There was an amorphous quiet in the woods. Only
crickets rubbed their feet together in serene patterns sometimes. If there were
birds and wolves and monkeys in the jungle, they were all hushed and showed no
signs of existence. Under the creepers growing on low monsoon trees overgrown
with green, velvety moss and beautiful deadly mushrooms was a bend in the
river. The water flew so gently that it gave an impression of a composed lake.
It was an occasional glitter in this water, through the leafy mesh, that
presented an evidence of daylight over the closed forest. Nature stood in its
most intimate bearing, relaxed on the face of earth, shyly against the water,
in a state of utter ecstasy where words lose their meanings and sounds appear a
hindrance.
I must have spent a tenth of a second in
this tranquil surrounding when the intrusion set in. A wild man with long
knotted hair and as long a beard that looked like a lion’s mane came in. I
cannot now recall where he stood; on the mossy ground or water. He looked
everywhere like an animal, out of place; up in the roofed sky, into the
crevices of trees, at the dressed branches, everywhere. Then he started looking
at his arms and legs, and the black robe in tatters that came to his thighs,
and the rope that was around his waist. He went from one object to another with
his eyes with such slow movements that it all began to blend in the calm
environment. Suddenly, with a sharp turn of his head he looked at me, pierced
his razor eyes into mine and began to laugh, a mirthless, soundless snigger.
I often wake up when I thus meet myself in
a dream--- too surreal to be ignored or forgotten in the dull routine that
follows--- drenched in sweat, my veins beating loudly against my wrists.
