While clicking away the papaya tree outside, its beautiful leaves and the different birds that visit the tree, little did I know that the papaya leaves are going to play a major role in the coming days! Soon after my Kerala visit I was down with a bad dengue fever attack and to help to stabilise the platelet count, I was consuming papaya leaf juice. How strange are the designs of God! Every small action has a message hidden, a purpose behind it. This woman is obsessed with this tree, let her taste the bitter essence of it, thought He.
Friends who frequent the tree
Asian Koels- male and female
The illness, a heartless intruder, brutally spoilt my new year, my daughter’s holiday and my desire to capture the first full moon of the year. While lying in a delirium I thought of meeting death and wished to feel normal again. I wanted to put an end to the solitude and bitterness born out of sickness and started reading Emily. Somehow the first poem that came to my mind was
I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there—
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler—
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner’s name—
For doubt, that I should know the Sound—
I judged my features—jarred my hair—
I pushed my dimples by, and waited—
If they—twinkled back—
Conviction might, of me—
I told myself, “Take Courage, Friend—
That—was a former time—
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!”
I don’t have any idea what Emily had in mind or what kind of crisis she was going through when she wrote the poem. What a brave imagination to say that ‘I felt my life with both my hands’ and what an immense relief to know that it is still there! I too held my spirits to the mirror and looked at the ‘born again’ me. ‘Fear knocked at the door, Faith answered and lo! no one was there’ was the feeling!
Then on my lane to recovery I thought of this image I clicked sometime ago at Hoi An village… A dark lane lit up by early morning light. I felt I could see the golden light at the end of a dark lane and that excited me. Then I chanced upon this poem of hers.
A lane of Yellow led the eye
Unto a Purple Wood
Whose soft inhabitants to be
If Bird the silence contradict
Or flower presume to show
In that low summer of the West
Impossible to know –
Riding into the lane of yellow!
It gave me immense joy to ride to the yellow lane again from darkness and I would like to believe that the purple woods are still far away.