Treasure Trove in a Meadow

A sound like a squeaky toy emerges from the trees.

“What bird is that?” Warda asks.

Saarth’s head snaps up, and he appears to listen intently. Seconds later, he lowers his gaze and, in a disenchanted voice, replies, “That’s a squirrel.”

Warda, having spent her entire life in a raucous city, has been mostly disconnected from the sounds of nature. She opens her mouth to speak, only to shut it when her husband's eyes return to his phone, likely checking emails and staying busy even on a Sunday morning. Warda’s gaze lingers on him, hoping he will look her way so she can ask him something else, but his eyes never leave his phone.

Warda rises from the bamboo chair and steps off the veranda. In the courtyard she glances at her husband, who is still busy on his phone. Warda shifts her attention to the silent green sentinels.

A sudden breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, revealing some of their pale underbellies.

She takes a lungful of air, aware of how energised she feels for some reason. Another deep inhale, and she knows it’s because of the clean morning air, so unlike the stuffy, dirty air of cities.

Warda finds herself liking the visit to Saarth's birthplace more than she had expected, staying at an uncle's house while that uncle and his family stayed at their other residence in Chandigarh. But she kept her emotions to herself because they weren't on vacation; rather, they were in town to see Saarth's older sister, who was suffering from multiple myeloma.

The squeaking re-emerges, and Warda successfully captures the darts of a squirrel on a guava tree.

Warda approaches the tree, her gaze fixed on the squirrel.

The squeaking slowly morphs into grunts. Flicking its bushy tail up and down, the squirrel stares at her with its beady eyes. Warda flashes a smile at the arboreal.

……

The blue-gray heavens swiftly turn menacingly dark within minutes.

A sweet, woodsy scent from the burnt-out incense continues to linger in the room.

She notices the gray donkey first.

The portly equine stands perfectly still like a statue.

Warda looks out through the window grill, her eyes narrowing slightly.

A lightning flash cuts across the glum sky, and the donkey's ear flicks. Just then, a shout echoes from beyond the window frame, drawing the attention of both the donkey and Warda. A man who appears in his forties jogs over to the animal. Warda’s face edges closer, her hands clasping around the window grill. It looks like the man is speaking to the donkey, but the sounds of the complaining sky drown out what he is saying.

Once near, the man places his hands on either side of the donkey's face, then leans down until their heads touch. Warda doesn't blink. The man and the animal stay in that position for a short while longer before he softly guides the donkey back along the route from which he came.

Warda watches them as long as her window allows.

……

Her relationship with her curly hair was complicated.

Standing before the mirror, Warda pulls off the hair bow, and her voluminous curls cascade around her shoulders. Her reflection scowls at her. Caring for her curly hair has often made her feel like taming a wild child.

She gazes at her loose locks, realizing it has been three days since water touched them. Because daily washing left her curly hair dry and frizzy, she avoided washing it every day. If her hair had been straight or wavy, she would have loved them more.

Warda perches on the dressing chair, hesitating before picking up a comb.

And a sudden wave of longing for her mom washes over her.

Warda instantly feels silly.

She wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t like her mother always managed her hair. The last time she allowed her mother to oil, massage, and comb her hair was nearly ten years ago. So why is she increasingly missing her mother lately?

Warda pulls the comb through her tresses and lets out a gasp. She brings the comb closer to her face, her irritation mounting at the sight of a bunch of strands caught there. Her mouth tightens, and she tosses the comb onto the dresser top and heads to the bathroom.

She is drying her hair by the window after bathing when she spots the donkey exactly where it was yesterday, but not by itself this time.

A smile perks her lips as she observes the man gently brushing its coat with his hands as the animal grazes on the rich grass.

Warda pulls the dressing chair to the window, drops the towel on the backrest, and sits down to watch the man and his shaggy friend.

They appear unchanged, yet there's something about them that seems different to her. It's as though they are emitting a faint radiance.

Warda raises her gaze skyward. Maybe it was the bright sky and gentle sunlight playing tricks on her eyes.

When she looks back at the duo, the man appears to be saying something to the beast.

Unconsciously, Warda's neck cranes forward, longing to hear what the man was saying.

After patting the donkey's head for a while, the man tilts his chin up.

A soft murmur of warmth vibrates within her as she observes the duo depart.

……

There are certain smells that Warda finds unbearable, and one of them is the smell of the hospital, a sobering reminder of life’s fragility. So she leaves the off-white building and sits on an outdoor bench when her husband approaches her.

“What was that about?” he asks without looking at her.

