The dew drop just started its small journey from the corner of the leaf toward the pond. Glistening in the sunrise behind the drop wavered its way to the pond surrounded with moist waves of cool breeze nearby.
A pond set on top a picturesque mountain. There stood a lonely banyan tree. The tree had lived a really really long time and had seen time move on with its slow churning movements across life cycles.
On each direction the trees branch stretched out, there were multiple views. Multiple views and multiple stories stretched out across its laborious memories.
Multiple stories did the tree bear, for many sung the songs of the village, of men and women, of animals and of family under the shade of its branches. The children looked at the setting sun over the horizon and their eyes gleaming with luck for they could see nature's magic.
The water in the pond was an abode to the tiny fish, which swiftly swam across the pond, delighting the onlookers. This was the place that had to be searched, for many Arabs had wasted their lives in search of treasure. Seldom did they realize that the true treasure lies in the beating of the heart with joy and peace.
Folktales were told during the nights under the tree and in front of the burning wood, the animals in the stories came to life and tried to teach mankind to live the life, the one life that they were blessed to have - even the fiend of the folktales became the children's hero.
Who knew that some day, the tears would dry and the eyes would be left barren! The same eyes that once sent little drops down the cheeks of children who watched the unleaving of the golden leaves from the branches of the magnanimous banyan tree.
The eyes were now void of tears, attachments receded and the innocence lost, for the times, now changed. Children grew up, and were no longer fascinated with the folktales that they loved at some point in their lives. They are all set to leave the village today, to leave their families, to discover themselves elsewhere, to learn new things and to attain success. They, now, chose the city life, promising their families for a better future, and a better life. They bid adieu, leaving not just the village, but also leaving hopes in the hearts of their families, hopes of seeing their children soon. Now, the banyan tree has also witnessed their departure.
Strong wind blew, like the nature already predicted something, but this was a storm, which failed to stop them from leaving; and they left, not looking back, at their families who brought them up, lessons that they learnt, stories that they shared, and the village, where they grew up.
Days, months and years passed, but none returned. The families only received some money in the early days of the month.
Today, people gathered around the banyan tree once again, but this time, for a different purpose. This time, people gathered, not to sing the songs of joy, but to sing a song of lament.
A better life and a better future, were promises left unfulfilled. Life in the city for children, and life in the village for people became monotonous, where the city worked, and the village awaited.
Writers; Dexter, Panda and Junior.