THE WINDING RIVER

Melting glaciers being my source and power for downstream follow. I am born, because of the ice mountains giving in to the heat and pouring down, creating me. Passing through smaller hills, jumping off the mountains, rushing at the bends, quenching many species thirsts, and resting a bit during my journey between valleys and mountains, carrying numerous varieties of inhabitants within and allowing the huge population to utilize me at the surface, I travel restlessly taking note of everything that I touch.

         Unlike living beings, I don’t get to sleep. Constant movement carrying mud, soil, clothes, or rubbish that’s forced into me, is how I survive. Over my unpredictable ebb and flow of existence, I am accustomed to a routine as well. Every morning, the paved road running parallel to me carry’s kids in vehicles, and we part our ways at a bend. Locals trek their way top to the mountains on any day other than a  rainy day, in search of herbs or animal hunt, they wash parts of themselves in me and put out their thirst by having a bit of me. I can easily track anything because the hills share tales of the people that climb them. The mud speaks of the quiver it must undergo, wind flows over us carrying the pride of owning freedom for being unrestricted and uncontained, and finally, the mountains roar now and then sharing their mood and situation. Few times humans hunt animals other times it could be the opposite, anyway, they all reach out to me to clean themselves as if washing their sin by utilizing me.

         It’s fascinating to witness the flocks of grayling, Dace, and Minnow moving around in groups sticking to each other and trying hard not to be caught by a net or eaten by Rohu and Catla. The little fishes tailing the group, in the end, are the most frequent victims of big fishes. Just like any other day a big fish tried to chase them and feed its hungry stomach, I do not involve in their life cycle but once in a while indulging in such activities is fun. When the Catla almost caught on to the smaller fish, I raised my tides and force landed it making it hard to keep the balance and help the smaller one scatter in various directions.

Few times they need a little push to find new alliances. I thought.

After flowing a long way down the mountains and hills expanding myself by merging everything that disrupts my extension. I slow down at a point where there isn’t any bend but still land. I am neither deep nor fast at this point and people cross through me stepping on the river stones that are well polished by me over years making it too smooth to hold oneself straight on it. Elders carry bags on their shoulders and hop on rocks as if dancing for a tune, but the kids slip drop into me after every couple of stones. Their parents leave them behind knowing they can trust me with their kids at this depth.

Kids grow reckless soon after their guardians leave them behind.

They push each other into me, splash drops of me over one another, they seem to enjoy this every time they do it, they chase and catch, trip and fall, splash and laugh. Finally, drink a little and run along with me, on my shores, reaching my falls. The falls aren’t too high but not too short to attempt a jump. I watch them over, trying to keep up the trust of their parents, but they all jump into me one by one, I try hard to hold them but the falling bits of me can only drench them further rather than hold them. They dive deep into the falls and float back to find their friends and swim for a while.

         The kids experience indescribable joy. They hum in jubilation as they walk back to where they belong.

         From here I flow calm and cool for a while. Women washing their clothes at my shores, girls helping elders half-heartedly, men swimming, stretching out their arms and kicking their feet, pushing themselves forward every time they repeat it.

         As I descend bit by bit, I pick up the speed, and when I encounter a bend where I find no humans nearby as it is too deep and few times my sudden turns create a spring wave that sucks anything into it quick. And finding their way out of it could be nearly impossible. I could turn dangerous at times you see.

         Brushing myself over the edges of earth and roots of the trees, cobble settled within me, fungus and algae that grow in me. I displace a part of them every time I run by them, scattering them in various directions, providing them a new path to survive and grow.

         One day it rained cats and dogs and I kept increasing my levels, conquering the land, running into houses, submerging objects and things, moving vehicles from place to place. People try to run away from me this time, as the rain grows, with it does my height endangering their life, I was wild that night, hunger for life and new land. Conquest blinded my eye and every droplet added to me stimulated me to feed myself and annihilate a little more. I feast on street animals that had nowhere to go and few elders who couldn’t make a run. I was outrageous with no source to cool me down. It was cool that night, not much of my water is following down from the hill. But I reach the height of a middle school kid making it difficult for survivors. People run to their rooftops, few stand-in shelters, and rest drench in the rain.

         The night passed with my rage taking many with it. By the next morning, with the sun came relief for few. I returned to my confined path and kept flowing as I always do. The lady who washed clothes in me now swears at me for the loss I brought upon them forgetful of the profit they availed using me. Roads are now clearly visible, though too slippery and filthy. Homes filled with mud, fungus, and stinking smell. I left a big impression behind that night. People did not turn up to me for a while. Fewer boatmen came by to check the condition of their boats, others to catch fish, soon the fisherman was only one that visited me often because I destroyed their harvest, all they can eat is that is available in me.

         After cleaning and mourning over their losses, people returned to their routine. Allowing me to return to mine. The weather is gloomy, and locals suspect rain, including me. The sky had been that way for a while. Unlike other parts of nature, it hardly communicates with us, leaving us in the same assumptions and estimations as humans.

         It isn’t just the humans, but nature too blamed me. The land criticized me to make it wet and slippery. Glaciers were glad that they were not inculpated. Breeze questioned often if it was a joint plot of sky and me.

         Still hearing all accusations, I witness people returning to me, for food, wash, and play.

         A season passed and I was happy that people could be at peace, no longer being cautious over their presence around me. The ladies dry their clothes on the rocks, kids dive into me and swim, men pull out their fishing net from their boat at my shore. While I calmly witness all this, I know I am bidding them my goodbye silently.

         That day the glaciers melted more than usual, pouring down to my bogs, at a speed which I had no control over, and being a part of it, I couldn’t rescue anyone either. I watch them in joy for the last time and devour them into me, rushing towards them all of a sudden, giving them little time to escape my assault. Very few proved to be lucky that day, a small kid near to tree branch, hung onto it at the right time, a mom who went back to fetch more clothes returned to watch her friends drown. Fishermen, who were yet to step out of their boats, others who tossed stones into me, kids who came to explore me, I took them all into me. The boats collided, peopled or bodies rushed following my cord, one of the boats hit a lady who sunk deep into me.

         People struggled to swim and breathe and finally, they all gave in gradually. They float in various directions, a few hitting the rocks and redirected to elsewhere and a few touching the bottom of me.

         This time it isn’t exactly me, it’s the glaciers to blame, whom shall I reason with when they hardly have time to know it. After few days of dangerous flow, I calmed down. As soon as I stead myself, a search began for the people that sunk in me. They found a couple of them and out of petty, I threw a few onto my surface, there are rest whom I didn’t want them to see as I know the human heart can’t take the picture of these bodies in a hardly recognizable condition.

         That year many bide goodbyes to their near and dear ones, blaming all on me once again. I found little traffic over me for fishing and even a little population around me. No playing kids or hovering ladies. It's me and my flow and the path I choose.

         Soon, I found men around me trying to construct something over and in me. They call it a dam, a method to control my follow and secure their kind.