The Mountain’s The Base

A Short Story by R. Ajaykrishna 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” thought Aarthi as she received yet another call from the senior editor of The Hindu, Chennai Branch, and she let this one slide too, just like the hundred and twenty-one missed calls on her phone from her employers and co-workers from the morning. She wasn’t in the mood to pick up the phone. She wasn’t in the mood to do anything except have a nice sleep for another eight hours, and nobody was to stop her, at least not on a Sunday evening when people are expected to hang out with their loved ones and have a semblance of personal time. As someone whose parents, husband, kids, and puppies live almost a hundred miles away from her, it was getting a little too lonely for her to actively participate in any other activities except journalism. She wasn’t a person to sit at a bar, hoping for someone to talk to her, but instead the bouncer of the party, a magnificent figure showing her build. Her appearance, too, always seems to put her in a spot beyond her peers. Her brown eyes were beautiful, but beauty in the eyes can never mean that she’s not fierce. Being six feet tall, her strong build ensured that people respected her words and feared her immediate presence in the room, because wherever she stood, she became the focal point of the room, even with active disinterest in such daunting personalities.

This call slid by, but she could not avoid the doorbell ringing, and on opening it, there he was, Tariq Aslam, her one and only friend in this vast city, along with his wife. “May I come in?” he enquired with increasing excitement, and she let the couple in and prepared a piping hot cup of tea when they were discussing the latest happenings in the city. “Artz, buddy, do you know why I am here?” interjected Tariq, which piqued Aarthi’s interest, as she was more than equipped to know that he always brings in the projects with the juiciest scoops, and he never misses out in that regard, not now, not ever. “I hope it’s good, man. I missed around a million calls today, and tomorrow I’m going to be buried alive, at the least,” laughed Aarthi, not realising that she was the only one that laughed, and the couple were dead serious on the matter.

“First of all, what is wrong with you today, Artz?” started Tariq, when a stern glance from his wife melted him down, and he continued, “You have a new offer, buddy. That was the call, and that brings me to my next point. Second, the project is simple: There’s a tribal festival near the Nilgiris, and we’ve been instructed to cover it." Aarthi was mildly hesitant to accept another project, but her inner responsibilities won over her present interest to just relax, and she accepted it. “Alright, Artz. Pack your bags now and stay at our place. We will start around 5 AM so that we can catch the flight to Coimbatore as soon as possible, and... And... Well, that’s it. Start packing. Chop chop,” he was playing the military officer with her, and being a journalist, she always kept a bag full of essential supplies for a week handy, and, well, it came in handy.

On the next day, she woke up by 4 AM and got ready for a cab that’ll pick her up at the airport, and at the airport, there wasn’t anything out of the usual, except that her journal was in her handbag instead of the luggage that she always checks in. Golden opportunity, thought Aarthi, as she had never written down her thoughts about a plane in her journal, and it was time; it was destiny, and it wasn’t a good experience, as the plane had a turbulent path, and the words painted on the paper walls weren’t any better, being filled with unholy words and angry complaints. As soon as she landed in Coimbatore, she called her husband to inform him of her arrival and was visibly annoyed by his persistent concern for her safety. “I’ve been to Ooty many more times than I can count. I’ll be safe, alright? Call you later?” was her little rant, which was more than enough to get his tongue in a knot. He just said goodbye and cut the call, evoking a chuckle from Tariq. She rented a car to Ooty, preferring to drive on her own rather than be just another pillion rider. Tariq, visibly excited for the project, began to give Aarthi an insight on how the tribal culture works and how to be friendly to them so they can have a good acquaintance. A sentimental guy, Tariq always loved the concept of a connected world and had a knack for managing time with strings of friends and figure skating while juggling, all on the thin ice of a world in constant motion.

“Dude, seriously. This isn’t a history book or a Western movie. They would be more advanced than us, not even kidding. We can just be ourselves, all right? No good cop, bad cop, or elaborate schemes, right? It’s as simple as this. We walk in there, we introduce ourselves, I talk, you capture the images, and we walk out. Monday morning, the next assignment arrives. Cool?” advised Aarthi, to which Tariq had no qualms, and they rode to the village via a service road in the Nilgiris. It wasn’t exactly near Ooty, as the distance was well over fifty kilometres, and by the time they reached the village, Tariq only had the energy to remark that he needed some oil for back pain and possibly a smoother ride out of there. The entrance didn’t look very tribal at all. It had a store of tribal antiquities, and the crowd and their attire resembled something out of a corporate job in Chennai and not like how a tribe was expected to dress. Aarthi walked inside the antiquities store and felt tempted to empty her wallet instantly, but Tariq preceded her in buying a gift for his wife and got her a hat. He proceeded to pay when something caught Aarthi’s eye: a group of elders in the back door of the shop. She began to eavesdrop on their conversation but couldn’t get a clear understanding, as they were talking in a language that was only partially comprehensible. This was enough proof for her, letting her know that these men mean business, and she went on to meet them.

