6/6/2022
to you, from the slopes of Shivalik
Nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi
"you should see my city in autumn," i say to an old friend in his new apartment in Gurgaon.
In the bastion of the mighty Dogras, nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi - daughter of the sun
and there i was, standing on the old bridge overlooking Bagh-e-Bahu, "you should see the great Tawi during heavy rains, you should see her might when no one is looking"
the very might, of a son, that saved the king of the serpents, and in return the father crowned him the lord of the virtuous slopes of Shivalik
"she flows here from kailash kund," i tell him with a smile, "to the land of my father, of his brother, and his sister"
the land where the maharaja once saw a beast and his prey - bowing together, quenching their thirst in the month of June; free from shackles
"you should come on a sunday, and have some Rajma," as we take out the foreign bread from a local joint.
"maybe we can have some khatta meat too, if you decide to stay," i say to him as i take another bite.
for long have our forefathers told us to take pride in the soil of our birth.
they know of the threads that bind us to the place that has come before us.
some escape, some never come back, and some carry with them, always, the colour of their soil.
before i left, i too, stood on the old bridge - on my way to the old city; bowing to the Goddess at Bawe, as she looked on, ever present -- in the land of the Dogras, in her ever lasting abode.
"you should come see my city in December," i say to him as i take a last bite.
Nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi - daughter of the sun, nourishing land of the Dogras
@writeweird
