The creative voice is gone. The pressure has fully taken over my mind and the blank screen in front of me. I want to write but in a way that does not feel like telling instead of showing that I can think out of the box. So, I tried to write in the most creative way, but my mind had some different plans for me. It had plans to spill the truths, truths like there are no time for being the best, there are three writings to write, and you know nothing about the event or the subjects that you are going to cover in these three writings. 

But still, I was so adamant to impress through my writing. And those three days, all I did was writing and writing. Because, I wanted those writings to be worthy of putting in my writing portfolio. And like this, I started building the height of the expectations on myself. Because, a part of me knew the importance of this opportunity. So, I stayed awake till late nights and wrote for my golden opportunity. 

This went on for straight three days, and the harsh truths that my mind said to me also began to make sense. I realized the true face of my ambitiousness which in reality was masking the perfectionism the entire time in those last seven hours before it was midnight. 

And it is too late at this point because I have completely burned myself out. Hence, the thought of even to write something felt bizarre. And all I wanted to do was nothing but let it pass. Yeah, letting it pass like a storm that does not want to see any harvest.

After a day full of hot air and sweat, the evenings for Odia people are a true blessing from heaven. In the daytime, tiny water droplets sitting on the noses of natives make them look as if they are boiling in this heat. No matter whether they are sitting inside their houses, under the shade of the giant things, or directly in contact with the sun. Their bodies are somehow exposed to the hot and humid air and the flows of sweat running down from their hairs to the calves.

Their only way to escape this tyrant Heat is when the sun is ready to leave the sky to the moon. People then can come out of their houses and soon, the lanes of small towns become livelier with the sounds of children playing, horn-blowing vehicles, bell-ringing cycles, hawkers shouting their products in a nasal tone, and vendors opening their shops. Some also wake up from their afternoon nap when the humid Heat begins to enter their home as an unwanted intruder. 

These unwanted intruders do not spare anyone’s house. And people then have to come out in search of an open area to sit or talk to other co-survivors of this tyrant Heat. They talk about how the intruder makes their skin so sweaty and hot during the day-time. And, the discussion gets intense as all of them agree that this year - the summer season is so sunny than the previous year.  

By the time, they are talking to vent their anger upon the tyrant Heat. The air begins to get cooler, and light-soft breezes soothe their irritated skin from the daytime. The wind marrying the wetness of the sweat creates a cooling effect on the body, and makes people forget about all the discomfort they went through during the day-time. 

Some people also go up to their rooftops, and sit or toll in to and fro motion to let the cool wind brush each part of their bodies. The cool wind rapidly spread to catch the speed of the darkness of the night. The sky in the far horizon also seems to be catching fire in some of its clouds. And the viewers marvel at this nature’s abstract art in the sky. 

In the meantime, nature gets ready for the night show for its viewers. The performers of this night show are the fireflies and people call them “the stars of Mother Earth.” These creatures are well known in the small towns and villages for carrying a lantern in their bodies.

It is said that as a true artist, the fireflies must spend one year or more as larvae before they emerge as true night performers. It is then only they achieve this metamorphosis and are ready for the honors of being called as “the stars of Mother Earth.” 

They can only perform the special act when the surroundings have a group of trees and rich green-foliage leaves that help the fireflies glow in the darkness. Then the moonlight coming from the moon gives them a balanced and dim enough light for their viewers to see the stage and the performers. And the background chorus sung by the crickets and frogs living in wetlands sets the stage for the performers.

Every night, the fireflies dance with the winds around the trees, and the viewers are called to guess whether it is the same firefly that moves towards the left or the other one. It is through their bioluminescent light or lanterns; the fireflies trick the eyes of their viewers. Then, for the next performance, the viewers have to connect the fireflies light to shape their imaginations in real life. A challenge that is so difficult for the viewers as the fireflies can only glow but cannot lighten their tail constantly. 

Finally, when the viewers are immersed in the night show of the fireflies, the intruder Heat again comes back to knock on the rooftop’s floor. He called the viewers and commanded them, “Go inside your houses, and I will enjoy the show now.” Then, the heartbroken viewers turn their backs and start walking down their stairs to sleep and promise the fireflies that they will come back again tomorrow.

But this year, the viewers are unable to watch their favorite artist’s performance. The words are in the air that the fireflies are no longer able to do the play because the trees and darkness which were once their stage are now replaced by the tall bright-street lights and barren lands. These man-made lights not only took their stages but also the singer-insects. And the air conditioner did not allow the tyrant Heat to stay inside the house anymore, so the viewers also lost interest in watching the night performers. 

