the magic by the shore

The little girl never really sat on the rock; instead, she wandered about along the shore of the mighty Bramhaputra. She searched for shiny pebbles, or for twigs that floated ashore, or simply played about with her frock or the twirls in her hair, as she spent her days in the company of what-ever suited her best. Sometimes she came-by along-with a boy, sometimes, with a pet, and oft, by herself.

The rock - he had weathered the river for ages, and watched as the river flooded, and consumed all that came under its swell. The rock knew that he too, would soon be gone; lost in the waters of the world forever. The girl would forever remember the rock, even as she would grow into a fine young woman, go along her way, and travel the globe, unto newer shores, and greener pastures.

The girl was a dreamer. And nothing consumed her more thoroughly than planning her wedding. She was a pretty, dainty lass, one of the few that came by the shore. Naturally, she was doted upon by many; those who came upon the beautiful lands, from places afar. The lands - yes. Legend had it that a magical lore nested in these ancient lands, and blossomed along the river’s shores, for the young to wrestle success and wisdom from.

Her heart quivered, and forever did her decisions elude her. Many a boys’ offer did she accede to, only to let her emotions crumble away soon-after. Maybe she was as naive, as fickle, as those that searched the shores for wisdom-not-to-be. Maybe she was just normal, thought the rock, as he silently watched her from his bed by the waves, upon the shore that she had grown to call her own.

For long, in her solitude, or in her wallow, had the girl shared her life with the rock. And indeed, the rock had done so too. For, if there was magic in these lands, it was thus - unto those that swayed not to selfish greed, it was the rocks that, erstwhile inanimate, came to life. Not the sands, not the flowers, not the waters that the boys scavenged - the wisdom lay embedded in the rocks that none otherwise glanced upon.

Secrets that none-else knew of, or even vagaries that none would have bothered unto, flowed seamlessly between them. Sometimes, she lent an ear to his melancholy; something that the rock otherwise withheld in abundance. More oft, there were smiles, there were laughs, and there were pleasures that their conversations lent to their lives. Above all, they were friends. And, thus, the wisdom was for her to own. For, unlike her lovers, her innocence never bore want to steal the rock’s wisdom; thus-with, only she could own it.

She mused, and did so aloud at-times, as she straddled along her shore. She oft-wondered, as to why the river hadn’t flood her shore for so long. Every year the river swelled, ever to bring death and destruction, to henceforth usher in new life - her shore, however, lay unspoilt to the ravages of time. But the rock remanined silent, in-pretense unknowing, never moved by her playful queries, although he knew the of river’s ways.

One day, as the clouds rolled in, she came by with tears in her eyes. It was not unlike her, to be disraught thus. The rock prodded in-caution, urging her to share her grief, only to be shunned away as froth. She was human, after-all - her grief consumed her, and weighed down on her fragilities. She felt as though the world conspired against her, and brought upon her such pain. She sought not another’s company, and forsook her friend unto solitude. Her self consumed her, making her believe that she alone, could part her from her grief.

When she came to herself, few days hence, she made her way to her shore, in calm and composure. Alas, she saw, that the river had flood, and her shore had been lost. Whence lay her rock, whence swept the waves the gleaming sand, now turned to silt flowed within the swollen tide. The rock, in all it’s grime, was nowhere to be found. Her shore was lost, never to be her’s again.

And as she sulked, she wondered. Had the friendship she estranged been the very magic that her shore had once thrived upon?