Somewhere in Time

A lone bird circled in the sky.

It was so long ago that seems like an experience of another lifetime, where memories and dreams are intertwined, mingled with a sense of nostalgia. It makes me wonder if it was just a figment of my imagination.

Somewhere across the valley, a man was calling out to another man if he saw his cattle. A faint answer reverberated from somewhere. A gentle wind blew, rustling the pine leaves. For a moment, I thought I heard the sound of river flowing mildly down the valley-floor.

The weak winter sun bathed me in its heat. The lone bird was still circling in the vast empty sky. Down by a hillside, a pair of oxen were pulling a plough, yoked to the hard earth. The ploughman sang an ancient oxen song, of an ox taken to a faraway land to plough the fields.

The cowherds called each other. Some played flutes. Some climbed trees and sang amorous cowherds’ song. A few of the girls near me giggled, peering from the Buddhist scriptures they were learning to read.

Somewhere around a bend, a tiny stream trickled down, its icy fresh water meandering into thick bushes and shrubs. Some of the cowherds had made a tiny pool with stones, mud and leaves. Cattles often came there to drink before driven home.

Sometimes, wild dogs attacked the cattle. I heard a tiger attacked some cattles too. May be it was just a lie.

Come evening, we gathered our cattle and went home. The lone bird had long flown home. A line of ravens flew into the distant horizon. The sun sparkled the land with golden promises. The harness bells of the cattle clamoured in the stillness of dusk blending with the sounds of nocturnal insects. Far across the eastern sky, the gallant moon peeped behind a looming mountain. I smiled and continued my way home

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