Spring Season

I walk. The earth slightly sways with me to the left and right. In front of me dragonflies buzz past like stealth helicopters. Butterflies float around duty-fully. An iron handpump creaks and a hammer pounds--activities at Mr. Vidya's house. A breeze wafts past with the scent of burnt chicken feathers and then disappears. A butterfly zigzags past me below my knees--it's surveying the entire territory. A dove is cooing ardently. Another bird, it might be one of those redheaded mynahs, is giving off a mysterious sound at intervals--a progression of abrupt sounds that could be used in a thriller movie where the hero is heading to a climax. The dove is more ardent in its cooing now--in the background are mynahs and sparrows and hummingbirds but above all other voices is the cooing, the sound that is suitable for a thriller--and now i distinguish a whistling bird--it's tweeeeeeeeeeting. Tweeeeeeeeeetoe tweeeeeeeeeetoe. My goodness what is all these sudden universe of sound. One is making sounds that seem to express fear--one is a guttural laughter--one is real urgent: Pump it! Pump it quick! it seems to be saying. C'mon pump it pump it! Screech! He he he he he! And this one is a whirring sound--now that is a jeering sound.

And the butterflies are floating and flying, falling and pulling and resting. They are a wilful lot. And the cows graze upon the grass and moo lazily. And hearing one moo--the others moo too. And the music of birds continue. Suddenly a white crane leaps above me. A cool breeze sweeps past my neck.

Spring is sweet smelling, the earth smells as if it has just taken bath and is dressed in a new Sari. Only it is a thousand times better. Not just one sweet smell but many sweet smells from a hundred different sources: flowers and bees and nectars and trees and dew drops and white cranes and maleficent wind and blue sky and butterflies.

I bend down and pluck the tiny wild peas growing on the grass, for later. The paddy on the ploughed patches are just recently out of their husks. Innocent, fresh, green and adorable.

That solitary leafless tree and a stone's throw away from there the grove of bamboos stand silently. Sitting on the lone tree are two black birds--swallows i think--with long decorative tails. The outburst of bamboo leaves and the leafless tree with the two birds make me think of Claude Monet and Impressionism. Come to think of it: Today is such an Impressionistic day. The sun is soft and warm and the cows are swishing their tails as they bite from the layers of sweet smelling grass strewn all over the earth. The wind is blowing from behind me--it seems to kiss my neck and love kissing it over and over again.

And my goal?
My goal is to walk all the way to the middle of the meadow where i will sit and get drunk in joyfulness. And watch the new-born paddy waving softly.

It's not just the paddy that waves, the whole carpet of grass is flickering and waving with life.  Up above hidden among the clouds an aeroplane is travelling somewhere and producing a spiritual vibratory sound to the four directions. And now that I have sat down, I can hear and see all tiny details. The mustard flowers with their huge bosoms, the creeper plant with flowers like sugar sprinkles, the violet one, the buzzing of the restless flies, all the tiny sounds of the birds in the nearby forests, the white cranes hunting for worms, and oh! i just saw a bird moving amidst the green of the paddy like a shadow.

And now i can hear the wind sing. The grass is soft and cool on my legs and my arse. I certainly wish to lie down.

Let me lie down and make love to the wind, before it starts raining.

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