As a result of her growth in a temple town, she bowed down to touch the elders’ feet and sought their blessings before opening the conversation by introducing herself and Tariq as reporters from The Hindu and began to ask questions about the tribe’s history. The eldest man led the pair down the street to his house, and on reaching there, he asked the guests to remove their shoes. On entering, they were welcomed with a special concoction by his wife, who dressed with a different style of clothing that had a necklace-like headspace, and the dress diverged around the hips, and it rejoined as a loose pant-like covering, each in a different hue, akin to a peacock’s plumage. Aarthi started to converse in pure Tamil, for the elder’s convenience, and he began to narrate the detailed history of the town. He explained that this tribe sheltered members of the rebellion against the British in the 19th century, and unlike other depictions of tribes elsewhere, they had no infighting, and intermarriage was freely allowed, and explained the festival.

“See, little one, my ancestors protested against the British, but they weren’t taking it on head-on-head here, as the conditions here were a little more amicable than anywhere else in the subcontinent, and the last thing that they wanted was a full-blown-out war with the peaceful conquerors, so they lived in quiet disagreement. But, see, there is our harvest. We always start our harvest only after the flower talks,” recited the elder, walking them through the history. He was stopped in his tracks by his grandson, who came in, asking for sweets. The elder chuckled, called his wife, and instructed her to get him a sweet, and continued, “Kids, dear. I can’t live without them. They move abroad; they go to work elsewhere, but they never let go of their roots. Most of the crowd you might’ve seen won’t be there after another ten days. They come here every year, without any request or any hesitance, with their families. Ha! They all come here, dear, to listen to the flower talk. The flower doesn’t lie, and it reminds us that we, like the wise and innocent living thing that doesn’t understand how much the world appreciates them, die one day, living henceforth only as dust. We die, but our words live, ma. It always lives” and caught his breath. After reviving himself, he asked them if they were hungry. Aarthi accepted the kind offer for lunch. “Where was I, ma? Yes. So, the flower. This flower grows as a creeper, and it opens its buds any day now. It is read by all the elders here, and the next course of our lives is dictated to us, from the location of farming, the time, all the way to the expected weather. See, this helped the ones who passed above rebel against the British. Long thing short, the town, during the usual harvest season, learnt of a dark force, and soon enough, a group of weapon smugglers came here. But since it warned us, we were ready for them and sent those scoundrels packing! That’s the thing. Lunch might be ready now. Join us, please.” Requested the elder, and Aarthi and Tariq joined them for lunch, where they talked about their families, work, and so on.

That evening, the elder offered them a place to stay, as it was far away from any other town. They were hesitant, but then the elder’s son interjected, “The only other place with a place is Boys Company, twenty kilometres from here. It’s late. We insist,” and they set you camp there. That night, she took out her journal and began to etch her thoughts.

“As we reached the village, I didn't think very much about it, but I was astonished the moment I entered the store. It felt like I was transported at least a century back, but that was the least of my ethereal experience here. I met a man here with such a loving family of lots of members, and I felt such a distinct change from my life. Here I am, living away from my husband and kids in a far-off city, so that I can support them. I have so many questions, like, Is this true love? Is true love like maternal love to the ground that lets them fall, so they know how to rise, and such a rooted sense of belonging to their family that the grandchildren can demand sweets in a generation where a few children don’t know their grandparents’ name? What is true love? Is it the feeling of loneliness that one gets stung with when alone, waiting to see their loved ones again, counting seconds until the next visit, or is it the liking that one has in another person that the heart wills to spend for them before one’s own? We may never know. Then, there was a fascinating history of the festival. The flower ‘Tells’ something, which helped them fend off smugglers from their place. It is not enough respect to put just a front-page article about such a deep culture in a newspaper, which they will never read! They need more. Their walls reveal chapters in history, and... It just doesn’t feel right to write such a short article. A book, at least.

