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Ê Thearomatic morning breeze of spring was
wafting around. The summits of snow clad
mountains stood outlined against the clear blue
sky of March. Below, the plains were embedded
with spots of lush green meadows decorated
with unending lines of almond blossom. The
scene was mesmerising as the doves of the
valley were singing ballads composed by the
vibrant cascades flowing through the dazzling
valley. I was walking in a grassy track which
wound around a hillock like a serpent. As I was
approaching the hill top, heart piercing
shrieksreverberating from the mountains caught
my attention. It was quite uncommon as
generally the melodious chirps of cuckoosand
nightingales used to echo from those lofty
mountains. I rushed down the hill and reached
the spot where I saw a gang of wolves
grumbling ferociously. I could see the blood
smouldered on their jaws. Hanging aboutsafeat
distance I was agitatedtrying to guess who they
hadkilled. Ragging the area for some time the
wolves retreated and disappeared in the nearby
forests still looking hungry. I hurriedly came
downassumingthat nothing horrible would have
happenedthere at the bottom of the hill. To my
shock I saw the remains of a fawn spread
hither and thither. To my right I sawa cluster
of musk deers hiding behind a pine tree. When
the wolves were off the scene, the mother of
the ill-fated fawn came along to see her baby
and she was followed by the frightened herd of
deers and stags. She was there lapping up her
baby·s remains and shedding her tears
symbolising mother·s love for her baby. The
musk deers were yet to come out of the shock
that the wolves once again bugged out of the
thick forests and came rushing towards them.
They all startled and ran helter skelter. I was
amazed to watch the mother of the fawn again
and again trying to come closer to her kid·s
fragments least afraidof the cruel wolves. In
the end she retreated heavyhearted looking
back for her baby as many times as she could
unless she disappeared in the bushes of the
hill. The wolves started searching for more
blood and the whole area sank in the ocean of
horror. I hardly could control my sentiments as
I could see the wailing mother of the fawn
weeping her heart out and in the backdrop
there were scores of musk deers that had
fallen to the hunger of these wolves.
The enthralling panorama suddenly turned
pathetic. The lush green meadowlands turned
pale, the lofty snow clad peaks lost their
charisma, the gushing streams and vibrant
cascades came to a lull and I could see the
doves that herald dreams in the aromatic
blooming mustard fields were exiled from their
songs. Their melodious voice was torn out of
their throats and when I left the scene the
wolves were in full swing still hunting for the
musky blood with no restrictions on them.
Ê
Ê Ê Ê Ê Ê Ê Ê Ê Isaar Kashmiri
Ê
Ê