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It
is that time of evening when earth and sky in the distance have very little to
differentiate them. I only know where there is earth because it is a more solid
block of color. Yet I am unable to say where exactly the mountains start. It is
an evening like that and in the summer at Anjanisain where from my porch I can
see far away the pinpricks of light showing where habitation is. There are of
course no lights here. The darkness here makes the picture in front more
prominent. Suddenly in this general darkness a mountain is outlined, etched and
silhouetted in detail in gold and red. It reminds me of pictures of lava rivers
but the peculiarity of this river is that it flows upstream; creeping up,
nibbling up, till the entire ridge is etched.
An
extra flare like a mashall which means I suppose, that a tree has succumbed to
the flames. Another intense flare up – bright light, liquid gold which soon
becomes molten red. A beautiful panoramic view. I can’t imagine the smoke the
fire is spewing out ,or the massive destruction being wrought in the forest. Had
it been nearer home and the smoke burnt my eyes and the heat made more
unbearable, I would have cursed it. But so far away it poses little threat and
looks so beautiful and magical.
Far
away in what seems like sky hang thin threads of red – evidently not sky.
There is a light wind , I wonder if a spark will be picked up and another
etching made ready or . OR will it slowly be allowed to die out for the sake of
the wild life in the forest and in turn our lives. Sadness creeps over me as the
wildness of the fire peters out. That madness that beauty has gone out and it
has come down to being something mundane – some thing that causes destruction.
The
river is slipping further away, the drama has shifted and I’m no longer
sitting in the front seat. In between the leaves of the trees I can see sudden
bursts of fire and can only imagine the play of colors. The haze will be horrid
tomorrow but the view was beautiful today.
A
fire on the other side of the hill flares up. I can’t see it, but the light
silhouettes the trees and the hill on the ridge; so that the mountain is half
etched in gold and red molten colors and half silhouetted against a red gold
glow.
The
nearly full moon is rising and will soon put to flight the mythical, magical,
mystical thought that earth and sky are one. Slowly the sky is lightening and
the mountains are righting themselves to stand aloft in the moonlight no longer
hidden in ambiguity.
The
crickets are calling in the darkness which will soon be lighter. The wick of the
lantern not trimmed well, is causing the flame to dance about. The chimney
blackened with soot that collected yesterday when I didn’t check the flame.
The
evenings are beautiful and later I see Smaug the dragon sitting on his treasures
and shooting flames at Bilbo Baggins. A snake appears and changes into a 3 and
then straightens out. The amazing thing is that I was quite sure that-that hill
was not exactly so low, only to realise that the forest fire was outlining what
it wanted- so a new landscape was being painted with a brush of fire……..
Aditi
29/04/99, Mahila Kunj, Anjanisain
Thousands of kilometers and millions of faces I have seen, sitting in a number of trains. Through many houses I have passed as a silent observer for a snapshot second. No feelings - not enough time for that, just mundane everyday actions that have to be gone through to live life.
Early
in the morning the eye is greeted with scores of bums or fronts of unseeing men.
They bare all but feel a hidden face ostrich like will veil the ridiculous
situation. I have seen pools of water throw back a perfect reflection; a
beautiful sunset, a darkened sky in a muddy field. Other pools grown over with
weeds and yet others that are dirty cess pools – the water telling us a slimy
green and black story that is ringed in different levels on the sides of the pig
rising out.
Speeding
through unknown terrain I saw fields one after another stretching out beyond the
periphery of my vision. Did the land belong to one or many? The harvest growing
didn’t care and I watching didn’t care. What I could see was how hard it was
to cultivate that land. In a brief glimpse I could see cattle turning a wheel
that in turn would lift water into the channel that would then drench the
parched land.
The
hot afternoon continued to burn and the next view was a tall wooden thatched
platform that seemed like a watchtower as it stood amidst the growing crop. A
man and a woman stretched out in deep repose atop that platform. Satiated and
blissfully at peace. I felt as though I had intruded and was watching a very
private moment.
The
train pulled me away from that scene too and prevented me from trespassing on
personal space and time.
Aditi
Written in a shatabdi 27/08/2000
About 10/05/2000 and other trips