Return to the roots?

I stepped out of my room holding a lantern in one hand and a book in another. Slowly I squeezed myself through the gap between the doors. One extra movement and it would have roared like some giant.

Adjusting the wick to get just enough light, I tiptoed out into the courtyard. It was a clear night. The sheer number of stars I could see up in the sky overwhelmed me with myriad emotions. Quickly glancing through the courtyard, I found a straw mat lying towards one side. Quietly I went up to it. Putting the lantern on the mud floor, I sat down crossed-legged on the mat.

Not much had changed. It was just 8 pm but the world in this part of the earth was already in deep slumber. The breeze playing with the loose strands of my hair was still laden with the smell of corn and wheat.

 

It’s been almost eleven years since I last woke up early morning to pull out spinach from the field or tried to hit a mango hanging from the tree in the afternoons but it seems like only yesterday. All of us cousins grew up and went our ways chasing dreams and livelihood; leaving our village home in the hands of a caretaker. It has stood still since then comforting itself with the echoes of our childhood games and the aromas of wood fire and hand-ground spices while closely guarding the family recipes and gossips between its walls.

 

As the quietness suffused my heart I took out the bookmark and pulled the lantern closer. Eyes moist, I bent over the pages and tried to read. But I couldn’t. Someone was calling me back. Was I ready to return?