Yours only,

Aarthi”

The next day, the loud sound of a blaring conch woke everyone from their slumber, and the scene outside was an absolute joy. “The flower is speaking to the elders” was the united cry, and Aarthi joined in the celebrations, dancing along with the little children. The middle-aged woman gifted her a dress and another hat for Tariq for him to adorn it as his crown. They were overjoyed with their gifts and were eager to see what the event was all about. As Tariq took pictures of the ceremony in full detail, Aarthi was enjoying the festival, thinking of bringing her family here for the upcoming events. As the elders walked out, all stood with attentive concentration, with absolute silence. “The flower has spoken! We will have our past repeated very soon. The season’s fertile for more flowers. Grow more, it said, for it is the year where the blooming blossoms into a garland of welcome!” the elders shouted in unison. After a brief moment of silence, the festivities continued, and Aarthi couldn’t comprehend the event that happened. She needed a place for her to note all these, and so she took a walk into the adjacent tea plantations, with Tariq by her side. As she walked along, she was interrupted by a lady in a red-coloured dress, informing her that the limit was not far away and to be vary of the notice board, beyond which it is not community-owned but private plantations. She decided to sit down at the bench near the border, where the lady sat beside her for a break before resuming her activities when a small creature jumped next to Aarthi.

Initially startled by the creature, Aarthi took a second to regain her composure and saw that the animal was rabbit-like. It had a brown coat and yellow feet. It looked down at her as if she were the servant and held the noble pose. Aarthi, for the first time in a long time, felt a connection to nature. Aarthi was humbled by the sheer magnificence of the one and a half-foot king, and the simple beauty engulfed her with her thoughts. She wasn’t in the Nilgiris, but in a realm beyond all reason, beyond time, to the place where everything was stationary, and the creature hopped in her thoughts. Bewildered, she tried to touch it but jumped from her.

The animal was captured in a photo by Tariq, but the lady was in a different position. She cried, “Oh, God. The one before time. We fall to your feet” and informed the elders promptly. Unfazed by this, Aarthi finished her prose and walked back to the village, where she was expected by the elder himself. “Ma, tell me, how did it look?” quizzed the elder, to which Aarthi replied that it looked kind of brown, with yellowish feet. “Little one, you bring good tidings to this community. That is not just any other animal, but it is our forefathers’ reincarnation. They are present only in the best fields, and it has never been seen before by anyone other than us, so they don’t even have a name in the outside world. I saw that only once in my lifetime when I was a young boy. It feeds us by telling us where to farm. But none of us have even seen one in real life. We follow the trails, and we lived that way for so long, but one in front of your eyes? The past has returned,” he continued, and bellowed “The past has repeated," much to the enjoyment of other members. She couldn’t believe her ears and wanted to hear more. She walked down the main road to an adjacent tea shop and began to enquire about the specifics of the festival, while a call came from the editor. “Hello, Aarthi,” greeted the editor, to which Aarthi gulped a little and then responded, “Yes, madam? Anything?”. As the conversation progressed, one thing became clear: She needed to go back to Chennai and submit the specifics by night, and for that, she had to catch the next flight to Chennai. After informing Tariq, she bid farewell to all the elders and caught the evening flight to Chennai, while promising herself that she would visit this place many times in the foreseeable future.

As Aarthi held the photo of the rabbit-like animal, she saw that she had an innate responsibility to share it with the world but didn’t do so, as she knew that if the tribe was aware of its existence, they would be protected from harm’s way as long as the tribes continued living in their way of life.

“As I approached the animal, I felt an overwhelming need to hold it, to hold it in my arms, and to cuddle it. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be, and the crafty little thing scurried away from me, running off into the forest. I think I know what it is. It is not a rabbit. It is not a horse. It is not Bugs Bunny, of course. It is beauty, and since that moment of realisation, I have become more beautiful than ever. Beauty does not demand attention; beauty does not search for a Prince Charming or a Cinderella to look after it. It just doesn’t. It just exists, dutifully fulfilling its purpose on Earth. It does not sing about its majesty or crawl when no one seems to notice it. But is it a paradox when I say everything is beautiful, but once a selected few understand that, and they are the real beautiful creatures? Just a glance is enough, right? The few who are willing to see beauty in everything are willing to cross rivers, trek mountains, look danger in the eye, and shake hands with it, all in all, just to see true beauty, to achieve true beauty. They are the rarest breed of us all. And us? Tariq and I, two pathless fools, just happened to stumble into a world of beauty, and it overpowered us. We witnessed life’s greatest gift, and we intend to keep the gift for ourselves, not willing to share it with those who don’t understand beauty. They misinterpret and lust over beauty, then chase after it, thinking of it as a kingdom to topple rather than a gift to be experienced.

Yours Only

Aarthi”

She was writing in her journal and decided to stop for the night after Tariq bid her goodnight, back at her place. She called her husband when she reached her room, and after the call, she felt a little happiness in her—the happiness of belonging in the world. As she lay down in her bed, the rabbit’s stare led her down to an infinite realm of dreams, allowing her to sleep and once again witness true beauty.