Centaur

I'm finally beginning to write a story that has been playing on my mind for a very long time. Who knows, if it goes well, I might make a book out of it.

There was a village in a remote corner of the Himalaya. A truly blessed land surrounded by mountains, high altitude pastures and a sparkling stream that provided crystal clear and refreshingly cold water to the cluster of stone and wood homes that was the village Tiring.

Ratan was sitting in the early morning courtyard, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun. Life was good. He was blessed with his wife Prabha, daughter Malti and son Jai. After years of hardship after his father died, Ratan had finally managed to reach a stable life, where the few needs were met, and a small, but growing stash of money promised protection from temporary hardships.

He looked at his son Jai cutting wood near the cowshed. A stronger and more responsible lad couldn't be found if one searched all his life. The whole village was all praise for this remarkably intelligent and talented young man who had the promise to lead the family into better times.

When he looked at the boy, something seemed to trouble Ratan. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The lad was honest, hardworking and seemed to sparkle with life itself. So where was that niggling worry coming from?

A soft cough caught his ear, and he turned around to find his weathered mother staring at him. She had that same something that bothered him about the lad.

"He's quite a wild thing, isn't he?" the old woman remarked as she joined him in the sun. Sitting down next to him, she joined him in watching that youth make swift work of the firewood with strong and precise swings of the axe.

Wild. That was it. His son had an untamed grace to him. A free spirit. He looked at his mother sitting next to him and frowned slightly as she lit a beedi. She was like that too. He remembered her youth. She was a spirited woman, who stood shoulder to shoulder with his father when he was alive and had actually led the struggle of the family after the devastating flood that had killed his father and brothers and swept away their ancestral home. He shuddered to think of those devastating days.

"How many times I have I told you not to smoke so much?"

Dadi looked at her son. "How does it matter?"

"You are not the young woman you used to be. All this smoking is going to make you ill" He was irritated.

"Its my age now, if I fall ill. Stopping smoking is not going to turn a raisin into a grape"

Ratan never knew a time when his mother didn't smoke. He guessed it was a part of her "tough" image. She needed to do all the things a man would, without being questioned.

Jai had finished with the wood, and was returning with a small pile for the kitchen. He stopped on the way.

"Apa, let's go and mend that fence in the field beyong the hill. Yesterday, Daulat's cows had got in, and had a go at the barley. Luckily I was there and got them out. Now that they know that part is open, they will return."

Ratan was gazing at the horizon. His son sounded like the man of the house. He could swear it was only yesterday that Jai was a squirming little bundle he was even scared of holding, and today, the lad was taller than his father.

"Hmmm"

"I'll drop this wood inside, and pack some food for us" Jai bustled off inside.