(Something I wrote at the beginning of Spring last year, while staying in Calcutta)
Winter had taken away every trace of green and the bony hands of bare branches thirstily stretched up towards the deceptive promise of a blue sky above. The little orchard had gone dry and dusty, except for the hardy jack fruit tree that stood at one corner with its thick skinned green leaves. Little whirling spools of dust roamed on the ground with impish delight, in the company of cavorting dry leaves.
That was a couple of months back, before the 'Koel" announced the arrival of spring and triggered a genetic wonder with its crystal-sweet awakening call. A few whimsical showers meandering across the narrow lanes and jammed roof-tops, played their supporting role. The songstress has since retired to her cool sub-Himalayan recess, having slipped in her ash-gray spotted eggs into the nest of the unsuspecting surrogate mother-crow.
In the last two months, the orchard has gone through a magical transformation. The romantic, frivolous mood of early spring has given way to responsible sure footsteps of productive youth.The trees and bushes are now leaden heavy with fruits and the air is fragrant with the smell of their flowers.A recent welcome shower has left a sheen of lustrous green on the plentiful cover. Butterflies in all colours and patterns flitter among the lush undergrowth. Bees, hornets, spiders, cicadas, marching files of ants and a hundred other denizen, that keep nature's food chain working; are all flourishing in their rightful niche. In the light afternoon breeze, the swaying branches and dancing twigs, instill a sense of joy and well being, to the passer by. No one would suspect that only the other day, spectre of hunger and famine loomed there.
As I sit at my window and savour the green, nature opens for me the door to her wonders. I hear the silent soothing strain of nature's music, that surge and ebb in rhythm with the changing seasons. Soft, sure, unhurried, it flows on, never missing a beat; rekindling life and aroma millions of year old. The little orchard leads the timeless, ageless life of nature; yet never stagnant, never static- always evolving, always new. In contrast we humans outside the four walls of the orchard, lead frenzied lives, with frayed nerves and dazed minds. We have cut the umbilical cord that connected us to mother earth and are now futilely searching with inflamed brains, for the lost rhythm in the plenty of a material world.
After Thought:
The orchard beckons me back to nature. Oh! how I wish to douse the fire in my inflamed brain, and put myself to sleep in nature's lullaby.
Yet I hold back from yielding and close my eyes to search inside. No, I am unable to douse this flame. For this fire is kindled by our curiosity, our thirst for knowledge and understanding; to make the unknown known and to find our place in the cosmos. The light from this flame is a beacon, in our search for an all encompassing Cosmic Rhythm, of which the rhythm in my orchard is but a single musical note. I have no idea if that celestial rhythm will ever reveal itself to us; but only with it shall I be able to decipher the music of my little orchard, which I can enjoy, yet not fully understand.
Winter had taken away every trace of green and the bony hands of bare branches thirstily stretched up towards the deceptive promise of a blue sky above. The little orchard had gone dry and dusty, except for the hardy jack fruit tree that stood at one corner with its thick skinned green leaves. Little whirling spools of dust roamed on the ground with impish delight, in the company of cavorting dry leaves.
That was a couple of months back, before the 'Koel" announced the arrival of spring and triggered a genetic wonder with its crystal-sweet awakening call. A few whimsical showers meandering across the narrow lanes and jammed roof-tops, played their supporting role. The songstress has since retired to her cool sub-Himalayan recess, having slipped in her ash-gray spotted eggs into the nest of the unsuspecting surrogate mother-crow.
In the last two months, the orchard has gone through a magical transformation. The romantic, frivolous mood of early spring has given way to responsible sure footsteps of productive youth.The trees and bushes are now leaden heavy with fruits and the air is fragrant with the smell of their flowers.A recent welcome shower has left a sheen of lustrous green on the plentiful cover. Butterflies in all colours and patterns flitter among the lush undergrowth. Bees, hornets, spiders, cicadas, marching files of ants and a hundred other denizen, that keep nature's food chain working; are all flourishing in their rightful niche. In the light afternoon breeze, the swaying branches and dancing twigs, instill a sense of joy and well being, to the passer by. No one would suspect that only the other day, spectre of hunger and famine loomed there.
As I sit at my window and savour the green, nature opens for me the door to her wonders. I hear the silent soothing strain of nature's music, that surge and ebb in rhythm with the changing seasons. Soft, sure, unhurried, it flows on, never missing a beat; rekindling life and aroma millions of year old. The little orchard leads the timeless, ageless life of nature; yet never stagnant, never static- always evolving, always new. In contrast we humans outside the four walls of the orchard, lead frenzied lives, with frayed nerves and dazed minds. We have cut the umbilical cord that connected us to mother earth and are now futilely searching with inflamed brains, for the lost rhythm in the plenty of a material world.
After Thought:
The orchard beckons me back to nature. Oh! how I wish to douse the fire in my inflamed brain, and put myself to sleep in nature's lullaby.
Yet I hold back from yielding and close my eyes to search inside. No, I am unable to douse this flame. For this fire is kindled by our curiosity, our thirst for knowledge and understanding; to make the unknown known and to find our place in the cosmos. The light from this flame is a beacon, in our search for an all encompassing Cosmic Rhythm, of which the rhythm in my orchard is but a single musical note. I have no idea if that celestial rhythm will ever reveal itself to us; but only with it shall I be able to decipher the music of my little orchard, which I can enjoy, yet not fully understand.