‘Who are you?’ Zara asked her image.
‘Who are you?’ the image asked her back.
‘Who am I?’ asked Zara, peering deep within into her own self and then deep outside at her image in the pool.
Ripples went out in circles on the pool’s surface and then sprang up in a fountain from its centre, spraying droplets on Zara’s face, drenching her all over in the midday sun, as a sing-song voice rose from deep within the bowels of the pool. ‘I am Who,’ came the voice.
And then, followed a sweet song, ‘Jo tu hai, so main hoon; jo main hoon, so tu hai!’ (What you are, so am I; what I am, so are you!)
‘Come again’, Zara said to herself, stare frozen, ears erect, those magical, comforting words, incomprehensible.
‘Have faith in yourself, Zara,’ said the voice from within the pool. ‘No one here is bigger than you, nor is anyone smaller than you are. Not the ant, not the housefly, not the butterfly, not the dragonfly, not the grasshopper, not the frog, not the monitor lizard, and, least of all, not the elephant. Come look again, little Zara, neither is there any joy for you around this place nor is there any sorrow . . . what you are, little Zara, so I am; what I am, so you are.’
And then, all fell silent.
Dazed, Zara took a while to regain her bearings before she turned to her surroundings again. The elephant, the lizard, the grasshopper, the dragonfly, the butterfly, the housefly, and the ant were all gone.
Silent, Zara raised her ears. The frog croaked once more, then, hopped out of the pool. And hop, hop, hop it went, towards the steps on the eastern bank.
It must have been a long crawl for Zara from the time her bubble burst open till her rendezvous with her self by the pool. Shrugging off her magic encounter, Zara pulled herself up. And as the frog hopped out of the pool and went off towards the steps, she turned, one faltering step at a time, in the footsteps of the frog.
Hop, hop, hop, the frog jumped, pausing at every hop, letting out a croak; its tongue darting out time and again, much like the lizard earlier, snacking on every flying worm that came its way, gluttony bloating its stomach.
Zara giggled at its sight, imitated the hop, and fell. Then, she collected herself, toddling in unbalanced gait on her tender legs over the rocks and pebbles on the river bed.
Level II
THE ILLUSION OF IDENTITY
CHAPTER 1
It had started drizzling, and, soon, a steady downpour came calling from the sky as a stream appeared on the river bed, swallowing up the pool in a moment.
‘Hurry,’ the frog croaked at Zara, taking one last giant hop to the eastern bank and landing on all fours on the first step from the river.
Drenched all over, Zara, now a sprightly twelve-year-old, hurried as the stream rushed to her ankles.
‘Hurry up!’ the frog croaked again before Zara took her last faltering step to the bank.
‘Whew! You made it on time,’ the frog told Zara as she gasped for breath. And then, she turned back to take one long good look at the river, now in full flow by the bank.
‘Hi Zara!’ the frog beckoned with a smile. ‘Did you notice how the pool of water recognised you when you first asked her who you were?’
Zara, amused, raised her brows and nodded, a smile smeared across her face.
‘Yes, that’s right. How did it happen?’ she asked.
‘That’s magic,’ said the frog. ‘You remember all those creatures by the pool: the ants, the housefly, the butterfly, the dragonfly, the grasshopper, the lizard, and the elephant? They all came down to the river to quench their existential thirst. And yet, you stood out, one among many, and the river recognised who you really are.’
‘That’s fascinating,’ Zara wondered aloud. ‘How did all this happen? I had never felt so wanted before. The river gave me the comfort of my diverse surroundings—of insects, animals, and plants.’ And saying so, Zara turned to the river.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
The river, now in spate, laughed aloud. ‘Ha! me, Zara? I am what you are. Better still, I am what you perceive I am. Right now, dear Zara, you perceive me a giant swell of water in spate, and yet, not long ago, I was only a puddle till I became a pool, a stream, a river. When I am here, as I now am, I am what you see me to be. And when I am many hundred miles down south, I am a giant ocean. But Zara, I am not just this, and this, and this, that you have seen me to be. Up there, high in the mountains where you originally belong, I was solid ice that gave shape to the glacier. And before I froze into ice, dear Zara, I was soft, woolly snow formed by droplets of water accumulated in the sky.’
