hell!

It’s raining heavily at the hills; I myself was even knocked down by a larger brat...

The boulders were trying hard to hold to their posts, but the current was messing them up. They started rolling, first being confused, from the age-old inertia. Then after crossing a distance, they started rolling together, in harmony with the river. The river was flowing peacefully; it was not the river whom the old rock knew. Under the moonlight, the river sparkled, and the boulders felt at perfect peace with the world.

The sun shone again. The first rays awoke the rock. It smiled as it recalled the dream last night. The river was rumbling round him. For the first time in his life, the rock spoke to the river in his mind- 

One day, I will roll with you, dear friend... 

He didn’t know, why in particular, he was not feeling lonely anymore.