As she walked along, suddenly she stopped, hearing parrots screeching. There must be a water body close by, she thought. At the spot where she halted, the road forked into a by-lane going east. She did not know if she should move on down the same path or turn into the by-lane. She walked into the by-lane, not even conscious of taking the turn.

In just a while, there were signs of the presence of water. Tall, green jamun trees surrounded the region. A water bird disappeared into a bush, with its chicks. Cacti had grown chunky like paddy fields. Grey partridges crowed from somewhere, ‘Kutticher … oh, kutticher!’

The lane ran along the spring. She walked up to it. She could have walked down the main path along Mangamma Road and would have arrived there too.

This was a never-drying spring. The water from it tasted like tender coconut: nature’s gift to any passer-by.

Several things happen on the banks of any water hole. Water is pure wealth. So, when it remains in a remote spot like this, of course things do happen.

Crabs are busy burrowing. Tell me, what business did the river fish have at those holes? Actually, the clever crabs burrow close to the edge of the water, so that the ripples could flow into them. The river fish are very fond of the worms that dwell in those wet clay holes. Storks stand on one foot, waiting for the fish to come there. A little beyond, the fox huddles in the bush to pounce on the stork.

Even the hunter is waiting at the watering hole, for he is aware that no matter how far away his prey wanders, it would have to come here to have a drink. Scavenging beasts also linger there for their victims.

This race for survival happens not only during the daytime. It continues into the night. Toddy cats come in the dark, to the trees along the bank, looking for roosting birds. Leopards and civets compete noisily. Civets are busy among the shrubs and bushes. Thus the banks are always full of activity, the mighty killing and eating the weaker beings.

The woman approached fast to have her drink. There was already someone there, looking intently at her as she neared. He too was waiting there for his prey.

She did not want to wait to drink cupfuls from her palms. Instead she wanted to lie along the bank and slurp it up. She tucked her sari high up, went deeper into the stream and drank thirstily, cupping her palms. She slapped her face and neck with the water and happily splashed around. Her actions resembled one hugging an infant and then burying her face in its soft stomach.

The man hiding in the bushes couldn’t take his eyes off her ear ornament. He cautiously looked around and silently came nearer.

She suddenly espied his presence from the corner of her eye. She wasn’t scared, instead she smiled widely.