A little less time, or a little more and I could have stayed. Who can dig thier toes into the sand at the fringe of land, with bubbles and foam around your ankles and stay unmoved?
It was the moon.
It shone, and washed away the bright painful colours of the day, lending a soft glow and patient hope to temptation. It made morality, education and society’s rules which were dinned into your mind since childhood seem as slender as the webs of a spider – to be swept away.
It made you forget that the spider’s silk is stronger than steel. There on that beach with crabs that broke out of thier coccoons and turtules going extinct, things were possible. Impossible vistas would open, and it would take just one more step, just one more.
To follow that wave that returned into the heart of the ocean, cold foam, warm water. The shelf is short along the coast of the Deccan. Adam’s/Ram’s bridge lies about the depth of the Bay of Bengal. It is hungry, and people no longer notice when it finds another sacrifice – one willing to simply step forward and give in to the tide.
I am the moon’s daughter. What else could I do? I was swept away.
Camphor's 