Like that one such day, the viewers get to know that the fireflies are gone forever, and it breaks their hearts. As these fireflies brought them comfort when they were tired of the relentless heat which took over them during the day time. Now driven by their guilt, they are thinking that how can they forget about their night performers? But they knew the harsh truth that the fireflies are not going to come back again even if they have realized their mistakes.

Days went on, they also moved on with their lives, and the night performances are slowly on the verge of becoming a tale for the generations to come forth. Even the adamant viewers have now believed that they will no longer be able to see the night shows. Until one day, someone from the far land brought them the news which their ears wanted to hear.

The news came when some villagers who comes to the town to sell their baskets. And they told their buyers about a huge banyan tree in their village’s jungle that turns into a fair every night. Then, the magic of small town happens and the good news reached the ears of their viewers. They were happy to know that their night performers are still here.  And some of them without wasting any time decided to set a journey to the village. 

After arriving at the village, the viewers took the weavers with them to find the way to the jungle. On their way, all of them cannot see anything as the way to the jungle does not have any street lights like the towns. In that moment, before they could think anything, they saw the weavers lit the way through their hand torchlights. The light from the torchlights was falling on the roads, and the trees on the two sides of the road were standing tall in the darkness. The viewers then saw a few fireflies flying around the trees. The night performers greeted their beloved viewers and through their presence hinted them that they are on the right path.

Inside the jungle, the viewers could hear the sounds of monkeys crying on the trees and letting the other animals know that some foreigners were inside their land. In that moment, the weavers to comfort the viewers jokingly said that the animals know that they are disturbing them. That’s why they are crying.

Walking through the paths of jungle, it grew denser and the echoes of animal crying also grew louder. The viewers are also tired of walking and searching the banyan tree. But the weavers said to keep on walking as they still have more to go. So, all of them mustered some energy and walked. On the way, a few night performers with their lanterns showed up to the viewers to cheer them up and hopeful for the big surprise. And, they walked again with hope.

Suddenly then they see that their guide stops and turns around to see them. And the viewers also stopped and raised their heads. The viewers saw a huge banyan tree and each branch of the tree is having a performance of its own. In its surroundings, the frogs, crickets, and the animals howling from the far– all of their singing are making the scene even grander for the viewers than the town ones. 

Now all of them took a sigh and sat on the green carpet of the earth to see the performance of their favorite night performers. 

And, this time I decided to know what these forms of water are trying to tell me more than their plain and physical states. 

When I Listened to The Water: It Speaks to Me:

Water. What does this word mean to you? You think yours and I will speak mine. For me, water is a great metaphor. As I am writing this, I can see a bottle of still water carrying some dead stems and flowers present next to me. When I see the water and the dead flowers together, it speaks to me of the eternal silence after death. 

And, when I see the stillness of water alone, it speaks to me of my own thoughts. The thoughts that mirror the flow of water, and carried away into the lush forests and far-distant landscapes. Isn’t it the same as human emotion as well? Isn’t it the same as our languages that we speak to each other or to us? Isn’t it the same as the air? 

To me, water is present everywhere and every one of us.

Then, why did that old man from the past paint women as water and men as fire? Many after him said, to balance them equally in our body regardless of our gender. Yes, it’s true that he attributed the water to women and men as fire. 

But when I ponder hard, the old man does not make sense to me. Because, he never thought of how fire will save us from the deep, and giant water tides. All I can see is everything drowning to the floors of the ocean, if such a tragedy occurs. 

This is my deep dilemma, when I sat and watched the regular blue waves forming in the Bay of Bengal. A perfect postcard to keep inside your favorite book. A perfect postcard to tell people about something worth visiting. A perfect postcard that will sing the most harmonious song. But the question will remain unanswered: how can fire save us from this mighty water, if we meet the tragedy of water?

I thought that there was no answer to this question, and I stopped for a while. Until I understood Pi and Richard Parker, two species stranded on a boat after a shipwreck. They met with the tragedy of water. Yes, a lot of water. The two species where one is an untamed beast, and one is waiting to be untamed from being tamed. Fate knew well that these species are full of hunger and fear. 

There is when I understood that if water can translate itself into emotions, languages, and gender, then fire can also translate itself into hunger and fear. The two forms of fire representing the two species – Pi as fear and Richard Parker as hunger. And, amidst the play of the two forms of fire, the water in the form of the ocean watches them closely. To see, who will drown into the body of the ocean first?

This further took me away from the ocean to understand water. I understood the nature of water in a desert, ocean, forest, and inside the civilization of humans. In a desert, where water values like gold, it creates the illusion of creatures’ deepest desires. In an ocean, the abundance of salt water creates the mystery beneath the salt water. The lakes and freshwater rivers create the path inside the jungle which leads the creatures to their predators. The same manner in which the explorer ended up in a foreign island to eye on the wealth of the island. 

