Time Space & Me

The brook, Shongbhen Kholsa,  remained perpetual and flowing but during the winter it became anorexic and thin like thread.  Hidden beneath the Utis, Siris and devil's trumpets, it whispered happily and gave me my childhood company. I would rush with a "Batcha Kombi", small sickle basically Rainees keep handy for obvious reasons. With lots of effort, as it may of a boy of five, would cut the best bamboo shoot-let and make a split to install water ways. I would, with my tiny fingers bulldoze mud and scoop out sands, make a large dent. The water would pour in and raise rapidly, flooding away the embankment for which I would work again. With my starred shorts and torn away t-shirt, I would work and smear away my nasal discharge quite at quick successions. Only this time, the muddy water would raise up to the brim, spill over the bamboo split and run through it and fall like a tiny waterfall. I would wonder and engineer more of such feats. I would not realize that my Mama would be freaking searching for me everywhere, except for the place where I remain engaged. She would call me "kailash" on top of her voice. Then I would stop thinking for a  moment, leave everything as it may and rush out of my workshop. She would be waiting for me with a stick at hand, for I know she would use it purposefully for about three to four times. I would beg her not to but she would not like to spare the rod. I would sob and forget as earnestly. Such drama would last my childhood, only the circumstances would change. Then she would call on for lunch. We would have early lunch at village because the three quarter of the day is tremendously important. Today, I am going with Nana Kanchi, Sister, to cattle graze and tendering. I would eat my meal fast enough and follow Nana. She would ask me not to trail her but for me, its a fun. I would beg her, Nana please let me come with you......after few disapprovals, she would allow me to accompany her to the vicinity. The Punri, Ramree, Sindure......few of the cows and buffaloes names I could remember. For certain reasons, buffaloes were kept in my family then. Ramree was that buffalo, a Gujrati breed, supposed to be the best for milk and cheese, and yes, she was the best. For me, it was gentle and sober, would allow me to ride on her back while she would graze and graze on. The animals would go to the brook to drink, and I see them vandalizing my hard work and complicated water ways that I created the other times. I would wait on the high ground so that when this Ramree passed, I would jump at its back and stick there for as long as I could doze away. She would allow me to do so and shear through the jungle of thorny vines to the open green grass. By the time we would come out of our plant tunnel, I would be covered with leaves, sticking through my hairs and shirt. Then she would dig her head in grass while I would try the flute Bhakta bua giftee me. Nana, would climb some fig trees and prune of some branches, I could see that the animals would run around for the feast. Occasionally, tussling and stealing a branch. I would listen to folk songs, while she sang on. I could see horn bills as big as it could be, beating air with a huge pair of wings, almost creating whirl wind around. Some other time, my Deema would tell me the tales of these wonderful birds. The sun at its zenith would treat us brutally, we would scoop pond at the marshy landscape and wait for a moment for the sediments to precipitate and clear out. Then with bamboo straws, drink to our thirst. We would share with animals......the month of  may would be the most lethargic one, basically the concoction of hot sun, long monotonous cicada cricking and the opeating planting auxin in the air would make you drowsier than a score of beer. Nana, would check on her citizen, and would announce its time to go home. She would give a call and all animals would fall in a file and start home. The heat on the bull would be nasty, and he takes chance on the line, creating a chaos. Nana would pelt a stone and shout at him to pacify him. The line would terminate as these animals would take their own place, for the nose to go in. For today, we would be done. I would rush home, almost running and sprinting. Mama, would be waiting me with black tea and puff corn. The menu changes often from sweet potatoes, pan cakes to fried rice. The in-between snack did magic and I would wizz off to play foot ball in the field. It would be always the biggest terrace in the field, rolled by playing football for half of the year. It presents dusty but remarkably popular field. Village boys have already gathered with football made out of some cloth pieces covered by slices of rubber bands and covered by spider net. It is the most priced possession as of now.....and I would fight for this ball. Playing football, the infamous experience of any of my contemporaries. I played and lost my toe nails more than often. We would play till we could see the silhouette of the ball on its trajectory to opponent's goal post......diluted in the air, I could hear Mama calling home for the dinner. We would disperse away, without the promise to see tomorrow, but we would play the game. At the threshold, Mama would be waiting for me and would tease me of the lashes........