 |
| Adam's Bridge @ 12 noon |
I roll around impatiently willing the light to hit the dune that is directly in front of my bed.
It is 6am, but unlike in Kalpitiya where the sun hits the tree tops at 4.45, the outside seems unusually gloomy.
I decide to take a chance and step out. I have been dressed since 5.45 for this.
A weak sun hits the dune, but what is in front of me is a sheet of grey water. Something unexpected as I was told the tide would be low in the morning.
I decide to detour and walk straight towards the Gulf of Mannar, then turn right and stroll hugging the shore towards the Bridge.
The sky above the Gulf of Mannar is a light blue grey now, but I am apprehensive about what I am facing. The sky above Park Straight that brings in the waters of Bay of Bengal looks angry.
The Gulf of Mannar waters rush in white crested waves to meet the calmer flats of the Bay of Bengal. It is a moment I shall never forget.
The world is getting lighter as I gingerly wade through ankle deep pools of water that turn greeny blue indicating the deepness in places; flocks of birds rise around me. I find my way through sand banks and shallow stretches towards the first island where thousands of birds watch me warily. Sea Eagles rise and screech and I look up North as the first drops hit and stun me with an angry black sky.
I turn and start to run.
The visibility is only ten feet or so and I am soaked to the skin within seconds by the fat rain drops painfully hitting me with gale force.
Frantically placing the phone between my notebook pages, I wrap the flimsy bag around it tight, cluching it in my armpit as I pant on the loose sand that clutch at my feet at every step. It is a long way and I risk a new route back.
My mind is full of refugees, traders, pearl fishermen, travellers, whole armies, kings and queens who would have planned their crossings, better.
... and Ravana, who would have advised me to take to the skies with the wind that is whipping me.
With a heart full of dread, I feel the tide rise blocking my way and I navigate through the deepening water. The beacons on the shore I had my eyes on have disappeared for the pelting rain.
On one side the Gulf waves roar menacingly and on the other the dark Bay waters rise.
My return to the room takes half an hour more.
The first rain of the Maha Monsoon has let me know her mighty power.
-----------
Eating breakfast later, the tide is going out, the skies are turning a beautiful shade.
The bridge as old as civilization stands with stories yet to be told.
 |
| Maha |
No comments:
Post a Comment