One of the happiest memories of my childhood is my first visit to my uncle's home in the high ranges of Kerala.
His house was still under construction. Until it was ready, my uncle and aunt lived in a tiny one-bedroom house with a simple asbestos sheet roof. Life there was not easy. Even water had to be carried from a well a few minutes away.
They also had a dog named Bruno.
The first time we met, Bruno barked at me for almost an hour. I thought he would never accept me. But children and dogs become friends very quickly. Within a few days, he became my best friend. In that lonely place, he was my only friend.
The house was much smaller than anything I had seen before, and for a little while I wondered how anyone could live there. But children don't take long to forget such things.
Soon I stopped looking at the house and started looking at the world around it.
There were trees everywhere. Guavas, chikoos, oranges, and many fruits whose names I didn't even know. Every tree invited me to climb it. Every day felt like a new adventure.
Then one day, I found the greatest treasure of all.
Just about fifty metres from the house was a tiny stream. The water was so clear that people compared it to tears. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I ran back and excitedly showed it to my aunt.
Deep inside, I wished nobody else would find it.
I wanted that little stream to be mine alone.
But my aunt smiled.
She saw something different. She said it was the perfect place to wash clothes. Together we removed the weeds, cleaned the mud, and made the place beautiful. Soon she started washing clothes there. The water was so pure that she bathed there and even washed the vessels.
My secret place had become part of our daily life.
Yet I loved it even more.
From that day, my mornings began beside that stream, and my evenings ended there. Bruno was always with me. I would sit quietly for hours, watching the water flow as if it had nowhere to hurry.
Every night, before going to sleep, I made the same plan.
"Tomorrow I will empty the stream."
Before anyone else woke up, I would run there with a small plastic cup.
The stream always welcomed me the same way.
Full. Fresh. Alive.
Sometimes one or two tiny fish would be swimming in the clear water. I tied a bath towel around my neck like a fisherman and tried to catch them. If I caught one, I kept it safely in a bottle for a while. On happy days, I gently released it back into the stream.
Then my real battle began.
Cup after cup... Hour after hour...
I threw the water out with all the strength my little hands had.
By evening, I would be tired. But the stream never gave up.
The next morning, it was full again. As if nothing had happened.
Every single day, it started all over again.
I could never understand where all that water came from.
I never defeated the stream.
When I was twelve, my uncle moved to another place, and I never saw my little stream again.
Even today, I often dream about removing water from that stream and i wonder whether it is still flowing through those hills.
As I grew older, I realised that the little stream had been teaching me something I was too young to understand.
Life will empty us. People will disappoint us.
Failures will drain us. But nature never gives up.
Every morning, that little stream quietly did one thing. It started again.
Perhaps that is the greatest lesson of life.
No matter how much yesterday took away from us, every sunrise gives us one more chance to refill our hearts.....and begin again.
Siji Thomas
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