Zara woke up at dawn to the koel’s song:
Your due shall come your way,
Have faith in who you are.
Share whateva you own
Live and let live.
Zara looked up at the branches of the banyan tree. The koel was hiding amidst the leaves. Soon, the other birds joined in:
Your due shall come your way,
Have faith in who you are.
Share whateva you own
Live and let live.
And the banyan’s leaves rustled in the wind.
‘Good morning, Zara. Slept well?’ the turtle asked.
‘Yeah, sorta,’ Zara replied. ‘It’s time to get going. I have to reach the city.’
‘How do you distinguish between what’s true and what’s not?’ the west wind swept down the branches where she had been humming with the birds.
‘How?’ Zara asked.
‘Ask your voice within,’ said the west wind. ‘It’s your lonesome voice that tells you what’s yours and what’s not.’
‘But how do I recognise my voice within? It could well be yours instead,’ Zara said, still lying down, her head resting on the turtle’s stomach.
‘Wait till you reach the city and you will get to learn,’ the west wind said. ‘Those neon lights you have seen from the heights of the Peacock Ridge . . .’
‘The city! Ah! The city lights,’ said Zara. ‘The glow of the neon entices me from afar.’
‘Do you know what makes them glow?’ asked the west wind.
‘No,’ replied Zara.
‘That glow comes from the power within. You don’t need to touch the power to feel its glow. It’s there. Period. And you realise that out of realisation.’
‘Sounds complicated,’ Zara said. ‘I’ve realised nothing of that kind.’
‘I can see your fantasies make you happy . . .’ the west wind said.
Zara interrupted, ‘Yes, they do.’
‘. . . but they will never satisfy you, Zaru,’ the west wind continued.
‘What will, then?’ Zara got up to catch the wind in the face.
‘Your satisfaction comes from giving your heart out, Zaru,’ the west wind said.
‘Like Elly’s?’ Zara asked.
‘Yes, and more. When you walk with your voice till the end, without seeking anything, you will only give. Give, but do not take, Zaru.’
‘I have nothing to give,’ Zara smiled. ‘I came here with nothing . . . on the elephant’s back . . .’
‘. . . but your imagination and your voice,’ the turtle joined in.
‘Yeah. So, make the best use of what you have. Face every situation, Zara. But use the power of your voice within and your judgment to get what you desire,’ said the wise ol’ turtle.
‘Learn to distinguish between what’s true and what’s not, Zaru,’ the west wind said.
Zara sat pensive. Thinking. Thinking deep. ‘What’s true? What’s untrue . . . ?’ she wondered.
‘True?’ she asked herself again, raising a brow. ‘Untrue.’ And she looked into the pond where the elephant had gone down.
‘There’s hyacinth there . . . that’s true?’ she asked herself. Then, she replied, ‘No . . . there’s water there? That’s true?’
‘Where’s the water?’ asked the turtle, testing Zara.
‘There’s only the hyacinth where you look. That’s the truth.’
Zara paused, and thought and thought and thought. And then, slowly raising her voice, she said, ‘There’s only truth.’
‘Only truth?’ asked the turtle, now raising his brow.
‘Only truth?’ asked the west wind, smirk scribbled on her face.
‘Only truth!’ said Zara. ‘There’s no untruth. What is, is true. Also, what is under the hyacinth is the other truth. So, what we often get to see is the half-truth, and then, there is also a second choice. There is only truth. There is no other.’
‘You are right, Zaru,’ the west wind clapped. ‘There is the moon. You only get to see its one side. But there are two faces of the moon. Still, it is the moon.’
The turtle rolled over to stand up on its feet. ‘It’s like me, Zara. What you get to see is the truth. From the top, you get to see my hard side, hard like the rock. Turn me around, and you get to see my soft underbelly that hurts when you hit me hard.’
‘Really! Really! Reaaaaally!’ Zara exclaimed, her eyes gleaming.
And the west wind smiled. ‘You got it, Zaru.’
‘I got it!’ Zara exclaimed.
‘Now, you won’t quite get to explore the dark side of the moon, Zaru, but if you do get to see the dark side, don’t feel scared.’