Jasmine on the Terrace
An exquisitely subtle aroma pervading the portico and the entrance welcomes a visitor to his dwelling. It emanates from a jasmine vine growing from a tiny uncovered stretch of the driveway. It is a very vigorously growing climber trailing up the wall to reach the first-floor rooftop, where it sprawls all over. “Did you plant it here,” I had asked him once, and his reply feigning ignorance had left me filled with wonder? He must have found me perplexed as he had continued,” No one had planted this jasmine here. Can you find a jasmine bush in the elevated flowerbed in that corner of the terrace right above this spot? This vine has grown from some of the seeds which must have descended from that plant. I can’t tell whether it was the breeze or rain or some birds or pull of Mother Earth that brought the seeds to this spot. I spotted a sapling emerging out of the soil here one fine day, and I let it grow. It has struck roots and racing up the wall; it has itself reached the terrace.”
From the driveway, it looked as if the vine was in a rush to reach the sky. Was the sky also kneeling to plant a kiss on its flowers? Looking up more intently, I located a bougainvillaea in the vicinity of the jasmine bush on the terrace. It had bloomed into daintily coloured pink and white flowers. ‘Lost in contemplation’ describes my state of mind on learning about the plants from him. Almost as immediately as it had begun, my reverie got interrupted when he nudged me to follow him to the terrace.
In one of the corners on the terrace, a sizeable earthen terracotta pot is home to tall frangipani, which in its majesty surveys the entire deck like its own kingdom. It has a sprawling network of branches, dense green foliage and mildly fragrant pink and white flowers. A host of squirrels, sparrows, mynahs, bulbuls and babblers have great fun flirting with it. There is a pair of doves that keeps on darting in and out. They must be having a nest hidden somewhere amongst its branches.
Going around the frangipani, I discovered that the jasmine vine had stealthily crept up to one of its branches and entwined itself around it. The two looked like lovers locked in an embrace and oblivious of the universe. That corner of the terrace was bathed in a heady, fragrant mix emanating from them. The fragile jasmine vine had so delicately wrapped itself all around the frangipani branch that no one could have ever entertained the thought of separating the two. Even the thorny bougainvillaea was the chosen one for some other jasmine shoots.
Wasn’t the yonder blue its destination, or was it the mother jasmine bush? Had it got waylaid en route? I wondered, looking upwards and found a wispy, stray cloud reading my thoughts. Could the cloud have known about the destination of the jasmine vine? Whom did the jasmine vine stop to meet on the terrace? And why was that cloud lazing around in the sky at that spot? Wasn’t it one of those who had recently brought in the blessings from the oceans for the land and vegetation? All those dark clouds that came in with a lot of thunder and lightning have moved away. In the clear blue sky, I can see only this white cloud. Starting from the faraway ocean, had they all reached their destination? Could they fulfil the purpose of their journey? Having poured out the essence of their existence, did they attain dissolution in the mystical being of the sky? Questions started arising in my mind in rapid succession. I turned to him for some answers but finding him avoiding my gaze; I quizzed myself. Whom else could have I asked? Why should have I been interested in knowing about the journey and destination of the climber and the clouds?
I realised that I had just chanced upon experiencing culmination maturing into continuity. That was not the only shoot of the vine reaching out and embracing the frangipani branches. I could see a few more equally fragile ones with curling tips reaching out to the bougainvillaea as well. There were no buds and flowers on these, yet there was a promise that they would also burst out into fragrant flowers. Someone inside and beside me helped me discover shades of fulfilment in that embrace and the floral aroma emanating from it. The cloud had begun sauntering away from me. Its contentment complemented that of the flower-bearing shoots of jasmine and frangipani.
Is experiencing and savouring fulfilment the furtherance of a journey?
Sun had come up a little higher in the sky by then. It was now time for the butterflies to arrive and visit the flowers. They are diligent workers who flitter so quietly all across the gardens. No particular plant or flower is their destination. They do not falter at any barricades or walls. Bit by bit, they gather all that the flowers have to offer. Theirs is a mutual exchange of blessings of the creator. All the events in this phenomenon repeat themselves in an amazingly orderly manner. No chaos, no confusion has ever happened in this ever-ongoing show. It reveals an eternal continuity, a marching progression; arriving, going returning and going again.
This is the story of an eternal journey that never begins and never ends. Each destination turns out to be a myth, a mirage or at best yet another milestone or a landmark. Whether caravans or wanderers, the truth of any journey lies nestling in the womb of the path. It takes its own time to get revealed to some traveller who cares to stop, surrender and unload the baggage off his shoulder, never to look back at it again.
All this while I stood there, I started identifying myself with the phenomenon unfolding around me. A lot of actors were staging a play I was getting pulled into it. Was I experiencing a dissolution? Soon, I would also have to gather my thoughts and leave to return to the mundane stratum of my existence.
I could not trace my host as I turned around to bid adieu. Finding me lost in a trance, where had he disappeared? Was it a destination for him as well?
