Zara's Witness

by Shubhrangshu Roy

  After a long, long time, Zara’s mind had been overpowered by the fear of loss. She was no longer having fun. She was no longer feeling nice as she had boasted only a little while ago to the river. Her deepest feelings were out in the open.

  ‘So, have I been true to Rivah!?’ Zara asked herself. ‘Indeed, have I been true to myself?’ she wondered.

  CHAPTER 7

  Zara looked around and, then, looked up at the sky.

  ‘Wassup?’ she asked.

  Not a soul stirred that new moon night. It hadn’t been a pleasant day for her. In fact, it had been quite nasty. Never since she had come to be perched on the wedge had her emotions hung in such precarious balance, trapped in the illusion of her mind, racing back and forth along the course of the river between the glacier’s tongue and the Ah!nandita Hills; the ghastly image of her lookalike smeared in red, falling off a bursting bubble high up in the freezing mountain tormented her.

  And Zara kept wondering. And she kept asking herself if she had made a false boast to the river about renouncing her fears and emotions at birth. And yet, she reassured herself that she hadn’t lied. It was the fear of the unknown within that had surfaced in her mind because of her deep introspection of the night before.

  And Zara kept reminding herself, ‘Yes, what I had told the river was true. I hadn’t lied.’ After all, it was true that she had met her lookalike high up in the mountain at the mouth of the glacier, moments before she slipped out in the warmth unleashed by the glacier’s tongue in the maddening race to her present destination, rupturing each colliding bubble in her struggle for survival. And Zara had deliberately shed her emotions during that long and eventful life-defining journey, distancing herself from her feelings and attachments.

  So now, there was no point recollecting past images of her millions of lookalikes encased in millions upon millions of plasma bubbles.

  ‘Give up, give up, give up! Give up on the images of your mind and tell yourself there is no other face on the face of this earth that looks quite like yours. There’s no point thinking about what no longer is,’ she told herself.

  And she reasoned, ‘So, what if my lookalike is gone. That indeed was her destiny, just as I will meet my destiny one day.

  My lookalike only lives in me.’

  That’s how Zara tried to overcome her fear. Yet, the more she thought of it, the more she fell in love with her image, and the more she panicked, remembering a million innocent faces, lying calm, encased in a million plasma bubbles.

  Zara wished to run back to where she had come from.

  Catching her in a pensive mood, the river whispered, ‘Why are you so sad, dear Zara? Why do you feel so lonesome tonight?

  If your mind makes you anxious, resolve all your issues right now. After all, it’s part of the game. Hope and fear are the opposite banks through which I flow alone.’

  ‘I see,’ Zara said in a hushed voice.

  ‘The obsession with me consumes my mind, dear Zara,’ the river said, breaking the numbing silence. ‘The me and mine of those who have cause pain to those who do not. When I rest in my arrogance, I miss the boat to my destination in the sky, shrinking with time into a cesspool instead.’

  ‘On this dark foreboding night, O little girl!’ the river went on, ‘ask yourself on which of the three shall you ride the sky: knowledge, imagination, or action?’

  Zara looked up. She hadn’t a clue.

  ‘The answer, Zara, is simple,’ the river said. ‘Riding the arrogance of any one of three will not help you reach the sky. You need knowledge, imagination, and action in their unadulterated forms to merge with the canvas above; just as I do, little Zara, from ice to water to vapour.’

  ‘The river helps you know yourself. Kill the I in you every day, kill all that you feel is yours.’

  ‘You are doing well, Zara,’ the frog hopped over to her side from the middle of nowhere. ‘You know what, Zara, each of these nine steps that you see by the riverbank are the nine steps of learning the great lesson of life. Come with me, let me guide you there.’

  And so, that moonless night, Zara hopped up to the promenade in step with the frog. And when they had reached the top, both turned towards the river.

  ‘Here, as we stand on the first step of life, we listen to the voice of wisdom,’ the frog said.

  ‘We listen to the voice of wisdom,’ repeated Zara, hopping after the frog to the step below.

  And so, a year passed by . . .

