Trails - Part 1
The afternoon sun shone into the dense expanse of lantana bushes. Two young girls nimbly stepped over the spiky twigs, doubling down where the undergrowth turned into a canopy with an opening, just big enough for a small goat to go through. They had been going on like this for a while. Their legs were scratched, seeds of wild grass clinging on to their dresses, palms itching from having touched undomesticated shrubs.
The elder one, a 12-year-old, led the way. Her hair was tied in a long ponytail, beads of sweat accumulated over clearly drawn brows, thin lips slightly parted. The one behind her was younger by around 3 years, with shoulder length hair clipped up to keep it from coming on to her face. She kept looking ahead and back in measured glances, taking in the terrain, the signs and everything else in between, her eyes shining with the excitement of discovering a new trail. Once in a while her sister would make a remark – about the peculiar shape of a bush, or something – a bottle or a piece of fabric lying on the path. The younger one would pause, take a look, and interpret the finding. In their minds they were the Famous Five, the Secret Seven, or Nancy Drew, or the Hardy Boys, out on an adventure that their parents did not quite understand, solving crimes that the world had not yet discovered. It was noble, risky, and important – not kids' play!
They had snuck out, like they always did, some time after lunch when their mother would take a nap. They first walked north until they came upon the causeway across the Rispana – a seasonal river that roared during the Monsoons but lay barren, full of interesting rocks and pebbles, through the rest of the year. The girls crossed the causeway, the tiny village on the other side – Kandoli – and proceeded to explore the hills beyond.
The path through the bushes traversed an undulating terrain frequented only by goats. Cows and buffaloes did not find the area suitable for grazing. That is why the path, overgrown with prickly weeds, was avoided by villagers. But it was just right for the two kids out on an adventure, themselves not much bigger than nimbly goats.
The girls came upon a ravine. The path suddenly dipped out of view into the deep crevice. The slanting rays of the late afternoon sun failed to light up the undergrowth. The girls stood at the edge, contemplating whether they should continue their excursion. Bees buzzed around a Jackfruit tree. The older one frowned at the disappearing trail. The younger one's eyes sparkled as she peered into the undergrowth. "But look where it leads to!" she responded to her sister's doubtful murmur. Sure enough, the path did seem to rise up at the other side of the ravine, where an 'undiscovered' hill stretched out temptingly.
Their minds made up, the lasses plunged ahead, ignoring the brambles and the thorny branches that seemed to stretch even farther, wanting to ensnare the hair and dresses of the trespassers. The thicket was deep, but small. At the other end of the ravine the girls hitched up their dresses and climbed up. A few grunts, a few more scratches, and then both emerged on to the other side.
They shielded their eyes against the glare and peered ahead. The long yellow grass glinted in the sun as it swayed in the intermittent breeze. A few trees – Babool, Deodar, and perhaps, Guava – dotted the landscape that stretched out into the horizon and merged into the similarly yellow hued sky. Among the wavy outlines stood out two parallel lines. The girls walked towards it. Four pillars on a platform held up a small cupola – just about five feet across. The yellow colour had turned into various shades of grey. Inside was a small plaque dedicated to somebody who had died during a war.
The stillness was broken by the shrieking of Maina birds. The girls, thrilled but quietened by the gravity of their discovery, looked ahead and spied yet another such structure a little way off, but obstructed by bushes. This too, was dedicated to yet another soldier. They peered at the simple and elegant carvings on the pillars and tried to decode the illegible scrawls on the structure – clearly, they weren't the first explorers here. But at that moment, it was just them, the old structures – remnants of wars fought on these grounds – the birds, the breeze, and the dwindling sunshine.
The girls lingered for a few minutes more and then headed back home. The ravine was dark and long shadows criss-crossed their path. In the distance, bells tinkled around goats' necks. The sun set the sky ablaze in shades of orange. That day the kingdom of childhood, where imagination overlaps reality, was a very interesting place to be in.
The elder one, a 12-year-old, led the way. Her hair was tied in a long ponytail, beads of sweat accumulated over clearly drawn brows, thin lips slightly parted. The one behind her was younger by around 3 years, with shoulder length hair clipped up to keep it from coming on to her face. She kept looking ahead and back in measured glances, taking in the terrain, the signs and everything else in between, her eyes shining with the excitement of discovering a new trail. Once in a while her sister would make a remark – about the peculiar shape of a bush, or something – a bottle or a piece of fabric lying on the path. The younger one would pause, take a look, and interpret the finding. In their minds they were the Famous Five, the Secret Seven, or Nancy Drew, or the Hardy Boys, out on an adventure that their parents did not quite understand, solving crimes that the world had not yet discovered. It was noble, risky, and important – not kids' play!
They had snuck out, like they always did, some time after lunch when their mother would take a nap. They first walked north until they came upon the causeway across the Rispana – a seasonal river that roared during the Monsoons but lay barren, full of interesting rocks and pebbles, through the rest of the year. The girls crossed the causeway, the tiny village on the other side – Kandoli – and proceeded to explore the hills beyond.
The path through the bushes traversed an undulating terrain frequented only by goats. Cows and buffaloes did not find the area suitable for grazing. That is why the path, overgrown with prickly weeds, was avoided by villagers. But it was just right for the two kids out on an adventure, themselves not much bigger than nimbly goats.
The girls came upon a ravine. The path suddenly dipped out of view into the deep crevice. The slanting rays of the late afternoon sun failed to light up the undergrowth. The girls stood at the edge, contemplating whether they should continue their excursion. Bees buzzed around a Jackfruit tree. The older one frowned at the disappearing trail. The younger one's eyes sparkled as she peered into the undergrowth. "But look where it leads to!" she responded to her sister's doubtful murmur. Sure enough, the path did seem to rise up at the other side of the ravine, where an 'undiscovered' hill stretched out temptingly.
Their minds made up, the lasses plunged ahead, ignoring the brambles and the thorny branches that seemed to stretch even farther, wanting to ensnare the hair and dresses of the trespassers. The thicket was deep, but small. At the other end of the ravine the girls hitched up their dresses and climbed up. A few grunts, a few more scratches, and then both emerged on to the other side.
They shielded their eyes against the glare and peered ahead. The long yellow grass glinted in the sun as it swayed in the intermittent breeze. A few trees – Babool, Deodar, and perhaps, Guava – dotted the landscape that stretched out into the horizon and merged into the similarly yellow hued sky. Among the wavy outlines stood out two parallel lines. The girls walked towards it. Four pillars on a platform held up a small cupola – just about five feet across. The yellow colour had turned into various shades of grey. Inside was a small plaque dedicated to somebody who had died during a war.
The stillness was broken by the shrieking of Maina birds. The girls, thrilled but quietened by the gravity of their discovery, looked ahead and spied yet another such structure a little way off, but obstructed by bushes. This too, was dedicated to yet another soldier. They peered at the simple and elegant carvings on the pillars and tried to decode the illegible scrawls on the structure – clearly, they weren't the first explorers here. But at that moment, it was just them, the old structures – remnants of wars fought on these grounds – the birds, the breeze, and the dwindling sunshine.
The girls lingered for a few minutes more and then headed back home. The ravine was dark and long shadows criss-crossed their path. In the distance, bells tinkled around goats' necks. The sun set the sky ablaze in shades of orange. That day the kingdom of childhood, where imagination overlaps reality, was a very interesting place to be in.
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