‘O Rivah! I can see you on the ground as a river that I have seen so far, at times a puddle, at times a pool, and now, as a massive swell. I can imagine you rushing down here in a torrent, just the way I came riding you in a bubble from high up in freezing wilderness. But, dear Rivah!, how do I ever catch you in the sky, if all you say is perception?’
‘Hang on, Zara,’ the river replied. ‘You’ll learn more as you grow. I keep changing forever as perceptions about me keep changing. So will you now that you have come down to earth.
Zara raised her brows again and asked, ‘But please, Rivah! please tell me how you got to ride the sky, just as you get to ride the earth right now?’
‘Oh well, Zara,’ said the river, ‘that’s a long story. When I reach my destination and become the ocean and the world can hold me no more in the sweltering heat, I rise to the sky above, reaching out to tame the sun as cloud. But then, in the piercing cold of the sky, I long for the comforting cradle of the earth and begin to cry. And so, I descend again to earth, sometimes as rain, at times as snow, and, thus, I ride another cycle. That’s life, Zara, that’s your story as well as mine. It’s just a change of form. It’s just a change of perception.’
‘Remember, jo tu hai, so main hoon; jo main hoon, so tu hai!’ the river said in the now familiar sing-song voice.
And the thousand bells began to toll once more. Unnoticed by Zara, the sun had gone down behind the Moonshine Mount. The neon glaze from the metro beyond the Peacock Ridge lit up the distant sky in a soft and subdued glow. And then, the glowworms came to life in thousands on the steps of the eastern bank, drowning Zara in a sea of twinkling lights amidst the surrounding darkness as more bells rent the air to the accompaniment of a thousand conch shells. And the lamps in leaf cups came floating down the river before rising to the sky in the distance.
Zara sat on the first step by the river, her feet dipped in the flowing water, lost deep in contemplation.
It wasn’t long before darkness crept in all over again.
CHAPTER 2
Zara woke up to a scary sight at the first rays of dawn. Still sitting on the step, her feet dipped in water, her head tilted to the left, her left cheek resting on the flat of her palm; she had dozed off the night before in deep contemplation. Before long, a sudden drone broke her sleep. As if a chopper was approaching her from the rear and then, a couple . . . a dozen . . . a hundred and more . . .
Hmmmmm! came the buzz, growing louder by the second.
Zara turned back from the river to the flight of steps, climbing down from the promenade. Swarms of giant worms and little crawlies came creeping down towards the river from the rise above. Soon, every square inch of the steps was covered by creatures in green, and yellow, and black, and brown, and red, each larger than the other—ants by the billions, caterpillars, earthworms, houseflies, bees, butterflies, dragonflies, grasshoppers, frogs, and lizards. Every worm, every creature in millions after millions, in wave after wave, crawling down the steps, each little worm trying to outpace the other, pushing one to the other aside.
Soon, the sky, too, filled up with swarms clouding the Peacock Ridge and the Moonshine Mount on the bank across rising above the Ah!nandita Hills, darkening the sky in broad daylight, as the buzz grew louder and louder and louder.
‘They are going to crawl all over me,’ Zara shivered in panic, her peach-red face turned pale. She shut her
eyes tight and tucked her face into her arms crossed over her knees, her head reeling from the buzz.
Finally, when she came around and lifted her head, it was quiet again. A sweet, musical voice loomed over her shoulder. ‘Rest easy, folks. Focus within yourself. Gather your wits. It’s time for lessons,’ whispered the giant butterfly.
And then, she heard a domineering command, ‘Do not rest your eyes on what you see around. Do not seek the external manifestation of what really is within. Seek the silence of your soul, seek the wisdom of your heart,’ the monitor lizard strutted about, inspecting and instructing.
