05. The riverside

It was late morning. Kavi stood still, mesmerized by the roaring river. The events of last night had faded, misty and dark now, more insubstantial than a dream. Or maybe I am dreaming now, thought Kavi, and last night was a dream within a dream.

But the blanket draped around his neck gave lie to his musings. In the light of day, it appeared frayed and threadbare, absent the heft that had protected him last night. Dirty blue, with streaks of pink and grey, it blended into the rocks on the riverbed.

Hadn't it been darker in color last night?

Thinking about last night brought back memories of tiptoeing into the cottage, only to find Ma waiting. She had been livid.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? If you keep disappearing like this, we will go back home tomorrow." Her glare had brooked no arguments.

Kavi had turned plaintive eyes towards Baba, but found no succor there.

But I was looking for tigers! Tigers live in jungles, not cities! He wisely refrained from airing his thoughts. "Sorry Ma," he had mumbled, as he retreated to his room.

Ma's anger was spent by the time he had reached his bed. She was like that—quick to anger, and quick to forgive. Like a steel cup. Baba was more of a ceramic cup. It took a while for him to get heated, but when he did...

Kavi had carefully folded the blanket and stowed it under the bed. At least he had something to show for his adventure.

---

The river's sounds filled his head, and its sparkles filled his eyes. If he could, he would scoop up its iridescence and take it back home.

He had tried to do just that, six years ago, on his first visit here. When I was just a kid. But as soon as he had scooped up the water in his tiny palms, all the jewels had disappeared, leaving behind a plain, unmoving puddle that slowly trickled out of his cupped hands. He had burst into tears, and Baba had gathered him in his arms, drawn him close, and talked about light and water and angles and flow and rocks and rapids and streams and mountains and tides and oceans, his soft words meshing with the gurgle of the river, words that had cooled down Kavi's agitation like a soothing dollop of ice cream on a hot summer day.

Kavi glanced back. Baba was on guard duty today. But going by the gentle rise and fall of his stomach, and the cap pulled over his eyes, the guard was snoozing.

Kavi edged down the riverbank. The path was composed of three types of rocks: crunchy, loose and sensible. His feet sought out the sensible ones.

The water looked cool, inviting, and shallow enough to run across.

He took off his shoes, rolled up his pants, and took a few tentative steps into the river. It was cold, and the rocks were sharp. He took a few more steps in, and it felt like all the heat in his body was draining out through his feet. My soul is escaping through my soles, he thought.

He took two more steps. Now his trousers were getting wet. The water seemed higher than it looked like from the shore.

A fish swam by. Distracted, Kavi's left foot slipped, and he found himself thigh-deep in water. He felt the blanket slipping, and reflexively took a half-turn to catch it. He missed, by his body kept turning, till his right foot slipped too.

Now he was well and truly falling—onto his back. As he squinted at the sun overhead, Kavi thought, I hope I don't crack open my head.

But did not hit something cold, or hard. Instead, he landed on something wooly and a bit scratchy. He slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on top of the blanket, its edges curled around him. His legs dangled in the water, but his body was dry. And unhurt.

The river shimmered, gurgled, and roared. Kavi laughed.