So everywhere, water is the master looking closely at the creatures of earth. As, it decides the fate of who is winning and who is losing among the creatures. So, it is not life around water, rather water around the lives. Water knows how to bring out the elements of fire within you and me. 

The water never fails to understand you because you can see yourselves in the water. The fire within you also can see itself in the surface of water. But, can you see yourself in the fire? The answer is always a “no.”  A fire will never allow you to see what’s ahead of it and what’s inside of it? Because, the fire in the form of flame after lighting a matchstick is strong enough to cause a rapid fire in a forest. It is there but full of itself.

It wants everything to be engulfed but water is different. Water wants you to be drowned but after you lose it. It loves the play of win and defeat. It loves to create the history of everything. Your life, my life, its own life, and also the life of our dear earth. 

And I love to hear what the water is trying to tell me after I listen closely to the sound of the “tip-tip” of water. The sound is creepy enough to scare me, when I am all alone. And in another instance, it is melancholic enough to bring back fond memories of my past. Or maybe, I know how the water feels to me in each state through warmth and cold. I know, it heals and gives purpose to the creatures.  

And, I am ready for it. 

From my childhood, my strong language has always been English. Odia, on the other hand, remained a language that connects me to my family, friends, and peers. Even though, I know how to speak, read, and partially write Odia. Yet, I was never able to imagine things like I did with English. 

Years after, when I was doing my masters in English. One of my professors at Bangalore University emphasized on learning our mother tongues along with English.

Now, if I have to be honest, I never felt such a strong urge of reading in Odia before than in that moment. I started thinking about how can I find Odia novels, and writing an Odia book someday.  

However, the plan did not land in the way, I thought. The reality stroke me, when I saw the prices of Odia books over online. So, I pacified myself by saying, “Don’t worry! You can buy books, when you visit Odisha after two months.”

Long story in short, after four months, I finally saw my dream of reading in Odia getting fulfilled. So, I went to a local fair with my sister. We were walking with our eyes fixed on the stalls to make sure, we do not miss anything that is of our interest.

In midst of this, I noticed a stall where an old man sitting in the middle with several books surrounding him. In front of his stall, there were no customers to be seen unlike its side stalls. So, we went there and my eyes began scanning every pile to see if the stall owner has any novels. 

 I again met with disappointment but a surprising thought occurred to me. That slowly whispered me that novels are not the only books that can give you pleasure. So, I asked the stall owner, “Do you have any story books?” Without answering my question, the stall owner started throwing books one after another to our side from where he was sitting. 

At this point, I was confused with the number of storybooks in my hands. These were collections of ghost stories, grandmother’s stories, grandfather’s stories, and many more with similar titles. Following my mind’s confusion, I chose to buy two books: one is maternal grandmother’s stories and another is paternal grandmother’s stories. (I know, this sounds so funny)

In the present moment, I have started reading the collection of maternal grandmother’s stories. And, I cannot express the amount of joy I feel while reading the stories from this book. It hits like a home and takes me back to those memories, when all my cousins sat in a circle around my mother to listen stories. 

The stories which had new beginnings, endings, descriptions, and sentences every time they were spoken, but always had a same soul. It is because, these stories were told by my mother, not by a book. Since, we rarely had a reading culture in our society, while I was growing up. Therefore, the stories from my mother have a special place in my heart. 

Now when I am reading these Odia stories, I know why I am feeling this way? The words in the book feel like those Odia words which, my mother used, to narrate her stories. Of course, my mother used the colloquial language to tell her stories but the essence of both the stories is same. As, many of them starts with “once upon a time, there was a king”, or “once upon a time in a kingdom, there lived a fairy.” 

Maybe this is the reason, why people call their birth language as mother tongue not anything else. You do not feel like you are reading any foreign or unfamiliar texts. The language somehow feels like water that flows in a natural rhythm. The utterances of the words sound sweet and melodic to your ears. As, if it was waiting for you to be discovered someday. 

Hence, my learning from this entire episode is like this popular quote: “When life gives you lemon, you make a lemonade.” It means, if in that moment, I simply went away with disappointment from that stall, I would have never had this realization, or this post. The realization that my mother is the first person to put the seeds inside me that love stories.

Therefore, it is so substantial to have options or alternatives in life.

At the end of this small writing of mine, I would strongly propose you to read something in your mother tongue as well. This could be an article in a newspaper, book, or blog on internet. And, who knows the text can speak to you something that you never knew before!