It’s 7 am. The sun is waiting to peep through the eastward hills. There, a tiny ray comes through the mighty banyan tree that still stands tall on the edge. I wonder what colour it is, through which it peeps. It’s a blackish green, I guess.
Teakwood trees in the distance are standing still, dripping dewdrops as the first rays fall on its leaves. Then the rays meander through the coconut and betel nut plantations. The entire village is bathed in the orangish hues of the dawn.
The birds, who have so far hidden under the warm blanket of their fur are now ready to open their skin. Its warm. It’s gentle. Much like a mother’s tender love for her kid.
There’s that big ball of fire hanging in the sky and then there’s this small ball of fire burning beside me. They say that the smell of burning wood takes one back to his childhood.
Earlier this year, a mango came crushing down. It had grown old and seeing all her friends - the big banyan, the ain, the kinjal - cut down, she too decided to end herself. It didn’t die then. She is still burning next to me. Her wood is now burning itself to boil water for me to take a hot bath. It’s energy being transmitted. My great-grandfather giving the wood to take a hot bath for me this morning. He must have planted it without knowing that I would come back to stay here, in the village.
The sun is about thirty meters up in the sky. At least I think so, sitting here literally thousands if not millions of kilometres away from it. It has traveled 150 million kilometres to illuminate this huge spider who has tediously weaved a web to catch a prey this morning.
It’s been almost twenty minutes since the Sun God has blessed us with light and now the second element has arrived - the wind. For quite some time everything stood still. The birds too didn’t chirp much, but with the cold wind brushing against their fur, they have started to express.
The dark green has subsided and given way for light yellow, greenish yellow to come forth. The mist makes atmosphere even more hazy.
The burning mango has now turned into coal and slowly it’ll turn to ashes - going back to the ground where it originated as a seedling. Hey! But don’t underestimate its power, it can’t move mountains but it has, with its burning and boiling water, moved the lid of the container that holds the water. Reminding me that it’s alive.
It’s 7:30 am. The buses have arrived. People have woken up, but have they witnessed this half an hour of magic? Have you?