Thirty-two

 

The Master settled down comfortably, leaning against a rock with Little Girl at his feet. He sniffed the breeze. ‘Ah,’ he said with a smile, ‘the stench! Such a giveaway! Now, we know they are coming.’

‘This could be a long night and we have a battle to win,’ said the little girl with worry. ‘I still do not know how to play the flute or to discover the strength that lies in its music. Please stay and guide me, for this is as much your fight as it is mine!’

‘Hmmm,’ The Master said, with a smile, ‘perhaps, this is as good a time as any to recall lessons.’

Seeing the little girl frown, The Master tugged at his beard and said gently, ‘The consorts of The Serpent will come to test us. Then, if they fail, they will get vicious and will try to kill me. That will be their first objective. They believe that in my death lies their victory over you, because I have not taught you all that you would need to know to kill The Serpent. They will keep you for the grand finale. Please remember that you are their final target.’

‘Can they kill you?’ asked the little girl with great worry.

‘Alas yes, but I have my strengths too!’ replied The Master, picking up his flute.

‘But if you were to die, would I fail in my mission?’ asked the little girl.

The Master smiled broadly and hugged her. ‘You would need to fight The Serpent without me by your side. If you succeed, I would have gone with happiness. But first, let us ward this one off, and if I survive, I will teach you more of what you need to know to defend yourself. But for now, I must believe in your inner strength, and you in yours!’

By now, wind had started blowing and the sky was dark. In the distance, they could hear the silence broken by the rumble of thunder. Even the waters of the river were perturbed, and they frothed and foamed, as they crashed into the rocks. The blue meadows looked eerie as an ominous presence hung like a shroud over the entire place.

The sound of thunder came closer, like ten thousand galloping hooves of an advancing army—swords drawn, flared nostrils of the horses, the scent of sweat and clammy hands. Someone or something was approaching. You could smell fear, as if you were now surrounded by it.

The Master was calm. ‘Take courage!’ he said. ‘Pick up your flute and play.’

‘I am not afraid, Master,’ said Little Girl, ‘for I swear that I will end the nights of the starless sky. But tell me, what shall I play?’

‘We play the music of our soul.’

She looked at him and nodded, as if she fully understood what he had said.

‘We play the music that controls minds,’ replied the little girl simply.

‘Quite right, my child,’ said The Master, ‘play for God and un-clutter your mind. All else is only noise and a distraction.’

And so, they lifted their flutes and closed their eyes.

Never indeed had such music been played before, for it evoked feelings that seemed to have long ceased to exist. Eyes closed in abandon, as a deep and overwhelming calm enveloped the village.

The villagers started coming out of their homes. The fury of storm had frightened them, but the gentle force with which the music met storm was a new and strange experience.

Thunder rumbled and growled and roared. The lightning struck at will and whole trees were charred. Yet, the notes of the flutes continued in their calm journey, as if moved by a deep and passionate search.

A great battle had indeed begun.

You could almost see storm that night, in all his savage glee, spewing the wind like a screaming mob hungry for blood. The sound of thunder was like a chanting that seemed to endlessly cry, ‘Crucify them. Crucify them. Destroy the innocence of the child!’ A horrifying and endless drone rent the air.

This was fury and the music of fear.

The two flutes knew that they now had an orchestra, and their music rose like the flutter of wings that opened the skies and embraced the dead. Thrust, parry, engage and withdraw. A deep and resonating chorus taunted the wind as it darted towards it, almost coquettishly, slipping away just before making contact.

There was a sudden feeling of deep restlessness in wind and storm and thunder and lightning, for they had never met such unabated and gentle resistance, despite their relentless and noisy fury.

Why is it, they wondered, that this strange sound brought back memories of gentle pathos and of happier times? Why did it evoke illusions of grandeur in the depths of despair? What dark and mysterious journey was it an invitation to, speaking as it did of emotions that were at once richly tragic and deeply romantic?

The consorts were worried. As they listened, the music of the flutes, mingled with the sound of storm, thunder, wind and lightning, resulting in an extraordinarily melodious symphony. Surprisingly, they all seemed to take their cue from the flutes!

Thunder rumbled and grumbled and rumbled again. Deeply sonorous and with a great bass tone to it! Lightning struck and lit up the sky. Zappp! But, this time, she carefully avoided the trees. Thunder again, but now he was loud like the rhythmic beating of drums. Wind came along and took on the sound that she was most known for, as she moved through the trees. Whhooosh! And then, she did a whhizzzzz! Storm conducted with great finesse. He added a rumble to a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied with a howling wind instead of a swishing or buzzing one. Whhhoooo!

The villagers were moved by this grand music. They joined and chanted like so many humming bees, different notes for different age groups. Hmmmm, it went. Some higher, some lower.

The music of the flutes remained calm and serene, as if it were a divine celebration of life itself and of living.

‘I like it,’ Storm said. ‘This music’s great. It’s got that special wow and zing to it!’

That strange and bizarre night, enemies became friends, and friends became family. Unhindered and joyful, this indeed was music that brought back memories. They all wept as they remembered who they once were, what indeed they were capable of, and all that they had sadly forsaken.

Things were going awry and totally opposed to the plan.

‘Stop! Stop!’ the consorts screamed, ‘this is not how things were supposed to go.’ But they knew that this battle was already lost and that it was better to leave now and regroup. With a loud hissing sound, they vanished and wondered what explanation they would give to their master, who surely would have watched the battle through the magic window.

A strange calm seemed to descend suddenly. The last strains of the flutes drifted upwards, like thousands and thousands of butterflies chasing the scent of jasmine flowers.

Storm, wind, thunder and lightning went away.

The first rays of the sun gently swathed the village with its golden hue. The flowers swayed and the blue meadows shone in the sunshine. A heady scent seemed to fill the universe.

The villagers started applauding as they came out of their homes. Then they sank to their knees in gratitude, and kissed the earth.