She looks up at him. “I don’t know. I was feeling uneasy. I hate hospitals.”

Saarth meets her eyes, letting out an audible exhale. “No one likes hospitals. I’m sure not even the doctors who work here.”

Warda doesn't say anything, turning her gaze to the ground.

“You should have talked with her longer,” Saarth remarks, his voice dropping a notch.

Warda observes her husband, noticing a distant look in his eyes. But no tears. No palpable sadness.

Warda thought she was good at understanding people, but her husband was challenging that notion. She had a hard time figuring out what feelings were coursing through him. The only time she witnessed him display any emotion was upon meeting his brother-in-law in the hospital. Saarth's dislike for the man was almost palpable. An alcoholic, who had been without a job for several years, the brother-in-law lived separately from his wife. The man has a tendency to disappear for days, occasionally weeks, with no one knowing his location. Warda has met him only twice.

She still has a lot to learn about her husband. After all, they only met three times before tying the knot.

The sun overhead grows warmer. Warda rose to her feet. “I didn’t know what to talk about. Besides, she looked tired and sleepy.”

To this, Saarth doesn't say anything.

“Shall we go?” she asks, then proceeds to follow her husband, who has already begun walking towards the parking area.

In the evening, Warda has to wait a long time by the window before they appear.

They stroll casually to the richest patch of green in the wide-open landscape. Once the man plops down and begins toying with a handful of grass, twisting it between his fingers, his donkey immediately starts grazing on the pasture.

Warda worries that if the man moves his gaze around, he might catch her looking at him. But he seems less interested in his surroundings, his priority being his donkey.

Warda regards his appearance, slightly perplexed by his clothes. They look odd, as if belonging to the long past.

Maybe it is a local thing, she reasons, and notices something else—dark clouds steadily moving in from the horizon.

When she looks back at the duo, the man has risen and is approaching the donkey. Once near, he snaps his fingers near the donkey's ear, then gestures towards the sky.

“What are you smiling at?”

Warda springs up from the chair so quickly that she nearly topples it. She doesn't realize she has been smiling all this while.

“Nothing,” she answers, a bit too loud and with no trace of a smile. Saarth examines her briefly before looking away.

“I’m going to the market. Do you need anything?” he asks.

“Is that really necessary? I mean, it looks like it’s about to rain.”

Warda is unable to understand her husband's choice to step out at that point. Is he unaware of the weather outside? She considers whether to ask why he is heading to the market.

He looks at her. “It's fine. So, do you need anything?”

“No, nothing.” Then, “Oh, yes, get a pineapple if you see it.”

Saarth nods and leaves the room.

She continues to stare out the door, hearing the sound of the gate opening and closing, when a tremendous thunderclap booms across the sky. Warda spins around and regards the sky, transfixed by the sudden change in the atmosphere as dark clouds bolt above.

When her gaze drops, the man is reaching down to pick a wildflower, which he raises to his nose before placing it behind his right ear. Then he gives his companion a pat, causing the beast to immediately tug along with him.

As the first raindrops hit the earth, Warda looked on anxiously at the pair’s slow pace.

Once they are out of sight, the rain quickly gathers volume, fogging her view of the plains in a matter of seconds. That's when her thoughts shift to her husband, and Warda hopes he has at least taken shelter from the rain.

……

It is so hard to keep a polite smile when one isn't feeling it, but etiquette requires it.

Saarth’s relatives drop in unexpectedly at night, leaving Warda with no time for food preparation. She gently suggests making something quickly, but she also hopes they will turn down her offer, which they do.

Warda scoots next to her husband on the sofa and listens to their stories of happy old days, followed by their laments.

They look resigned, accepting the fact they’d soon lose their beloved niece. Warda glances sideways at Saarth and is troubled to find him unaffected by the scenes of anticipatory grief.

His sister isn't dead yet, but she will soon. He is about to lose his only family. Warda feels mildly miffed by his lack of emotions. She wishes he’d shed a tear or two.

Warda is well aware of the close bond shared by the brother and sister. Saarth's whole demeanor changes whenever his sister is around, appearing more carefree and radiant with innocent delight yet remaining as respectful as a child with a parent.

Roughly an hour later, the relatives leave, and Saarth heads out for a walk.

Warda calls her mother and talks with both her parents. For some reason, she ends up crying, worrying her parents. She assures them that everything is fine in her life, but her sister-in-law’s declining health is affecting her. She has never been around dying people, and this was her first. Her parents convey their sympathy and suggest she look after Saarth during this difficult period. She doesn't tell them that Saarth’s lack of anticipatory grief was also bothering her.