  ‘And here, as we stand on the second step of life, we read the flow of the river of life.’

  ‘And we read the flow of the river of life,’ repeated Zara, hopping down another step.

  And another year was gone . . .

  ‘And here, as we stand on the third step of life, we kill all our previous assumptions.’

  ‘And we kill all our previous assumptions,’ said Zara.

  And so, with every step, a year passed.

  ‘And here on the fourth step of life, we imbibe the new lessons of life.’

  ‘And we imbibe the new lessons of life,’ said Zara.

  ‘And here on the next step of life, we spread the good word around.’

  ‘And we spread the good word around,’ said Zara.

  ‘And here on the next step of life, we rejoice in song and dance.’

  ‘And we rejoice in song and dance,’ said Zara, her arms raised, doing her now favourite whirl.

  ‘And here on the seventh step of life, we commune with our own reflections,’ said the frog.

  ‘And here, we commune with our reflections,’ said Zara.

  ‘Having done so, here on the eighth step of life, we play with one and all, in the spirit of sharing and love.’

  ‘And we love one and all,’ said Zara.

  ‘And then, on the ninth and final step of life . . .’ said the frog, pausing a while.

  ‘And on the ninth step?’ repeated Zara, narrowing her eyes, waiting to catch the lesson.

  ‘It’s total surrender. We immerse ourselves in the river of life, content, and coming to terms with who we really are.’

  ‘We come to terms with who we really are,’ said Zara, raising her arms above her head, jumping with joy at the end of nine years.

  ‘Thank you, Froggy. Thanks, thanks, thanks! That was indeed a wonderful lesson, I really feel nice about who I am. It really feels so good.’

  ‘Thank you, Froggy! Thank you, Rivah!’

  Zara was beside herself with joy, her dreadful night seemed finally over.

  Then, looking up to the heaven above, she wondered, ‘Where did that thought come from? For whom did it come? Why did it come? Why was I so scared?’

  And saying so, Zara told herself, ‘Yes, I am in love with my lookalike, because my inner voice tells me to be in love with my innocence. The rest of the plot doesn’t matter. What matters is that I arouse my emotions within for that which is pure. And yet, remain detached from the scenery around and the urge to hold on.’

  Unnoticed by Zara, the first rays of the sun had begun to wink from behind the Peacock Ridge some distance away from where Zara had been standing all night on the riverbank. And in the soft glow of dawn, a giant bubble rose from the water.

  It had been twenty-one years since Zara had arrived at the bank. Standing tall, she faced her infant lookalike crouched inside the bubble, staring at Zara, a large smile pasted on her face.

  ‘Connect, disconnect, reconnect, Zara,’ her lookalike said. ‘It’s fun!’

  And bang! The bubble burst. Zara rubbed her eyes. Her lookalike had finally disappeared, never to haunt her again. There was no one around. Only Zara and the river flowing by.

  CHAPTER 8

  Zara dipped her feet in the ice-cold water of the river, one at a time. Then, she pulled them out. It was late autumn and the mountains higher up had started freezing. There was no one at the bank yet. And though she had spent the whole night awake, she was remarkably fresh. Zara dipped her feet and pulled them back again and again till she was certain
that she could endure the chill.

  And, as the first bells started chiming in the distance, she slipped in, waist-deep in water. Zara never felt the need for ritual ablutions in the river as it had been with the other creatures, day after day. It was just that the river was there, and Zara felt refreshed.

  From where she stood in water, Zara caught the flight of the tittiris on the opposite bank, heading north across the river face of the Ah!nandita Hills, just as she had seen them when she was perched atop the wedge in a bubble.

  Zara laughed, turned eastwards, towards the rising sun, and laughed louder. She turned to the river and laughed . . . still louder. And the wind picked up her mirth and blew off in the path of the birds. And the bells rang louder, heading south from upriver, drowning Zara’s laughter.

  And Zara raised her hands, running them through her long auburn hair, and slipped into the water chanting, ‘Give up, give up, give up!’ This was Zara’s first plunge into the river. And now that she was deep in the water, gliding among the fish, Zara came face-to-face with the giant mahseer.

