Glaring at the pencil-like sleek and sure fishing boat, far off in the ocean, moving/unmoving yet listening to the waves, Lo sat still, statue still… tail dancing now and then.
Wo, reaching there after a long stroll, declares without even looking – “not pencil-like, mm-mm, paint-brush-like… the strokes say so, Lo. Look-look, why don’t you look, Lo.”
“Quiet Wo! Where’s Mo. On the boat?” – says Lo.
“Meow, meow! I mean I don’t no.” – meows Wo.
Lo cleans her forepaws. Wo stretches, then chooses a good spot to rest. Her highness and his highness both looked, not searchingly, at their renounced kingdom. Oh! Pardon! Anytime now, his highness will doze off! And… now!
There that same fishing boat gets a bout of hiccups. Hindola-hindola…O, hindola-hindola*!
A strange phenomenon, ho-haye, thought the folks on board for theirs was the only fishing boat that was dancing not anyone else’s, haye-ho!
The waves clapped! Three drenched souls – two humans and a black cat named, Mo – on that same fishing boat fought the hiccups and looked at the shore.
“Someone’s missing ya, so they say!” – comments human one, holding on.
“Meow, meooowww! It is Lo, it is Lo, it is Looo!” – cries Mo.
Humans understand nothing. No, instead they open their eyes wide, looking left and right and left and right, ho-haye, haye-ho, shying from the ocean, silently swaying with the flow.
They survived and reached the shore, with fish, lobsters, prawns on board and the three souls in tow, caught in the net, dizzy and wet.
Trapped in the air, the salty news reaches Lo and Wo and they jump into action, meeting Mo on the go. Climbing walls, branches, climbing down stairs, crossing paths, they reach the neighbouring dock.
A piffling war, two high jumps, ducking for cover, grabbing and dashing away, the tails signalling victory… victory once again.
Mo bid bye in style, when Lo and Wo were busy sorting the loot… “Who gets the one prawn?” – they wonder, and so do we.
Hint – ask the painter babu who swiftly captured this moment before Lo could shout Wo or Wo, Lo.
*
Two cats holding a large prawn – a painting by the great Jamini Roy. [Source – Wikipedia]
The post is inspired by this amazingly simple yet fantastic Jamini Roy painting.
The beach was audible to her in intervals. She walked bare feet on the sand and still didn’t smile. Rhea had muffled thoughts, a cluster of it, covering her face. And that is why she couldn’t see the beautiful, starry canvas right above her. The sky didn’t twinkle, the waves didn’t play music for her. Like a ghost, locked in some tragic seconds, she moved slowly, that pale thing or maybe the world moved around her, and she stood still.
But the beach was audible to her in intervals. And she unconsciously moved towards the ocean. The interval ended, but it was too late for her to be locked back again… a wave rushed towards and caught her. Rhea took a deep breath and looked down, her feet were wet, the waves danced forward and backward. She smiled before she could stop herself.
Rhea could now hear the gushing ocean, see the sparkling stars, feel the cool wind and the cool sand. She started walking, this time not shying from the waves. She sauntered along the shore, opening her arms and welcoming the wind, the waves and the night sky… the interval overpowered unbeknownst to her.
Walking straight, walking on the mountain listening to ‘The Times They Are A Changin‘ I saw nothing, neither the trees nor the rocks, neither the shadow nor the light, and just kept walking ahead. Mountain spoke, I didn’t hear, until I bent a little.
It said, ‘You will reach your destination, you will, for sure’, and happily I smiled, crossed my hands behind my back and continued walking.
Swiftly I moved forward, there was no stopping me. Dashing ahead I crossed jungles after jungles, I played with the shadows and the light, I didn’t even wait for the wind.
Like a curse, definitely a curse, a disaster hit me – I started panting. It had never happened all this while, why now?
Then I remembered faintly of what the mountain told me… I pleaded it to guide me again, the mountain listened. It said, ‘Know patience and its power’, I bowed down and stopped walking. I stopped for the first time in my journey; I learned the art of deep breathing. Ages passed there; then I left in search.
In search of what I was looking for. I was looking for what I was in search of.
Familiar with the pace of the trees canopying me, stopping and listening to the rocks and their untold gathas, attuned with the shadow and the light, I kept walking when I reached near a ferociously musical river. It carried along the ocean’s depth and waves’ nimble notes… ‘Will merge with the ocean, I do not wait for anyone’, replied the river to my question – ‘can you please let me pass?’
So I changed my path and followed the river. Who said you can’t? Change… change and move ahead.
Right where the river met the ocean, where it all seemed to end, where the trees, rocks, shadow and light all disappeared, music stayed by my side and showed me a narrow, slippery way to cross the river. I stepped in, the water was cold, but shallow and so I could cross easily.
With joy and cheer I continued along, I danced on the way, I slept peacefully and then walked leisurely. I sang, the tune echoed. My mind envisioned a valley of flowers and pink clouds when suddenly I tumbled down.
I was hurt. My dream shattered and cold winds bruised me badly. It started hailing. Troubled, I shouted angrily… who knows at whom?
The weather opposed me and pinned me down, I accepted defeat.
Lying half dead, I waited for the weather to change…
When it did, I woke up and saw as the fog disappeared that there was a huge mountain standing in front of me. I couldn’t stop smiling, a new journey was going to begin.
*
Majestic, towering and free! [Image by Joe from Pixabay]
Endless footprints following footprints/
When suddenly a few of them rise/
To bloom like a flower.
Greetings!
A storyteller, following the ancient tradition of cave chroniclers, standing in vrikshasana (the tree pose) on a hill top (it is sunny, but windy), breathing in and out stories (relishing it all, but at times overwhelmed), declares animatedly that she will continue to – tell stories, share rare story gems, and connect with the pacy universe while also keeping the website ad-free.
Big thanks to my readers. Stay tuned!
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Ya-hoy!
Chiming Stories (formerly Home Chimes)
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Gabbeh, the 1996 film, is a simple tale of a gipsy girl, her clan and the way their life goes on. Unfolding beautifully just like an artist painting a canvas, Gabbeh quietly touches the grand questions.
Ranked as one of the greatest British films of all time, The Lavender Hill Mob confides in the audience, letting them see, feel, laugh and think without tickling persuasively with a joke here and a punch-line there.
Godard… Breathless and Alive
A Tribute to Jean-Luc Godard, the Film Philologist who Reinvented Cinema.
Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.
Silver cascade shimmering the night sky, music to the waves and surreal beauty to the eyes, the Moon loves the art of discipline.
It may be difficult to believe for the Moon’s splendour defies time, it stupefies the clock, it follows the path of a dreamer, but how could this be possible if the Moon knew not discipline?
In this moment, I am a little bit of this and a little bit of that, I am complete and incomplete, I am pleased and uncertain, I wish for nothing and I know I have to wait.
Because the distance covered reminds me of the hurdles I have crossed and the ones I could not, it reminds me of a throbbing past and a dreamy future and it reminds me of how much time is left.
Meredith and the Green Lake
Illimitable Splendour
A joy so complete without any rise or fall, so free without any time corners, so real without true being false, false being true.