Zara looked around. The giant butterfly fluttered overhead as the rest of the creatures settled quietly on the steps, at elbow distance from Zara, sparing just enough space to turn her head around. The old and the infirm were still on the promenade, peering down at the river. The young and the agile had settled on the lower steps, next to Zara. A couple of youngsters lazed around at the top among the laggards, while a few able-bodied among the elders sat by the waterside.
Zara noticed the frog who had led her to the steps, at a distance, sitting in silent contemplation, an eye still on her, but unmindful of the creatures that would otherwise make for a feast any other time. The monitor lizard sat right behind her on the step above. Only the butterflies still fluttered, in silence, spreading radiance in the sky that looked so violently scary not so long ago. On the bank across the river, the tittiris had parked themselves in a single row on the first step from the river at the feet of the Ah!nandita Hills, pecking at the red fig seeds from the banyan tree scattered all over. Nearby, a couple of swans courted each other, as did two vain peacocks strutting from here to there, flaunting their rich, colourful plumes. A crocodile basked in the sunshine at a distance, brooding over a batch of eggs. And the river, its clear green water, flowed between the banks.
Zara looked deep into the water. Giant mahseers meditated in stillness even as the water rushed over them at high velocity.
And she rested her chin in the cusp of her palms that, in turn, rested on her elbows that rested on her thighs.
‘It’s so quiet and peaceful around. The creatures are so calm. Then, why the mad scramble?’ Zara wondered. And she thought, and thought, and thought . . . delving deep within, when unnoticed by her, the river stopped her flow.
‘Good morning, Rivah! Wish us well,’ the creatures bowed, chanting aloud, together.
‘Good morning! Wish you well, dear life,’ the river replied. And then, rising in a gigantic wave, she sang:
I know not how to bow, O Rivah!
Please teach me how to bend.
‘I know not how to bow, O Rivah! Please teach me how to bend,’ all the creatures joined in chorus. And the butterflies danced, and the crickets chirped, and the dragonflies hovered their wings, and the bees buzzed aloud, and the lizards strummed air guitars, while the caterpillars and the earthworms and the rest took to the floor. From the top, on the promenade, the elephant blew his trumpet as the air filled with joy and cheer.
Zara jumped up from where she had been sitting.
‘I know not how to bow, O Rivah! Please teach me how to bend,’ she sang, going around in a whirl, her hands raised to shoulder height, outstretched, on the water’s edge.
CHAPTER 3
It was a while before the whirling came to a stop and all the creatures led by Zara sat down in contemplative silence—the air still fresh, the sun up there, spreading its radiance across the whole wide world. The river, calm and still, had regained her dignified flow.
‘Come one and all, it’s time for a dip,’ the river said to the creatures gathered on her bank. ‘Come, sip the joy of life from my flowing water.’
And the creatures, in ones and twos and in groups of fives and tens, dipped into the water, dipping their heads in silence. The frog jumped in first and then, jumped out, repeating the ritual thrice over. The monitor lizard went in next, and then, the ants, the houseflies, the bees, the butterflies, the dragonflies, the grasshoppers, and, finally, the elephant, with a loud splash.
On the opposite bank, at the feet of Ah!nandita Hills, the tittiris, meditating in a single file, dipped their beaks into the water.
‘Come, lemme cleanse your minds,’ the river said in a dignified tone.
‘For when I am one with myself within, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my mind.’
‘When I am one with myself within, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my mind,’ the creatures chanted one by one with their first dip into water.
‘And so, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my body,’ the river chanted.
‘And so, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my body,’ the creatures repeated with their second dip into water.
‘And so, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my belongings,’ the river chanted the third time.
‘And so, I rid myself of the dilemmas of my belongings,’ the creatures chanted with their third dip into water.
‘How do you do this?’ the river asked the creatures. And they looked askance at her.
‘First,’ said the river, ‘you strip your mind naked of all layers of thought, of all perceptions you have acquired over the years and that now belong to you. That’s how you cleanse your mind.’
