The Gifts of Rest


About half way through my stay in India, I left the crush of Calcutta and took a day long ride on a house boat to the Sundarban Tiger Reserve at Sajnekhali. Getting to the boat required a heart stopping 3 hour ride in the back of a hired taxi in the predawn hours, the better part of which I tried not to look at what we were nearly missing. The reward for my blind courage was more than enough, for after days of noise and pollution and dust and walking, walking, walking, I emerged from the taxi into the moist cool air of the river.
 
As the group settled in, the boat captain and his crew welcomed us with pride and a hot Masala, an Indian tea with spices and milk. Later at lunch, he served up a simple meal of bakti, the local fish caught that morning, basmati rice and fresh cucumbers, onions and fried eggplant from the local village fields. It was delicious. For the rest of the day our group sailed quietly down the river stopping only when we reached the reserve to climb the watchtower and survey the horizon for tigers and elephants and then returning again to the boat for the gentle journey home as the sun melted behind the river cypress. We listened to the various guides talk about the landscape and animals, talked quietly about politics and culture, but mostly we sailed along, drinking in the quiet and the rest.

The ride home seemed much less stressful, probably because we were so relaxed. Looking out the window in the gathering dusk, I saw village after village of locals gathering together in little shops lit only by a single light bulb or more often, by small oil lamps. They were talking, laughing, getting haircuts by candlelight, roasting food, the children playing on blankets, the bright colors of the women's sari's and the tablecloths still glowing despite the fading light. I felt as if I was being given an intimate glimpse into everyday Indian life, but even more, into the deep nature of humanity to seek the company of each other at the close of day. The moon was only a sliver. It was a dark evening, and as our car passed, the headlights were the only real light on the road that even after dark carried people on foot and loaded 2 and 3 to a bicycle, home. As we sped past, I watched the curtain of evening we only momentarily parted, sweep back across the landscape behind us, returning to darkness all that remained in our disappearing wake. Rest is for everyone.