A Tapestry of Roots and Wings

Seated on a branch of a tree, Golat andhis younger brother Peje—partly covered in the shadows, partlyvisible in the auroral light—wait for the pigs to come over to the riversideto drink water.

- by Sreelekha Chatterjee

Above the tapering trees, it’s brightening bit by bit, with the sunrays threading the sky's faint blue eyes. A rustling sound is heard, followed by quick, rushing steps. Golat locates a group of four wild pigs—massive greyish black bodies, thick necks and legs, long snouts, and small, deep-set eyes —moving toward the river. He holds his spear attentively, with the iron blade adequately sharpened and ready for action. Just when he is about to throw the spear at the one lagging behind and isolated from the herd, Peje sneezes. Golat loses his concentration, and the spear lands somewhere else. Golat utters a word of disgust and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he finds himself sleeping on the wooden floor in his own house. He guffaws, and the next moment, wonders how it seems to be pleasant to the ear, and how his dream, rather a daydream, can be a reason for a simple, perfect delight.