A Forest Fire

Every year, as March approaches, all eyes surreptitiously start glancing towards the sky. By the second week of March, we are no longer looking secretly, we are staring blatantly -

‘Allah Megh De, pani de, pani de, Guddhani de”

It is well known that the thirsty earth has become dry and brown, rain is needed to quench the earth. The hungry, thirsty earth has become an angry earth. Tempers are high. In such a situation, the forests become a tinderbox. To add to it all, there is a fierce windstorm. It fans the already high tempers. In a split second, before you know it, there are blazing, roaring, spreading forest fires all around.

As the weak fire slowly strengthens, it spreads in all directions. Birds and animals run and fly in the opposite direction. Smoke and panic become intermingled in the air. While all others are fleeing to save their lives, the only animals that run towards the fire are human beings. The reason is simple – their survival depends on the valuable tea bushes.

Men, women and even children frantically start pouring buckets of water. Water, which in any case, is scarce. Fair faces get blackened with smoke. Tirelessly, even before one fire comes under control, there is another one raging in another part of the hill. The fire brigades arrive, but no one is waiting for the fire brigade, everyone considers dousing these fires their own personal responsibility.

The main culprit – the windstorm, is still raging and providing oxygen and wings for the fire to race around like a reinless horse. An artist would have considered it worth painting, a poet could have written soulful lines, but the people of Selim Hill did not have the time to waste even a precious second on taking pictures and videos.

At a point, when the fire has been tamed and things are under control, the storm has abated, we all go to sleep.

The next morning, as I gaze around, there are no tears to spare as I look at the charred bushes, the singed bamboo groves, the lifeless creepers, the blackened trunks of trees with crisp leaves and the burnt earth. There is a tree at Second Chance House that is still smouldering. Bits of fire, smoke and ashes disembark from it from time to time. I go up to it and touch it, it begs for mercy. I look up to the sky again and convey its message.

For once, our prayer is heard. There are flashes of lightening, the sky darkens, and rain starts pounding down.

Rain, life in every drop. Rain, without which nothing can survive. Rain, to relive the earth of its pain.

Anyone who has ever been burnt will know that water is the best balm for burns. This was my first forest fire. The dread and fear that accompany it take many rains to heal. As I sip my cup of Dorje Tea, I thank God that Selim Hill has lived to see another day.

Write to me at Editor@Dorjeteas.com