  All these years, she had seen the mahseer from above the water, submerged still among several other big and small creatures of its like—calm and composed.

  ‘How do you do, Mah!seer?’ Zara asked.

  ‘I am fine, thank you, Zara. Welcome to the river! How do you do?’

  ‘Good,’ replied Zara.

  ‘Come, lemme show you around my parlour. It’s remarkably quiet today,’ said the big fish and both glided into midstream with the current, Zara rising once in a while to the surface to catch her breath.

  ‘Tell me, Mah!seer,’ asked Zara, ‘how do you breathe under water? I have to climb up to the surface so often.’

  ‘That’s not at all difficult, dear,’ the mahseer said. ‘Remember what the river told you the other day? It’s not enough to have only knowledge. Nor is it enough to build on imagination alone. And it sure isn’t enough to work hard. You need knowledge, imagination, and hard work in their unadulterated forms to come together to merge with the sky.’

  ‘Oh yes, I do, but all that’s about the sky, dear Mah!seer, that’s made of air, not water.’

  ‘Ha!’ laughed the mahseer, ‘It’s pretty much the same with water. Water, after all, is made of nothing but air, one-part oxygen that you breathe in, and two-parts hydrogen. And I suck that oxygen out of water by putting my knowledge, imagination, and hard work to use.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ said Zara. ‘You have arrived indeed, Mah!’

  ‘And so have you, dear Zara. Remember those magic words, “Jo tu hai, so main hoon.”’

  ‘Jo main hoon, so tu hai,’ smiled Zara, climbing to the surface to catch her breath again when a wild fig dropped into the water with a loud phukt sound. Zara looked up. The giant bee was hovering overhead, trying to listen to the conversation.

  ‘Tell me, O gatekeeper!’ the bee buzzed at the mahseer. ‘Who does the river really love?’

  ‘Aha!’ the mahseer came back. ‘That’s such a tricky question. The river loves all those who gather by its banks.’

  ‘Na, na, na,’ protested Zara. ‘The river loves all, equally.’

  ‘How do you say that?’ argued the mahseer. ‘How can the river love the cunning, the devious, and the fraud?’

  ‘Ha! There’s the cunning, the devious, and the fraud in each of us, dear Mah!seer. It depends on where we are, when, and why.’

  Zara had finally joined the great existential debate among the creatures on the river’s bank, beyond the concerns of her own immediate desires.

  ‘Enough of hot air,’ the river joined in. ‘Now, listen carefully to what I say.’

  ‘When both our mind and intellect are strong, which one do we shun?’ she seemed to be obviously referring to Zara.

  ‘I am arrogant that I know all. I am the Lord of all I survey.’

  Never mind if you feel so, it’s quite natural,’ the river said. ‘While it’s true that the body harbours emotions and sensations, it is the wise alone who know how to bring them under control and use them to right effect. By taking the opposite route to where our emotions and sensations lead us, we can convert them into our most potent weapons and use them to serve our purpose in life,’ the river went on.

  ‘How does one do that, Rivah!?’ the bee joined in.

  ‘Be-ezee! You do that by first controlling your desire. But desire the good of all. Then share your joy and pleasure with everybody around. To do good to yourself, dear Be-ezee!, first do good to others,’ the mahseer interrupted.

  ‘I have already made that my creed,’ said the bee.

  ‘How’s that so, you stinging bee?’ Zara mocked aloud.

  ‘You little witch,’ the bee swooped down ready to sting, taking offence at Zara’s stinging criticism. That’s when the mahseer jumped out of the water and pulled Zara down under.

  ‘Have patience, Zara. You’ll know more with time. Right now, just listen to the river, young lady,’ the mahseer said.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Zara said.

  ‘Never mind. So, where was I?’ the river went on. ‘Ah yes! Make yourself like me for the others to quench their thirst. The river never remembers who came in or who went out. It doesn’t even wait for anybody as it flows on. The river feels the presence of visitors but doesn’t drown in their joy or sorrow. It ought to be the same with your mind that harbours both the good and the evil.’

