The Surrenderer

In the green mystic garden, everything was in place. Toiled to perfection with tools. Sunlight filtered down through the lush mango trees, barely touching the ground. This is where Ika usually sat, under the oldest tree, testing her bow string. Dressed in black from top to bottom, her clothes were wax coated to last longer and tougher. A wide leather belt held them together at the waist. No frills, no adornments, just plain, basic fitted blouse and baggy pants that cuffed at the ankles. Strapped up sandals on her feet and neat- no fuss braids on the head.

Ika was raised to fight. They raised her, the stuff around raised her, even her food had a hand- in raising her to become physically enduring to take up fights. Never the verbal; always the physical!

Defence was the core of her existence.

Made to kill and feed, not to nurture and mother; made to engineer and perfect, never to sing. She was made to defend and preserve, not to touch and feel. The warrior in her was always ready, in the attack mode. Nothing hurt her since nothing touched her. Absolutely focussed, with her eyes set on the game at all times.

She had the skill and not the charm. With skill she camouflaged into the feminine but failed when charm was what was needed. No confusion – all brazen – the archer!

Tip-toeing into her arena, walked a boy younger than her, trying to steal a ripe mango from her mother’s garden. Dressed in grainy loosely woven clothes all in hues of greys and whites. With head full of bouncing hair, he looked unkempt and free.

Instinctively without any effort she pitched her bow pointing the arrow at him. He sneaked in quietly and tried to steal a mango! It was just a mango yes, but he had broken the rule! And it was enough in those days to deserve the wrath of the owner. This annoying lad turned with a grin on his face chewing on the mango peel. Furious, she stiffened her stance, threatening to let go off the stretched bow string.

Ika did however steal a moment to wonder how she had still not shot at him.

Still grinning he walked towards her. He was taller & very muscular for his age and face. He had strange eyes that reminded her more of her Granny’s watery eyes. Tilting her head to the side she raised an eyebrow trying to fit in both the question and the amusement in one expression. “Really! You have the nerve to grin?”

She didn’t utter this, but communicated it well enough, lost her guard for just a fraction of a second and then straightened again.

Still walking he now had one hand at the tip of the stretched arrow and another on his steal.

She wondered, “I have grown protecting this farm with my sweat and blood and this crazy fearless man walks in just to mock me and my practice of years! What does he know about owning and nurturing what’s yours! This rude boy has no training of virtues for sure, all full of pride of youth and unabashed freedom! With a stupid grin to further annoy me. He sure has come to see his death today!”

She stretched the line further and saw a radiant glint in his eyes. There was no mockery, no fear and no arrogance even. He was just relishing the taste of mango juice to the fullest. An expression of childlike joy that instantly made her loosen up to envy & enjoy him at the same time. His white shirt now had orange stains of dripping mango pulp. He didn’t care to eat properly. He just wanted to gobble it all up before this paused moment passed. And that he did while she stared bewildered thinking if she can wait and let him complete his last wish of eating this mango. Waiting she looked around at the other branches heavy with the weight of ripe fruits. There was plenty. She noticed a squirrel nibbling at a dried pit and a tiny monkey eating his own find.

Coming back to the boy who was now done gulping the pulp. He wiped his hand carelessly on his shirt and held her hand at the bottom of the bow, loosening her grip, not forcibly but authoritatively. She lowered the bow immensely annoyed. A strange feeling of familiarity gripped her. Her hand was now sticky with mango pulp too. Too clean for all this, she held her hand aside as if it didn’t belong to her until she washed and wiped it clean. She noticed he was not a fighter at all. His hands were soft and his gaze looked though her.

”Its just a mango”, he said. “Albeit a yummy one!”

She was stunned at his confidence. But she had lost to him. She did not feel the need to put up a fight anymore. Red with humiliation, she let him amuse her!

“Hey you, I can take you to places better and bigger than yours where there aren’t guards as strong as you” he winked. “Do you want to come?” He raised his chin up in query.

“Oh but I have a whole bunch of animal friends that help me get in walk with me all times! If that’s okay with you ma’am, pls come along”, he said stepping away.

“He must be kidding!”, she wondered.

He walked up close again and held her hands to pull her towards him. Shaking in anger, she pulled out and stood still. And saw him turn and walk away slowly but firmly. He reached the end of the garden and climbed the wall looking at her again, calling her, “Come! You won’t repent ever. There’s plenty of food and shelter available with a little adventure and it’s all free! Also I could do with some human conversation” he said, waiting atop the wall.

“Crazy man! He must be mad to think I will do this. How can I just leave all that I have learnt behind and just walk with him. Why am I even thinking about this”, blabbering Ika started walking uncontrollably– towards the wall.

“How will I live with this vagabond, how will I talk with this man so full of himself, so confident in his own world that he has the guts to ask me to uproot myself”, she stopped a few steps away from him. Taking a deep breath, fighting her own self, she tucked a strand of loose hair behind the ear with the dirty sticky hand and started running towards the wall

***

Image Courtesy: Natalia Baker