THE idYLL

The air is still.I am pondering over the intricate nature of man.Is he essentially evil?

I get distracted by the queer sound of some creature coming from a close-by tree.It is a shrill whistle like sound interspersed by the crowing of some robust crow.The verdant tree harbouring them stands still.It was the screech of the squarrel.I see them generally scuttling along on the boundary wall, picking on the grains scattered over it.Their pointed profiles and bushy tails created a perfect scene and became one with the surroundings.The green flowering pots stood eternally there on the wall and these nimble creatures scurried around them. They trailed after one another and were quick to feel any sort of intrusion which made them jump on the close- by tree. And this sound was contrary to this ethreal picture. My mother had created a green bower around the small courtyard in front of our house.The marigolds and the chrysenthemums blossomed in the earthen pots strewn all around.Their stillness created an impression of their quiet submission.The bougainvillea had yet to blossom but its foliage and leaves seemed to be flourshing and ready to bring forth the resplendence of multicoloured flowers-red white and purple.The yellow and saffron marigolds hobnobbed with each other when the soft winds blew over them-the dazed butterflies flitted across them hovering over the green fern like plants and tiny bushes growing in the creeks on the surface of the walls.It being spring the trees around were laden with buds which shone like beads and were ready to sprout any time.The cone shaped Ashoka tree looked over this small bower so regally.

In the distance the numurous venders were shouting for their wares.Particularly one hawker called so soulfully.I used to hear him usually in my room.It signalled the waning of the afternoon and the air felt drowsy and heavy.But today since I was sitting outside I could see him approaching.He was peddaling on his bicycle.He carried a box on the carrier of his bicycle which was placed in a cloth bag.In front hung one more cloth bag which dangled softly while he peddled.He was a young man but looked maturer than his age.He sold the typical Punjabi cuisine-cholley-kulchey. It was a perpetual call I have been listening since my childhood.The hawkers chnged but the call remained with the same tenor.It was the call which was entwined with my childhood innocence and its gay abandon though I never bought the stuff but the very call always tempted me.I was strictly forbidden by my father to buy the stuff.It was supposed to be unhygienic and below dignity to buy from a vender.To-day this call made me curious.I called him. He came sort of sauntering because he might not have expected a call from this side.He passed me a weak smile and waited for my order.I was a complete novice and looked at him for help. He told me that one plate comprised of two bathurey and a bowl of cholley for a sum which looked to me a pittance as compared to the amount which we paid in some ordinary joint for the same quantity.I got a little indecisive whether to buy the stuff or not since the quality could be suspect.His sharp eyes sensed my diffidence.This made me conscious and I asked him to give me the stuff.He very slowly and carefully put the spoon in the pot and took out the stuff and very lovingly put in the plate .He did not seem to be satisfied and put the spoon once again in the pot bringing it out half filled .It seemed as if his mind was not in his job and then suddenly he told me ,with a sharp look that he has been dispensing this stuff to some member from the same house.I was taken aback.Who could this be?She was some girl ,he told me with an intense expression in his eyes.It was my daughter perhaps who considered me a finicky old lady with weird notions .Oh so he was offended and hurt by my distant attitude and perhaps superior airs of which even I was not consciously aware.He sped away with that same lulling and soulful cry beating me to my own game.