The summer dawn was taking over
the reign of the dark night sky. The slow chirping of the morning birds
accentuated the steady awakening of another summer day. The constricting
garrulous rivulets which laced through the rugged contours of those endless
equatorial woods fretted the tranquil silence. The rivers had started to bare
their muddy beds and the miniature marine creatures swam into deep crevices, where
the acrimony of the summer Sun could not usurp the water from those gorging
depths. The verdant foliages had been translated into a yard of dry carcass of
unclothed trees. It was the onset of summer in the Indian terrains of Sukhpur.
Molu and Daru, treaded through
that desolate wilderness in each other’s company in the rains, in the spring,
in the early fog of the winters and in every other season that the forest
witnessed. They leaped around the woody scarlet crested ‘Palash’ that adorned the mundane pale visage of the summer thickets.
They cavorted around, drunken in their innocuous playfulness and ventured into
the unanticipated perils of that rustic wood. They talked of the giant mules
that the villagers said infested the yonder edges and scampered after the
scuttling hares. Molu, like some forest phantom, carried that little girl on
his feeble shoulders as if she was his responsibility. He leaped across the
lacing brooks from one stone to another, ensuring his precarious foot holds on
each of them, with that frail girl clinging to his scrawny back.
Molu had been her keenest playmate since the day she had been his friend. He was perhaps a couple of years elder
to Daru. They were sent to the same school in the nearest hamlet. No one ever
saw them as disparate beings. They toddled through those bare groves, strewed
with the skeletons of the trees and often held grave disquisitions about the
patterns of the clouds that fleeted through that clean blue canvas, about
witches and magic. Years ambled past with briskness and Molu grew up .Daru metamorphosed
into a little mature teenager. And the subjects
of their debate matured as well. They talked of time and people. But the amity stood unwithered and unsullied as stood the
summer woods of sukhpur.
Daru often lifted her dark dazed
brows to clasp the endless proximities of the infinite sky and wondered how
time stroked at everything and translated every single object that the human intelligence
contemplated. And the little boy politely interrupted, “Not all Dara. Don’t we
stand the same?” and Daru scurried away in her usual gait. Molu could never
probe into the reason of her inexplicable sentences. She still remained the
same and so was he. Then what was it that time had distorted?
It was another summer then. The
trees had been charred to dark timber and the woody skeletons shuddered in the
sudden strokes of the warm ephemeral breezes. Daru ripped the dry lean boughs off
those dead woody carcasses and tucked it into the massive bamboo basket that nested
on her tiny crest. Molu surveyed the other barks from which they could procure
more dry branches. The wind played into
the barks and swayed her in its tender gentleness when suddenly she slipped off
and dropped on the jagged floor. Molu loped towards her with a rapid swiftness
and grabbed her slender hands in his’ to pull up her meager frame but she
jerked away. She pushed herself away from that little boy and stared at him
with a baffling astonishment and a strange loathsomeness. She picked herself up
with a jolt and fled away.
Molu stood speechless in deep
bewilderment.
His curiosity was answered.He recognized that it was just the complexion of the innocent relationship that had metamorphosed in those departed hours.
His curiosity was answered.He recognized that it was just the complexion of the innocent relationship that had metamorphosed in those departed hours.
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