Kans grass
Her feeble steps sunk deep into the ground, moistened by the overnight shower. The soles of the feet reddened by the 'alta' and the silver anklet now covered with mud, she felt irritated by the damp clay that penetrated through the gap of her toes.
Pooja stared amazed by the sigh that lay in front of her. For as far as her eyes could see, there stood the weed, standing tall on the ground, swaying with the brush of the breeze. It was like a sea of white – a dirty shade of silver, Pooja thought.
Hashu – the goat, which she carried everywhere her ten year old feet could take, grew anxious and jumped from her lap, hopped on the ground and leaving a trail by its hoof, disappeared into the lush growth of the kans grass.
"Hashu" she cried out loud. Her voice muffled by the gutsy blow of the southern wind. The goat reappeared, amidst the dense green, only to reassure of his presence and then off it went, jumping deep into the jungle, only the tinkle of the bells around his neck left a sign for Pooja to follow.
From the distance, the kaash seemed like a stretch of white carpet. The dense aggregate of the long kans' stem, topped with a snowy blossom, seemed shorter, but as she came closer the stem of the grass, Pooja realised, stood twice her height. She felt the blooms were silky, like cotton candy she saw at the village fair.
"Will it taste as sweet?" she pondered while white clouds hovered in the autumn sky.
Pooja stretched her hand to catch the weightless pulp of white flowers, the seeds that were blown into the wind for the species to propagate. Her father had told Pooja - kaash is a weed, a growth that takes the nutrients from the soil leaving it barren for time.
It grew in all directions and her father grew weary chopping them down. He could use them as fodder for the cow. That was all it was good for, Pooja's father told her youngest daughter.
Today, Pooja could vouch that her father was wrong. How can something so beautiful be a weed, an unwarranted growth that did no one any good? She stretched by hands and held a stem. Sturdy to her touch the sharp bristles brushed against her soft palms.
She moved her hands. "Hashuuuu", a cry that now seemed like adesperation. "Hashu, I will leave you alone here. HASHU!"
She considered penetrating deep into the grass but thought otherwise, lest she cuts herself. After a few more cries and calls, Hashu reemerged from the plush green, jumped and leaped, and came running to Pooja.
As they walked back to the village, Pooja took one final look. This was not the first time she had seen kaash, but never before did she realise that something so beautiful can exist. She looked into the white cloud that moved across a blue sky and then lowered her gaze onto the kaash that was moving like foamy waves in a turbulent sea.
By Mannan Mashhur Zarif
Photo: LS Archive
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