Wednesday, February 3, 2010
It wasn’t just rain, it was a thundershower. And it had been going on for days bringing life to a stand still. Nobody in right mind could think of stepping out. The Met department had lived up to its reputation and had failed miserably in not predicting this onslaught and was equally helpless in being able to tell when it shall stop. It seemed God was suddenly gripped with this unshakable feeling of cleaning up the mortal’s planet, not only of the visible, conspicuous rubbish and garbage but also to wash away the dirt and the darkness resident within.
Whatever his reasons, rain for her had made everything beautiful. When everybody around was cursing the weather, she could not thank him enough. Not that she was particularly fond of him but in the present circumstances, she actually obliged him by thanking him. It was more like telling him, ‘Dude, you should have done this ages ago, but thanks anyway’.
The rain enthused, for her, a life force into everything it touched. She had been witnessing this process, from her window, from the very moment the first drops had come down. The Window- the place she loved the most in her life. It was a huge, wall-size window that looked out to the whole valley below. Curling up to the window with a mug of hot coffee and a book, she could spend a lifetime there. Today the book had been replaced. Sitting there comfortably with the inevitable mug of coffee, in a blanket, for with everything else the rain had brought down the temperatures too, her unwavering attention was assigned to the rain. The leaves had turned greener, the mud a deeper shade of brown, the river down gushing stronger than ever.
Unblinking she was gazing at the plum-size water droplets striking the window with brutal force and then meekly trickling down the glass. There were moments when she actually felt the drops would shatter the glass and make their way through. She had been sitting there for days now; from the very day the clouds had decided to burst open their bellies. All through she was admiring the determination of the otherwise harmless water to breakthrough and tear apart everything. And she so wanted it to happen- for it would be her salvation. She wanted the rain to come break the barrier and wash her away, gush through her life and with it take away the bitterness, the pain, the fears , the scars, the memories and the baggage that lied within her depths.
But at the end of five days, she was tired of waiting. The anticipation was killing her. Somewhere a feeling of betrayal was rising in her- like a bride on the wedding day, when the groom failed to turn up. Every single tick of the clock making the wait more painful.
Suddenly, she threw off everything, stepped into her floaters and ran. For her patience had ran out. If it would not come to her, she’ll go. Desperately and hurriedly she dashed out of the house, turning a deaf ear to her mother’s beckoning. Tears streaming down she ran and ran through the rain. Letting it pierce her body, and would let it, till it makes its way through her entire being.
Unthinkingly she reached the point, where she always did - to run away from reality, pain, unforgiving truths. The place she turned to - to hide. Huddled away from the world, under the hovering branches of the banyan tree, right at the foot of the hill where the river bent. But today, she wasn’t hiding; rather she was embracing it all with open arms – with the doors to her soul open. She didn’t cuddle up in the roots of the tree, she walked right into the rivers raging turbulent waters. For she knew this was the moment to experience the absolute truth, a fleeting moment of being one with the ultimate reality. To walk the gap that bridges the existing and the existed.
In the depths of the river, she found her deliverance.
It was winter. A winter that none had seen in the past decade. You could see your own breath and if you stood out in the open, it might have just frozen. And it was in this harsh winter, was a girl born early in the morning. The world had not yet come to life, when this little one breathed its first breath; and ominous it was - the birth. The clouds burst open, and it rained as if with a vengeance. Either it was God crying for having to part with that soul, or may be He was venting His anger for creating this one.
There was no rejoice or happiness; nobody to celebrate the continuity of life - for she was a girl. What was wanted, needed, required, wished for was a son. The brunt for birthing the wrong gender, was borne by none else than the mother. Nobody cared. They had all gone, grieving. She only had a frail blanket to keep her and the unwanted protected, from the harshness of the words and the winter. Howbeit, she couldn’t suppress the joy of creating life, even though it wasn’t a son. She knew not what to do, feel or say. Lying in her bed, she stared at the sky, searching for Him, and for an answer - had she never been born, how would a son today? And if her daughter wasn’t born today, how would a son tomorrow?