Zara looked around and, then, looked up at the sky.
‘Wassup?’ she asked.
Not a soul stirred that new moon night. It hadn’t been a pleasant day for her. In fact, it had been quite nasty. Never since she had come to be perched on the wedge had her emotions hung in such precarious balance, trapped in the illusion of her mind, racing back and forth along the course of the river between the glacier’s tongue and the Ah!nandita Hills; the ghastly image of her lookalike smeared in red, falling off a bursting bubble high up in the freezing mountain tormented her.
And Zara kept wondering. And she kept asking herself if she had made a false boast to the river about renouncing her fears and emotions at birth. And yet, she reassured herself that she hadn’t lied. It was the fear of the unknown within that had surfaced in her mind because of her deep introspection of the night before.
And Zara kept reminding herself, ‘Yes, what I had told the river was true. I hadn’t lied.’ After all, it was true that she had met her lookalike high up in the mountain at the mouth of the glacier, moments before she slipped out in the warmth unleashed by the glacier’s tongue in the maddening race to her present destination, rupturing each colliding bubble in her struggle for survival. And Zara had deliberately shed her emotions during that long and eventful life-defining journey, distancing herself from her feelings and attachments.
So now, there was no point recollecting past images of her millions of lookalikes encased in millions upon millions of plasma bubbles.
‘Give up, give up, give up! Give up on the images of your mind and tell yourself there is no other face on the face of this earth that looks quite like yours. There’s no point thinking about what no longer is,’ she told herself.
And she reasoned, ‘So, what if my lookalike is gone. That indeed was her destiny, just as I will meet my destiny one day.
My lookalike only lives in me.’
That’s how Zara tried to overcome her fear. Yet, the more she thought of it, the more she fell in love with her image, and the more she panicked, remembering a million innocent faces, lying calm, encased in a million plasma bubbles.
Zara wished to run back to where she had come from.
Catching her in a pensive mood, the river whispered, ‘Why are you so sad, dear Zara? Why do you feel so lonesome tonight?
If your mind makes you anxious, resolve all your issues right now. After all, it’s part of the game. Hope and fear are the opposite banks through which I flow alone.’
‘I see,’ Zara said in a hushed voice.
‘The obsession with me consumes my mind, dear Zara,’ the river said, breaking the numbing silence. ‘The me and mine of those who have cause pain to those who do not. When I rest in my arrogance, I miss the boat to my destination in the sky, shrinking with time into a cesspool instead.’
‘On this dark foreboding night, O little girl!’ the river went on, ‘ask yourself on which of the three shall you ride the sky: knowledge, imagination, or action?’
Zara looked up. She hadn’t a clue.
‘The answer, Zara, is simple,’ the river said. ‘Riding the arrogance of any one of three will not help you reach the sky. You need knowledge, imagination, and action in their unadulterated forms to merge with the canvas above; just as I do, little Zara, from ice to water to vapour.’
‘The river helps you know yourself. Kill the I in you every day, kill all that you feel is yours.’
‘You are doing well, Zara,’ the frog hopped over to her side from the middle of nowhere. ‘You know what, Zara, each of these nine steps that you see by the riverbank are the nine steps of learning the great lesson of life. Come with me, let me guide you there.’
And so, that moonless night, Zara hopped up to the promenade in step with the frog. And when they had reached the top, both turned towards the river.
‘Here, as we stand on the first step of life, we listen to the voice of wisdom,’ the frog said.
‘We listen to the voice of wisdom,’ repeated Zara, hopping after the frog to the step below.
And so, a year passed by . . .
‘And here, as we stand on the second step of life, we read the flow of the river of life.’
‘And we read the flow of the river of life,’ repeated Zara, hopping down another step.
And another year was gone . . .
‘And here, as we stand on the third step of life, we kill all our previous assumptions.’
‘And we kill all our previous assumptions,’ said Zara.
And so, with every step, a year passed.
‘And here on the fourth step of life, we imbibe the new lessons of life.’
‘And we imbibe the new lessons of life,’ said Zara.
‘And here on the next step of life, we spread the good word around.’
‘And we spread the good word around,’ said Zara.
‘And here on the next step of life, we rejoice in song and dance.’
‘And we rejoice in song and dance,’ said Zara, her arms raised, doing her now favourite whirl.
‘And here on the seventh step of life, we commune with our own reflections,’ said the frog.
‘And here, we commune with our reflections,’ said Zara.
‘Having done so, here on the eighth step of life, we play with one and all, in the spirit of sharing and love.’
‘And we love one and all,’ said Zara.
‘And then, on the ninth and final step of life . . .’ said the frog, pausing a while.
‘And on the ninth step?’ repeated Zara, narrowing her eyes, waiting to catch the lesson.
‘It’s total surrender. We immerse ourselves in the river of life, content, and coming to terms with who we really are.’
‘We come to terms with who we really are,’ said Zara, raising her arms above her head, jumping with joy at the end of nine years.
‘Thank you, Froggy. Thanks, thanks, thanks! That was indeed a wonderful lesson, I really feel nice about who I am. It really feels so good.’
‘Thank you, Froggy! Thank you, Rivah!’
Zara was beside herself with joy, her dreadful night seemed finally over.
Then, looking up to the heaven above, she wondered, ‘Where did that thought come from? For whom did it come? Why did it come? Why was I so scared?’
And saying so, Zara told herself, ‘Yes, I am in love with my lookalike, because my inner voice tells me to be in love with my innocence. The rest of the plot doesn’t matter. What matters is that I arouse my emotions within for that which is pure. And yet, remain detached from the scenery around and the urge to hold on.’
Unnoticed by Zara, the first rays of the sun had begun to wink from behind the Peacock Ridge some distance away from where Zara had been standing all night on the riverbank. And in the soft glow of dawn, a giant bubble rose from the water.
It had been twenty-one years since Zara had arrived at the bank. Standing tall, she faced her infant lookalike crouched inside the bubble, staring at Zara, a large smile pasted on her face.
‘Connect, disconnect, reconnect, Zara,’ her lookalike said. ‘It’s fun!’
And bang! The bubble burst. Zara rubbed her eyes. Her lookalike had finally disappeared, never to haunt her again. There was no one around. Only Zara and the river flowing by.