It was quite early to be walking down the lane at 6 o’clock on a lazy Saturday morning. The street goes on straight without the slightest bend. The surrounding is foggy, and the weather has a slight chill in it. The aroma is gentle and calm with only the birds singing and flapping their wings in harmony. The straight path is going on and on, smoothly, with nothing to interrupt the peace.
An hour has passed, people are gradually stirring. A few alarms clocks are being heard, each of different sounds, which makes the music grow louder and keeps the attention of the crowd close.
At last the street turned, and a loud noise of people’s voices are heard. The big market is full of customers and sellers, trying hard to gain little more. These two tunes of their voices are creating a stunning rhythm of music, only few have the mind and time to enjoy it. The swarming path is way behind now. The sight is of golden field only. The music of the plough, sprinkling of water and the swaying of crops, end the loudness and brings the peace back to land. Thousands of rays of our Sun dares to be harsh here. Difficult to feel how day passes by in this eternal beauty. Night arrives, after an exhausted day’s work and endless hardships, all go to bed. The stunning blue moon alone hanging from sky ensures no one can break this deep silence where only own breathes are heard. The dew drops play their own composition. The twinkling stars inspire them, fireflies and crickets applaud for them.
The little heart never understands why we do not find time to book a seat and listen to a concert so delicately composed. Why don’t we think how grateful we are, when nature offers this with love, and doesn’t ask for anything in return? Why we are continuing to destroy it in the name of land, caste or religion! Every day she comes back to the valley, thinking one day her beloved parents will be back and start playing with her again as they can’t break their promise. She tries to remember the last words from her parents while playing peekaboo, “Close your eyes and start counting to ten, we will be right back with a surprise …!!”. Her chanting of last two of numbers - nine and ten – were not strong enough to be heard over the cruel sounds of two bullets. She is still in search for her birthday gift!