What the forest saw: notes cascade into each other, like the sky dripping into the forest, in a waterfall of desire. And born out of the union is the language of the trees. birds catch it in their beaks, and pass it on like a state secret. The tiger stares it down, as it paws at the dirt. Cicadas know what is to come, and go into a frenzy. The forest is a cacophony of tuning. There is a temporary lull in the traffic of calls. Like the orchestral silence before a concert.
What aranya saw: I see you. Fluorescent flame of the forest. In your eyes the quiver of the night. Your torso, the brazen mind of the forest.
Unfurl me. Teach me to speak. Like others. So I can tell them what I see. In the words of your skin, spell out the mystery of seeing. Through human eyes. Let me learn the smell of wet earth.
Come, you secret conniving spirits of the night. Eye of water, ear of root, groping fingers of the little creeper – bear witness with me. Give me satori, the sudden enlightenment that cracks open like an akhrot.
What kaththi felt: where the wind breathes in noisy contemplation. And the forest undergrowth is abuzz with the sound of squirrels. aranya rises. I’m besotted. Stricken silent with the sting of inevitability. My mind is not mine, my body answers to some ancient memory that has made its home in my limbs.
I am yours. Let me be that leaf that clings to your waist. That root that hangs around your neck. Tie me around your wrist alongside the parasmani.
What the earth felt: a stone slipped into the mud. Dislodged by the beating heart of the earth. The breeze knocked at its door. And the stone let it in. They sat, in silent surmise. I have known this. Since the beginning of time. I have heard the echoes of young hearts turning in their orbs. Dancing with each other. And every time it is fresh.
This union is the thread that strings these lives of the forest together
What the heavens witnessed: There are nodes in the system, discrete pinpricks of life. In the way that a komal rishabh sews a shimmering of tanpura strings, or the bawra wind that flits through the leaves, or the fledgling sunlight that lights up the forest floor, this sensual pulse reverberates in the seed of things. .
Their love is the harvest of the forest.