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.