‘O dear creatures of my Universe! Take back this knowledge when you are gone. Take it to your home, to your work, to your very own world where you belong. Get rid of the belongings of your minds, your perceptions of you and me. Give up your longings for joy, give up your sorrows. Give up your idea of who you are.’
‘Give up, give up, give up!’ the river went on.
‘And the more you do so, the cleaner you get,’ she added.
‘And how does that happen?’ the butterfly hissed.
‘Just as gold acquires a greater halo the more you heat it on fire; it is the same with you and me. So, dip, dip, dip. Immerse yourself. Rejig yourself first. Wash yourself clean,’ the river replied.
And then, turning to the frog who had guided Zara to the bank, the river said in a grave voice, ‘Wash yourself clean first before you try it out on others.’
Zara, who was by now the only creature left unwashed, rested her forehead on her left palm, immersed in her own self, thinking.
‘Make the entire Universe your own. The river, the fish, the birds, the worms, the reptiles and all. And to make them your own, renounce the image you have of yourself,’ the river flowed on.
‘But how does one do that?’ Zara got thinking.
That is when, someone hit her hard. Tchk, tchk, tchk. The monitor lizard knocked his knuckles on the back of her head.
Zara, as now seemed to have become a habit, had been resting her forehead on her palm, reflecting on the river, while sitting on the steps as the butterflies circled above.
‘Nobody sits by the river that way,’ the lizard chided Zara. ‘You are supposed to sit erect, shoulder up like me, and soak the wisdom of the river, not immerse yourself in your small, silly thoughts. Sink yourself in the wisdom of the river, O Zara! Go take a jump.’
So far, Zara had been watching the river flow past, listening to whatever it said. But that was just about all. It never occurred to her that she needed to take a dip, just as the other creatures around her had been doing, chanting words of faith and self-belief with every dip.
Then, knocking its knuckles again, he mocked, ‘Just look at yourself, look at your stupor, Zara. You are ageing while you are young. Come, get here,’ he directed her to the step above, knocking harder, making space for her where he had been sitting all this while.
‘You will hear the river better from here,’ the lizard said, and disappeared to nowhere.
‘What is it?’ Zara asked herself. ‘The monitor, it’s gone. But why did he admonish me when he doesn’t even know who I am?’
Zara thought, and thought, and thought. The grasshopper hopped on to her shoulder and whispered into her ear, ‘Never mind, Zara. It happens. You are still too young to appreciate the gesture. The monitor is the gatekeeper to the
wisdom of this world. He sits by the river all day. He’s been doing this for years. And then, he interprets the river’s flow to Clus.’
‘Clus?’ What’s that?’ Zara raised a brow.
‘Why? Creatures like us,’ the grasshopper laughed. ‘The frog who guided you here is a gatekeeper as well. And so is the elephant who blows his trumpet all day. But, above all these creatures and the rest of us, the river is the final gatekeeper, guiding wandering spirits like you and me to our final destination across its opposite bank, beyond the Ah!nandita Hills, atop the Moonshine Mount, where we all seek paradise.
‘Aha!’ Zara thought aloud. ‘No wonder the river, too, flaunts the arrogance of the gatekeeper, whereas all she needs to do is keep flowing to eternity, beyond the cycle of the earth and the sky.’
‘And that’s exactly how each of us, at every level of awareness, discover that every creature here is a gatekeeper of wisdom. We all draw our arrogance from access control to the ultimate wisdom that really seems beyond our individual grasp,’ the grasshopper went on.
‘Oh! So, now that even I have acquired a drop of that wisdom, the same applies to me as well,’ Zara jumped. ‘I, too, am the gatekeeper, in my own sorta way.’
‘Yes, dear Zara,’ the grasshopper said. ‘That’s quite true. At every level, we all believe and allow ourselves into believing that “I am the gatekeeper, and you are the seeker to whom I shall pass on my wisdom, that you, in turn, shall impart to others.” In the process, at every level, we want the next individual down the knowledge stairway to believe that “they are the gatekeeper, while I really am the Lord.”’
Zara's Witness Page 2