  ‘And how can it be the same with the mind?’ the bee asked.

  ‘What use we make of our mind depends entirely on us,’ said the river.

  ‘Absence of desire leads to equanimity of attitude towards both the good and the evil, towards what is yours and what belongs to others. The cunning, the devious, the fraud, all belong to my Universe, just like you and the rest, Mah!seer. And I treat everyone alike, keeping my emotions in check. That’s what I call true love.’

  ‘I understand you well,’ the bee came around, ‘but how do I react when the world stings me, just as when young Zara called me a stinging creature not so long ago?’

  ‘That’s the dilemma of your identity. You can’t really do a thing about that, dear Be-ezee! Criticism is bound to be your shadow as long as you choose to be what you want to be,’ said the river.

  ‘Get it?’ the frog appeared from nowhere. ‘I got that a long time ago,’ he said.

  ‘And what did you get, dear Froggy?’ Zara asked.

  ‘I got it a long time ago to keep my emotions in check to maintain my mental poise.’

  ‘Treat all your five emotions of lust, anger, desire, longing, and arrogance as your retainers in order to control your mind,’ said the river. ‘In all of creation it is the mind alone that does not perform to command.’

  ‘So, what do I do?’ Zara asked.

  ‘Live in the fear of your own self within. Live in fear of auto-deactivation. That’s how you will also deactivate your mind. Only then will you be able to use your emotions as weapons under your exclusive command.’

  The river laughed!

  CHAPTER 9

  Zara had spent the whole day swimming and was now beginning to tire.

  ‘It’s been a long swim for you,’ the mahseer remarked.

  ‘Yes, and I am beginning to feel the strain. My muscles are pulling,’ Zara said.

  ‘Hehe!’ the river laughed. ‘When you swim, you mustn’t talk; when you talk, you mustn’t swim, Zara. That’s the first lesson about negotiating a river. The next, of course, is to keep it simple and straight. If you are here for fun, just splash around in my water. Nothing comes from getting too smart.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Zara protested.

  ‘It’s not for you alone, Zara,’ the river said. ‘I speak to all. By now, you would have met several creatures by my bank. If you observe them carefully, Zara, first, there are those who come here to bathe and move on. And then, there are others who rinse their mouths and spit out the water. Those who are really smart, drink my water and leave nothing to waste. Those who use my water just for a
wash or a quick rinse by my bank hardly take anything away, feeling nice and clean for the moment, and polluting my water instead. It’s only the wise, like that giant banyan by my western bank, who actually soaks my water and give comfort to one and all.’

  That night as darkness fell and Zara prepared to sleep, the frog silently hopped on to her lap.

  ‘How’s it going so far, Zara?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s been good. I like Rivah!’

  Then, looking conspiratorially at her, the frog said in a hushed voice, ‘You know what, Zara? In the end, there’s nothing in the river. No fish, no worm, no creature. There’s even no water, no air. There’s nothing at all. It’s just a big hoax for the river to keep going on and on.’

  ‘Just watch her flow from earth to sky. And it’s the same with all of us. Our desperate need to survive in this harsh world makes us go around in circles, building one dream after chasing another, to stay in constant joy. That, and that alone, is real.’

  Zara was dumbstruck.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was late afternoon in peak summer. The mercury was soaring. The river had completely disappeared by now, taking with it the fishes and weeds, exposing massive boulders, rocks and pebbles on the dry river bed, its banks devoid of their lush green cover; the plants withered from the searing heat. The creatures, too, were all gone—the ants, the houseflies, the bees, the butterflies, the dragonflies, the grasshoppers, and the frog. The only souls left by the bank were the monitor lizard and Zara. Both met up every now and then under the peepul tree. The lizard now flaunted a slate grey colour that camouflaged well with the stones on the river bed; fair Zara, now dishevelled, had acquired an uneven tan.

  The peepul tree still sported signs of life, providing shade for the weary traveller by the riverside. The bees, too, had been hanging around, their massive hive on the peepul’s branch dripping with honey.