THE PICTURE FRAME

                                             The Two Banks

I am running  breathlessly through the narrow lane which leads to the river front.It is the jehlum river.Its murky waters flow in swathes and the undulating waves seem to be squeezing  alongside.I want to take my seat which I guard zealously everyday.It is the last step leading to   the river where it touches the flowing waters.The stone has a bright glaze to it.It is smooth yet holds one securely.I take the seat  and hold my breath to easy pace.Before me 0pens up the entire world of nascent joys.I can see the bank opposite me.There usually is a great activity going on.It also has a ramshackle enclosure which is open at the top and the lower end.I always have a curiosity about what might be going on there.But the maximum I could see was the bony feet of some ladies who seemed to be changing their clothes. On my side of the bank there were no such enclosures. The whole  area was stark  open and bare.All the activity seemed to be on the other side.My main attraction was to see the children making dives into the deep murky river.They were all in pre- teens and at this age quite oblivious of their bodies.The women emerged from the enclosures tying their head gears and further brought  their utensils for cleaning. The utensils were altogether of different shapes and of different material. Mostly they were of almunium metal.  Their greyish dull surfaces  gelled with the  dull dense waters of the river.The women  were adept at washing their utensils in the rushing water and  did it with aplomb. I  could  see   the feverishness of their chatting.The rapid movements of their lips gave momentum to their working hands.The pots went through the  rapid swish swash of the  gurgling   waters.Their jewellery too  was an object of immense curiosity to me.It was made of some silver metal.There was not a speck of gold anywhere.But nevertheless  they were all heavily laden with these finely crafted ornaments.   Their ear rings swung and their bracelets clanged against the pots creating a picture of banjara women whom I happened to accost on hilly  terrains. Their attires were different. They wore phirans over smutty salwars.They were usually barefeet.

They filled their pots with the same water which they perhaps used in their homes  since these people generally did not have the regular water connections. Some young girls also appeared who dived in the river with their clothes on.The children rolled on  like the shoal of fishes.They twisted and turned their heads popping out.Their naked bodies had taken a  slimy hue.Their mothers now started shouting for them.They hardly paid any heed.Eventually they came out and pulled at their clothes which were of the same  smutty hue as if not been  washed  properly with a liberal application of soap. Slowly they  all herded together and morphed into a single waning shadow.The bank now looked deserted.The dripping water slid back into the river and the stony bank glistened in the receding glow of the waning Sun.I looked to my side .It was a different world all together.The few children there  had already left.I was almost alone .The lord of the river.But my eyes were there glued  to the opposite bank.I dreamt of them. I could see them entering their low ceilinged houses  which glowed in the dim bulbs adding  to the warmth of their togetherness.  The children and the men in their cozy phirans  huddled together waiting for the food.  Their  food too had a  different  aroma.It smelt of sweet fragrance but with a strange  sort of profanity to it.

I could see the round silvery pot filled with steaming rice topped with some delicious dish and a quiet gathering around it who dug their hands into it and shared the meal amazingly with an equal distribution.There was no lack of faith or any sort of rapaciousness or gluttony but a strange sakoon and patience for one another to have their equal share.I could imagine myself not being patient or trusting even if I had to share with one of my siblings.

To day the picture comes before me as in a tapestry.They stand out so markedly in distinct frames.The stoic human beings who paced through life in complete harmony with nature with fortitude and expansive acceptance of each other..So where the things went wrong or is this my   shore of which they suddenly became conscious  where I sat hung on them in partaking their celebrations of life silently and imperceptibly?

 And where is my shore now? The dripping drops of water which met the river on the other shore  as the ablution  of  a joyous life have  disappeared in the hideous  underbelly of the new  Hades.And this is my valley to-day.