Nine

 

In the village, there lived a little girl who slept under the trees at night and worked in a bicycle shop during the day. For the last year or so that the old man and his wife knew the little girl, they had come to love her because she had such an angelic face, and also because she was so alone. Having no children of their own, the two of them would look after the girl and feed and clothe her. They had very much wanted that she should live with them, but she had always declined.

Sometimes, the little girl would spend time with the old man and help him make balloons. In the afternoons, she would always slip away, saying that she had to work in the bicycle shop. That wasn’t exactly true because what she would actually do was hide behind a tree and watch the children play in the park. The children never spoke to her because she was poor and had no parents and never went to school. They would always drive her away, if they ever saw her, heartlessly calling her an orphan.

The little girl knew that the old man and his wife would be deeply hurt if they ever found out how the children treated her. She thought that it would be best to spare them this sorrow and so, she never spoke to them about it.

Fearful that they might one day find out, she took great care to peep from behind a giant tree, as she watched the children play and heard the sound of their laughter. And then, she would slowly disappear into the shadows and go back to work in the bicycle shop.

The little girl did not go for the picnic even though the old couple had invited her. She had hidden behind the trees and watched with frustration, their anger and tears. Her heart rebelled at the shallow and petty people who thought nothing of yelling and screaming at the gentle old couple.

And, she had smelt that evil stench. ‘Never forget this smell,’ her father had once told her, ‘for when you smell it, know that something terribly evil is near at hand, and that people will be at their most vicious, and will think nothing of whom they hurt by their actions or their speech.’

She went back to her tree and lay down to sleep, curled up near the trunk. It was a lovely night sparkling with stars and a bright moon. She looked at two big stars and knew at once that one must be her father and the other, her mother.

‘Ma,’ the little girl said, ‘why can you and father not help me to fly Balloon? I see no reason why good persons, like the balloon-maker and his wife, should be hurt, especially when they have spent all their time trying to make other people happy.’

She had grown to love the old couple very much. Mind you, she was only around fourteen years old and yet she thought like a grown-up.

‘I am going to sleep now,’ she said finally, ‘talk to me in my dream.’

What conversations the little child had with her parents in her dream that night are a mystery, but, the next morning, she woke up well before the sun arose. Then, she sat cross-legged, as her father had taught her, and turned her face towards the east and closed her eyes. For seven days and seven nights, she sat motionless, in deep meditation. When she was hungry, she used her mind to pluck an apple, slice it into two and to eat it. And then she used her mind again, to return the whole apple to the tree from which it was plucked, so that she might eat it when she was hungry again.

For seven days and seven nights, nothing bothered her. Neither the cold wind, nor thirst, nor hunger, nor sleep. Not even the ants that crawled all over her tiny frame, or the bees that fanned her face. Her father had taught her that these were all weaknesses of the mind and that it was the mind that needed to be controlled. ‘When you can do that,’ he had said, ‘you will realise that true strength lies in recognising what matters and what does not.’

And then, on the eighth day, while it was still night, she opened a bag that she had hidden among the branches of a huge oak tree, and took out a bicycle pump and a neatly folded dress that her mother had stitched for her to wear on special occasions. It was pink in colour with little blue flowers embroidered all over.

‘Pink is my favourite colour,’ her mother had told her, ‘and the flowers are jasmines—for your protection. Put your face to the jasmines and close your eyes and you will smell their heady scent.’

‘But the jasmines are blue,’ the little girl had protested.

‘So indeed they are,’ her mother had responded, ‘and they have great power, for as you can see, these are the blue jasmines.’

‘But, Ma!’ she had exclaimed. ‘ Jasmine flowers are never blue!’

‘Sometimes,’ her mother had whispered, ‘they are blue. And when they are, they are special. That’s because, dearest one, they are different from what you expect them to be!’

She smiled as she remembered the conversation, and how her parents always spoke in riddles.

And then, with the bicycle pump in her hand, the little girl walked purposefully to the old man’s house. It was very dark and still. But two lovely stars shone brightly. She looked at Balloon lying on the ground, limp and lonely, and whispered softly, ‘Wake up, my friend. We have a journey to take.’

She put the pump to the nozzle of Balloon and said, ‘Bless this pump Ma, as indeed you said you would,’ and then, she started pumping in air.

Balloon was fast asleep. She yawned a big balloon yawn and stretched her arms and back and was most annoyed at finding a nozzle attached to her. ‘And, what’s that?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘I don’t like attachments. They end up in disappointments.’

The little girl patted Balloon and said, ‘You will like this attachment. I promise you!’

‘Ma has heard,’ the little girl said to herself, for the two bright stars suddenly seemed to shine even brighter.

Balloon could not believe what was happening. She screamed in delight as more and more air entered into her and she became bigger and bigger. And bigger. And BIGGER.

It was almost as if she was going to fill the sky.

The little girl now looked very small beside Balloon. She kept on pumping air till Balloon became rounder and firmer.

And as the first shafts of sunlight appeared, Balloon looked so lovely that even the sun was a wee bit jealous! The two stars shone brightly. It did look like they were smiling. And then, they slowly faded away in the morning glow.

The little girl looked at Balloon and patted her in appreciation. Then, she carefully fixed two strings—one black and the other white. When she pulled the white string, the air would start coming out and when she pulled the black string, it would stop the air from coming out. She felt Balloon and found her nice and firm and knew that there was enough air in her now. Then, she fixed a little folding chair to Balloon, right next to the nozzle, so that she would be able to decide whether to land or keep on flying.

By now, of course, Balloon could hardly restrain her joy and her impatience. ‘Hurry up, Little Girl!’ Balloon said as she kept trying to bounce up and down. ‘Let us fly! Let us fly!’

‘You have called me “Little Girl”,’ said the girl child to Balloon.

‘And that is what you are,’ said Balloon with a smile, ‘a little, little girl.’

‘All right then,’ said the girl child, ‘I am Little Girl from now on and you are Balloon!’

The two nodded, as if a pact had been sealed. ‘Give me a moment, my newfound friend,’ said Little Girl, ‘before an important journey, contemplation is helpful in quietening the mind. A mind that runs wildly cannot think clearly!’

And so, she sat quietly by the side of a tree and looked at Balloon. Finally, her dream would come true and she would fly. Higher and higher she would go, up into the sky, even higher than the birds and the clouds. There, she would see God and her parents. She would travel to distant places and meet new people. It was all so exhilarating.

This, her father had told her, was the time to still thoughts. So, she closed her eyes in meditative silence.