Mustard bloom is tempting bees to suck the nectar, olive-tinged first-leaves of willows are swaying in the air to create aromatic ripples, warbles of cuckoo are prompting farmers to hone their hoes and spades, industrious men and women are busy in unearthing the hidden treasures of the mother earth, croaks of frogs are going shriller into ears to break the dormancy of winter, narcissus is proclaiming the revival and rebirth of spring, scintillating pink hues of almond bloom are eliminating the monotony of ice and snow.
Chirrups and chitters of oriole and sparrow are adding saccharinity to the surroundings, drooping catkins of walnut trees are inducing animatic effects to the canopy as if caterpillars are hanging from the tiny branches, petrichor of rain is stirring fragrant scents into the environs to cause pleasant hangovers, hoopoes pecking with their deep-sharp beaks corroborate the adage that earthworm knows alone the jab of a hoopoe, and the rupture of seed-cotyledons let baby plants have the maiden glimpses of the world. This unique proclamation by Mother Nature apprises us all about the arrival of Soun’th (The spring). The season instills hope and yearning of rejuvenation after a prolonged cold lull.
The spring is undoubtedly the season of vibrancy, exuberance and renewal. Dozens of my cherished reminiscences are etched to the season of colours. Every spring, the hues of blossoms and buds scratch the canvas of my memories to unveil the treasure trove of my childhood days. With its arrival, a flush of ambivalent anecdotes begin to flash upon the spectrum of my bygone days. Echoes of sweet and bitter things just prick my spine. And this spring, the chambers of my brain are flooded with some galling memories of Soun’th (The spring).
Ah! Those struggles and battles of my father with his callous and cruel palm lines. I remember his toils, as I am the eldest among my siblings. Tinges and tones of the spring would hardly entice and effect him, because the hardships of life had something else in store for us. I vividly remember how the ruthless pangs of poverty would eat up the pleasures of the spring for me, yet I would never give up enjoying the gleeful moments of the season.
Though a visit to a park, garden or a hill stations was beyond my station, yet I would derive pleasure of spring with some inexpensive stunts, like angling with my friends in nearby water bodies, climbing apple trees to attain priceless ownership of ringdove nests, swarming around mulberry trees for its semi-ripe fruits, multiple dips in shallow irrigation canal of our village, looking for morels and mushrooms, were some ways to enjoy the beauties of spring.
Unlike rich and opulent class, we had different plans to drive the heavy and burdensome wagon of life. The spring is not always warm for all and sundry. And during my childhood, our spring would begin earlier than others’. We had to make arrangements for upcoming agricultural activities prior to the inception of the spring.
The spring of my childhood was a bit monotonous and arduous. Still, I didn’t complain and grudge, because I had two angels at my back who would never let me down. The first one is a man, whom I owe the biggest debt of my life, who fuelled the torch of my life with his blood and sweat, kept going like a perennial, calm river – is none other than my Aba. Believe me; a streak of tears is flowing down my cheeks while my fingertips are running over the keys of my smartphone to draft this literary piece. Changing seasons would only change his complexion, but not his fate. And lo and behold! Ice and heat would never deter his resolve to make us happy and prosperous.
I know my father as a crusader who possessed the requisite knack and the courage to fight the odds of life. The spring would infuse optimism and hope in my parents. Since agriculture was the sole means of our livelihood, so, the necessary preparations would begin earlier. Feeding a pair of oxen during the inert days of winter, would pose challenges to our family budget. But, my father had the potential and valour to manage it. And interestingly, the oxen were pampered and fed like bread-earners of our family. They were valued more than cows. My father had baptized both of them. Special fodder was stored in the attic of our house for their toiling days.
Fixing ploughs was done a few days before the preparations of paddy seedbeds. Paddy land was ploughed multiple times to make it more productive and mushy. It would take my father some thirty to thirty five days of rigorous effort and exertion to ready the fields for paddy transplantation. Red blisters on his palms, and big cracks on his soles, grubby and mucky hair, were testimony to his pains and miseries. His broad shoulders had the fortitude and endurance to carry ass-load of responsibilities. I would at times extend little help to him, but he would prioritize our studies.
Though unlettered, yet he was the biggest source of inspiration and motivation behind my blossoming academics. Anyways, the transplantation of saplings from seedbeds to fully prepared fields was carried out in a festive way. Jocundity of the spring was summed-up in a couple of days when paddy fields were painted green. It would make my father the most contented and elated person on the planet. Thus spring was all about toil and labour for my father. Throughout his life, he worked immensely hard for our education. I and my six siblings received higher education, got settled in life with handsome government jobs.
My father’s hardwork bore fruit, and his garden is radiating fragrance and aroma today. My father, an octogenarian gentleman, is enjoying his old-age days quite happily and healthily. But, an echo of lament from my heart goes like a cry in the wilderness – “Come, my Aba, come, let’s enjoy togather the joys and ecstasies of spring that we were bereft of by the twisted palm-lines. Come, and piggyback me on your tender shoulder, let’s together tread those paths of pleasure and exhilaration. May Allah (SWT) bless you with good health and longevity, my Aba!
(Author is a Teacher and a Regular Columnist. He can be reached at [email protected])
