Perhaps The River Knew

The genesis of fiction is in the experiences of life. But life, as they say,  is stranger than fiction

I needed a breath of fresh air.

The suffocating aroma of incense, the unintelligible drone of chants, the humungous crowd and their frenzy of devotion were overbearing.

I stepped out of the sacrosanctum and inhaled deeply holding onto one of the ageless pillars at the arched entrance of the temple. It’s then that I came face to face with the mighty bearers their eyes down cast, expression reverential, carrying with ease the load of the figure seated on the throne intricately engraved in gold and silver.

A mass of dark tangled tresses – some tied in a huge knot on the top of his head and some cascading down his back and the rest lay curled on his powerful shoulders. His complexion, a mix of rose and milk, had an unmistakable sheen which emanated from an unknown source within. His broad forehead adorned a glowing red trident which bespoke the repository of his faith. A drape of fine red silk was casually flung over his sinewy torso. A well pleated garb of the same tone and texture covered the lower half of his body and crossed legs. A string of blackish brown  wooden beads was wound around the protruding blue veins on his muscular neck. But it was his crystal clear lotus shaped eyes which held an unnatural brilliance. The eyeballs were fixed afar till it circled the sacred premise and fell on me and stayed there forever.

From somewhere through my auditory tunnel reverberated grandpa’s booming warning, “Don’t you ever make eye contact with them. It’s dangerous.”

With great difficulty I compelled myself to look away.

But the (mis)deed was done.

A sudden flash of blinding light enveloped me magnetically pulling me towards its vortex. I was levitating on glittering clouds.

When my feet touched the ground I was at the river bank. There was a boat swaying recklessly on undulating waves. Placed on the boat was the throne on which sat he motionless his electrifying gaze fixated on me. I could feel it’s hypnotic intent bearing down  even from a distance drawing me towards him – closer and closer.

And then a sudden jerk back. An alarmed, almost petrified, voice , ” Where are you heading Di? The river is rough here. The currents can take you miles away in a jiffy. And you don’t even know how to swim!”

My cousin Ravi.

He was holding me by the arm.

I blinked. 

Was I dreaming?

I pointed a finger at the river, “Who…who is he?”

He followed my gesticulation uncomprehendingly.

I turned back.

The river flowed with deceptive serenity. It’s waves forming watery mounds crisscrossing each other merrily.

There was not a trace of anything afloat.

The boat had vanished!!

Ravi gave me a gentle nudge, ” Let’s go home Di.”

A few feet away from the ghaat he swerved back pointing at the opposite bank, “You see Di! On the other side of the river is the ancient cave – where Lord Shiva meditated for ages before marrying Parvati. You wanted to visit.”

Did I!

At that moment, nothing made sense to me anymore.

What I simply wanted was to rush back home – my cozy cocoon of comfort.

That’s all.

Perhaps the river had an inkling.

It gurgled away in its own rhythm playfully.