61 The Interlude
At the first sign of rain the farmers also bestirred themselves and went out to the fields for sowing, and the sound of ox carts carrying cheerful workers rumbled once more through the countryside. Their joy, though, soon turned into anxiety as the days became clear again, and the land so recently refreshed started to return to its former baked condition. Even the Bay Weavers after a while seemed less than enthusiastic about their building work, and indeed as the days turned into weeks many abandoned their half-finished nests altogether. It was not until July that the second rain fell in these parts, just at the point when anxiety was about to go over into despair. We had heavy rain on two successive days, which saved the seedling crops, but again after this rain there was a return to the dry days we knew only too well.
As I sit in contemplation:
Electric whirr
of many legs,
and croak of throat
resonate
through the night
Lights are there
in varying degrees
of impermanence:
fireflies flashing
on and off, on and off
with great regularity,
sometimes seen
in synchronicity
then slowly,
slowly,
they pass out of phase
Distantly, silently,
lightning lights
up the sky:
clouds uncovered
for a moment
– a moment of true beauty –
never to be seen again,
as the storm moves
restlessly
across the land
Then the moon appears:
it brings a mellow grace
into the world
with its enchanting presence
The sounds and the lights
were there – it is true –
but beyond the sound,
a sacred silence;
and beyond the light,
divine darkness
The third significant rain didn’t fall on us at all, but there must have been a deluge further upstream, because the river was threatening to break its banks as it rushed on its way. Everybody came out to watch, the villagers lining up on some waste ground on one side of the river, and we and some stragglers who had failed to ford the river in time, on the other, with a mighty surging of water in between.
One part of the land here borders the river and the force of the flow was such that even trees were washed away, besides other vegetation. On the opposite shore an acacia tree that had long kept watch over our evening meditation, was one of the victims of the flood, and all at once a characteristic landmark, and an old friend too, succumbed, as all must in the end, to the ravages of time.
There had been a month between the second and the third rains to fall, taking us into August, and it must be said that central India, and these parts in particular, seem to be going through some lean years lately. The peasants, hardened by the vagaries of life, accept it all stoically, as indeed they must for they remain at the mercy of the elements.
Still, at least with the river now full, they were able to wash themselves and their cattle without traipsing across the baked earth for miles on end, and following this third rain the wells in the village, which now supply the drinking water, and which had been dry for months, finally filled with water again.
Grey clouds gather overhead,
early they darken the day,
the sky beyond is silvery white
where the sun continues to shine
Strong wind blows through the trees
and with it comes coolness of air,
dead leaves fall to the ground
as waves of rain herald the storm.
Thunder roars and lightning flashes,
the elements seem full of danger,
they accompany this blessing
as water brings life to the land.
One we want and not the other,
but is that the way things are?
to abide in the presence of contrast
is to open to life without fear.