The First Of Rains
When the summer is at its peak, the trees of central India burst into a green flame – it is a calm flame – soothing on the eyes, cooling to the body, kind to the soul. It is a flame of life that sparks like fire – literally and figuratively – and lingers on. Every new leaf looks peculiar. The leaves of Sal are a waxen green, of Harra a silvery velvet, of Mahua are particularly interesting – some are lush green with a down of golden hairs, some are a red of a dying flame; of mango are a dark maroon, and those of Kusum the brightest crimson – and they all, in a matter of few weeks, turn to a play of light and dark shades of green. It is still the hottest part of summer when everything is still or buzzing shyly in the shade. A lady passes through the barren field on the edge of the Sal forests one summer evening. The tigers make their hunt; the stags don a bouquet of leaves. But life seems to be in a diapause. As the season ages, especially towards the beginning of June, some ...