Title: Wading Across a Dream

He felt as though he had been convoluted like a rope, lying on this haystack, under the moonlight. All the vitality had been drained out after a long hard day’s work. There was no dearth of eternal sunshine in his spotless mind. He felt as though he has been elevated across the river which was flowing quietly, devoid of any currents. In his dream, he began to walk. Walking across the sandy banks, he strolled down a wooded path. No amount of procrastination in his thought and action could stop him from venturing there.

            Suddenly, the wooded, moonlight bathed portion of his path winded down. He felt as though an anomaly had suddenly occurred. He felt rustling of leaves under his feet. He could hear the crackling sound of dried twigs being trampled upon. An eerie silence began to prevail, over the tranquil feeling of peace.

            All of sudden, he came across a cemented grave. On the epitaph, he stared. Clearly, these were the words he had heard before, “ I shall arise the same, though changed.”

A sea of emotions rose through his heart, and the zeal to survive flourished across his veins, then he got up. His childhood nightmares have always been daunting. An insurmountable deluge of memories bloomed and shriveled up every day.  All his thoughts were inconsolable and incompatible. His bread was about to be taken away from him. To any child the dearest possession are his belongings, he craves about. To sarvesh, the belongings were his father’s only possession, the meager   source of income which the family could have, an acre of arable land, hardly enough to support a family of four.

            Now, in the picture, ‘I’ come into the story. It was a small hamlet of few scores of houses where mud thatched roofs dotted the landscape. My father was transferred to very rural small post office which had only two employees, one postmaster, along with postman. Since, I had no interest in little thumping of  seal on letters, tiny tickets or for that matter crinkling coins in the cash box, I usually stayed away from his work.

            My best friend being sarvesh an 11-12 year old boy with dark, complexioned athletic body, dirty nails, unkept   and uncombed hair, knickers which usually shifted waist down, when he ran.

It is said childhood is without boundaries and limitations. I along with him use to run amok in fields of wheat in winter months and in the dustball summer, use to climb up trees usually to fall down. Looking, for an odd mango or tamarind which frequently popped out of the trees. Bare feet we use to run, covered in dust and dirt, but truly in sync with nature.

            Sarvesh’s father land was being taken away, due to proposed development of community centre nearby. It was a government project, they were helpless to resist. No compensation could smoothen their hard landings. The net result was known to all, eviction from the village community and a life of daily wage earner in a city.

Now it was the month of August, the rains were heavy. It was the monsoon season. Winds howled across the muddy pathways. Battering sound of the doors due to gusts were making the night sound quite angry and disturbed. Then came, the heavy rains. Sarvesh was lying on the floor, looking up, and thinking in an abyss. What could he do? Circumstances make a person age in an hour, in a second, in a day or in a month.

Quietly he got up, crouching behind the haystack, that lay infront of his house, he disappeared into the deep night.

            His bare feet were making a slouching noise, when the rose and fell on the ground. A sound was originating from the slush, under his feet. The dark scene appeared more fearful when an occasional lightening struck. He rushed towards his father’s field. Upon crossing the field, there was a small pond, then a graveyard expanded into the wooded area.. He swam across the frothing pond and reached the graveyard.

            When it comes to survival, no amount of fear could surmount a person. Frantically he began to dig, deep and deep. There was a torrent of thoughts that gushed across his mind, like a stream. A voice spoke—

“You are disturbing the dead , May curse be upon You.”

But Sarvesh inner voice spoke-“ Then I would lie among you, what else could make me fear.” 

Brazenly, he took out bones and fragments of pieces lying around, never thought of their origination whether they were human remains or animal bones. Took as much as he could carry and swam across. Then, intentionally dug up his father’s field and placed the belongings he carried across.

Hidden in the dark and restless night, were his secrets. Softly, he came back to his house and slept. It rained for many days and then the sky was clear. Water evaporated, leaving the fields dry.

As usual, work began on his father’s field. When the digging started, fragments of bones began to appear. Superstition runs amok in rural areas, and when even a pin falls, things are made to appear that a mountain has broken apart.

            Such clamor and commotion rose across the village. People began to gather at a place and the work was halted.

“It is a cemetery”-one of them said-“Don’t disturb the dead.” Thus, ultimately after much discussion, it was decided to give an acre of land to Sarvesh’s father, on the outskirts of the village.

            The community centre was abandoned and now only the barren patch remains, solely neglected. When I frequent the place, which is very seldom, I come across the patch and contemplate for few moments. Had Sarvesh done wrong? Only I knew the secret and I had kept it buried deep within my heart.

Live the dream, wade across it , to feel alive , it is a story  never to be demystified.