She felt so light talking to her parents that she almost blurted out about the man and his donkey.

She hadn’t seen them for the past two days, another reason for her low spirits.

Around noon, she entered the grassy meadow, her eyes scanning her surroundings. All she could see were verdant plains stretching to the steely sky and a smattering of houses here and there. But no donkey or his human friend. For the first time since arriving in town, an unusual grief weighed down her heart.

………

As the comb's teeth dig into her scalp, Warda lets out a wince. In spite of the pain and damage it causes, she keeps going. When her tussle with her hair finally ceases, Warda takes a deep breath and confronts her troubles: Saarth leaving the house an hour ago without saying anything, or the fact that neither the stranger nor his donkey had been seen for four days?

Warda picks up the phone from the bed. She has already tried calling Saarth multiple times, without success. After a short hesitation and a look at the clock, she dials him one more time. Just as the phone starts ringing, she hears their car pull up. Warda tosses the phone back onto the bed and hurries out of the room.

Her feet stop on the veranda as she watches Saarth unlock the gate and stride in without looking at her.

“Saarth,” she calls to his back, but he doesn't stop.

Warda swiftly heads out to close the gate before trotting back indoors.

She lingers in the bedroom doorway, watching her husband collapse onto the edge of the bed, head hanging low.

Realising at once what probably happened, she walks over and sits by his side.

“Saarth,” Warda whispers.

Saarth lifts his head and rests it on her shoulder. Warda doesn't speak or move, just waits. Then, Saarth whispers, “She’s gone.”

“You know, she was a special soul,” he adds, seconds later.

Warda doesn't ask anything, allowing Saarth to speak to his heart's content.

“She was a kind, pure soul. She could see things that others couldn't.”

Now, Warda feels the need to ask him to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” She asked as gently as she could.

He falls quiet for so long that she thinks he hasn't registered the question.

“There's a legend in the town. Much older than my grandfather. I told you we lived with our grandparents when my parents died, right? My grandfather was not mentally sound, and he had a penchant for recounting the same legend every day. It used to drive me crazy, but our grandma had asked us to never stop him from repeating the story.”

“What was the legend?” Warda asks.

“About a man and his donkey.”

Warda's lips part in a soft, inaudible gasp.

Oblivious to his wife's reaction, Saarth continues. “It is said only a few people can see them. Those with simple, untainted spirits. People with unfiltered lenses and hearts untouched by depravity, filth, malice and base cravings. My sister was one of them.”

Saarth lifts his head, and they look at each other.

“My sister could see them. She had been seeing them since she was a kid but never told anyone. She was afraid that the townsfolk would call her crazy, because that's what they did.” Saarth lowers his gaze to the floor.

“Whoever claimed to see the man and his donkey was made fun of. But secrets are hard to keep to oneself for too long, aren’t they? When I was in college, one day I got a call from her. She sounded upset, which was unusual, because she was someone who kept all her worries to herself. She thought I was unaware of the issues, big or small, that we faced. She tried to deal with them on her own so I could focus on my studies and career. She even kept the troubles of her failed marriage to herself. So hearing her sound upset worried me.”

Saarth pauses. Warda studies his face.

How easily and erroneously one judges someone’s character just from a handful of interactions. When Warda thinks of the woman she called her sister-in-law, it doesn't evoke any strong emotions. The impression her sister-in-law always gave her was one of being standoffish and unapproachable. But, it seemed, there was a tender soul behind those frosty veneers.

“Turns out, she couldn't keep the secret of seeing the man and his donkey to herself anymore and wanted to share it with someone.”

“You believe her?”

Saarth looks at her. “Legends and myths are just that, legends and myths. They are not real. But I trusted my sister.”

“Why the man and the donkey? What's so special about them?” Warda asks, putting aside her own encounter with the man and his donkey. Besides, the man and the beast she saw might be real.

“It's funny that even though I've heard the legend countless times, I can't remember every detail.” Saarth opens his palms and stares at them. “They weren't from here. Nobody knew where they came from, but their close bond was well-known to everyone. One wouldn't be seen without the other. Then one day the donkey tumbled over a cliffside, and in a desperate attempt to rescue his companion, the man followed, but both perished.”

This time, Warda lets out a loud gasp, but once again, Saath takes no notice of her reaction.

“It was raining heavily that day,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like the other day you went out?”

“Mmm.”

That's the last time she saw them.

Saarth drops his head against her shoulder once again, and Warda gently brushes a hand over his head.

*****

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