Silence and the sound of a peacock
Several of them, as if in unison, almost in symphony, sang together. Four, six, perhaps ten of them.
They sang from the top of the trees, they sang from the vast terraces, they even sang from the empty roads.
The peacocks sang for the first time today and the song broke the silence of the day.
It was coming, I almost smelt it in the air but the odds were that the peacocks would reclaim the space. After all, it was their at the beginning. When the sons of Guru Gobind Singhji were being brutally tortured a few miles from here, when the potters of the Indus Valley civilization were carving exquisite figurines and when there was nothing between where I stood and the mighty Himalayas, the peacocks were there. They were there through the wars and the festivals, they were there as the lanky punjabi farmer cut the wheat and the cold winter breeze made the world silent each night.
They were there even now but the zest was missing and now there are here. Here, now as the were before and here forever as they will be when all is over.
They sang from the top of the trees, they sang from the vast terraces, they even sang from the empty roads.
The peacocks sang for the first time today and the song broke the silence of the day.
It was coming, I almost smelt it in the air but the odds were that the peacocks would reclaim the space. After all, it was their at the beginning. When the sons of Guru Gobind Singhji were being brutally tortured a few miles from here, when the potters of the Indus Valley civilization were carving exquisite figurines and when there was nothing between where I stood and the mighty Himalayas, the peacocks were there. They were there through the wars and the festivals, they were there as the lanky punjabi farmer cut the wheat and the cold winter breeze made the world silent each night.
They were there even now but the zest was missing and now there are here. Here, now as the were before and here forever as they will be when all is over.
