Ichibaan

The towering Drakensberg cast its shadows upon the shimmering surface of the lake. It was freezing but Ichibaan didn’t realize it. Dense miasma hovered above the lake lending an eerie feel to the place. Impervious to anything going on around him – the sun rising, distant shouts and calls, his pleading sister lying on the ground behind him, he just sat there, motionless and contemplating. He drew up his knees and tucked his head in between tightly. The mountains were scarcely snow-covered. Winter hadn’t fully set in yet at Bergville. But, the Mont-aux-Sources mesmerized. Its snow-capped top glistened magnificently in the morning sunshine. Everything about the peak was awe-inspiring. Ichibaan used to sit there since he was a child, and used to perch himself upon a giant rock, near the lake. Occasionally, he had to lie to his father to come there. But, his little sister knew Ichibaan too well. Ichibaan had been staring at the Sources since it became visible after twilight, trying to gather his thoughts. He had to come up with a solution. It was about time he had one. He had gone through it long enough to make up his mind. What had happened in the previous couple of days only strengthened his resolve. The Sources can’t possibly help me. What am I doing here? He paused. Then where else would I be?
So he continued sitting there, ignorant of his little sister’s constant efforts to take Ichibaan back home. She was running out of pebbles to throw on Ichibaan. Mindless of her futile attempts since morning, she kept on trying. If only he could hear me for a single moment, he would run home. But Ichibaan couldn’t even if he wanted to. She was deaf and dumb since birth. Paralyzed in the left portion of her body, it was a miracle that she could even drag herself around. She was half alive. Or half dead. At least I am not paralyzed on the top. Her expressions did the talking, but not today. She didn’t know how to express it. She had wept enough since the previous night to have her eyes puffed and scarred red. Tears had dried up on her cheeks and left crunchies in her eyes. She didn’t care. Ichibaan had to come home. And then she made up her mind.

She grabbed a bunch of tall grass growing beneath the rock, and made the ends meet. She took a long vine and tied the loose grass together to form a mini-broom and dragged herself to the wet bank of the lake and started to draw…

Ichibaan saw something take form through the fog. It hadn’t fully appeared and it stopped moving. The faint splashing sounds in the water also ceased. And then like a crescendo, they materialized through the darkness. Splash after splash, there emerged a multitude of slender, flesh-colored flamingoes. They waded through the water and came closer and closer to the rock on which Ichibaan was sitting moments ago. He was standing now, overwhelmed by the sight before him. This is absolutely magical. I must be blessed. Flamingoes rarely appeared in the lake. Her little sister was squatting on the floor, speechless, eyes wide open. She now understood why Ichibaan used to frequent that rock so often.
Ichibaan was finally at peace. This has to be it. If it’s not this, I might as well give up. And then, he had the most stunning moment of clarity. Blinding light filled his eyes and when he opened them, he found himself standing in the middle of thousands of dancing flamingoes. Wherever he looked, all he saw was fluttering pink and red feathers.
He took a deep long breath and said to himself,
“Ichibaan, this is your moment. All those who haven’t yet realized your true potential, well, they can all go to hell. This is the opportunity you were searching for so frantically. Never in the history of your clan has anybody come so close to living his or her dreams. You don’t love them. You can’t kid yourself. Sooner or later, they will know what they lost. And that will be your triumph.”
And Ichibaan started dancing with the flamingoes…


Two hours later,

“Cashile…sigh…you’re back. My dear, look at you.”
Cashile was now bleeding from her hip. She had dragged herself over a bed of sharp rocks and tiny pebbles near the lake. Slowly, she had made it through the tall grass in the highlands and reached her village home. Living in a hut of mud, she got used to the smell of clay and wet soil, which was now saturating the air. She had decorated the walls with colorful paintings, almost psychedelic. With her disabilities, she had very few choices as to how she should live her life.
Cashile’s father lay on a mat on the ground, gasping for air every now and then. His dark, sweating forehead bore a scar from a stitch he had got two months earlier. Baba was aging fast and he couldn’t keep up with his body. Seldom falling gravely sick, Cashile feared Baba could depart any day. She motioned her hand to tell Baba to keep lying on the ground. Baba nodded and rested his head on the pillow. Staring at the ceiling, he thought of the days when Cashile was born. Her birth had to be concealed.