Earrings
The world doesn’t seem alien anymore
An hour and no refuge. Weariness and fatigue.
They’ve just stepped off the boat. Her children are asleep inside the wooden cabin. All six of them, two of them infants. She gropes in the sand but to no avail. Her earring is missing. The sky is bright and cloudy. Sultry summer noon at the beach. Yet, it is not something to cherish.
This is unknown land. For all she knew, there could be crabs crawling within the very sand that she marveled at. Brisk and umpteen colors flash in rapid succession. The men are catching fish. A holler from them and some distracted fragments of conversation are conveyed to her. Her husband is the leader. The alpha, yet his laughter is the most unyielding of them all.
Her tribe isn’t the most socially advanced. It’s brutal shame. But she keeps groping.
For good measure, she pulls out the other earring from the other ear. Preening at it, almost devouring it with affection. The crescent of the crudest silver than ever found refuge in the corsets and breaches of the earthen recoil. All of a sudden, she’s aware of where she is.
What terrors do stranger tides forbear?
She looks around. Nobody is interested. She sticks out her tongue, and tastes the earring. It tastes exactly like it always did. Not that she had a penchant for having a go at the various adornments that being the tribe-leader’s wife had aplenty, but it was something rather left unexplained.
Her mother had gifted this to her. Long back, when she was a kid. Her ears have grown around them. So much so when she removes them, she almost collapses, unbalanced. The earrings are part of her. Like her tribal heritage is part of her.
The world doesn’t seem alien anymore.
But all is lost, and nothing won.
She cries. She watches as her tears dissolve seamlessly in the tide. It is no miracle. Water and water, salty as the other. She wipes her sore eyes and tries to find the lost one, while clasping the other one safely in the other ear. Her fingers touch something metallic.
Sigh.
She kisses it, fondles it. It is large enough to weigh down entire universes. But she is about to clasp it. Any moment now, and the world will be hers. But something is askew.
Yes, something isn’t right about it, after all. She pulls out the other one, and observes the two. The earrings are dissimilar. A million flashes occur. The waves vanish. Her limbs ache from exhaustion. For a brief moment she hugs the earth, feels the wetness soak through her clothes. It is a release. Her soul rejoicing in the sun and the warmth.
As tribal people, they aren’t accustomed to uniformity of design. Now she remembers. Her mother never actually gifted her the other earring. She had, for the time being, but the daughter had lost it in the sands. Another one had been picked up. Some long-abandoned endowment of the gods, she embraced the newfound treasure.
Adaption and evolution: that is what tribes are about. Moving on. The massive confidence of a continent, the slow, seedy resilience of accomplishment. She looks around. The world doesn’t seem alien anymore. As a tribal, it’s in her blood.
A sharp cry from the men ensures her that dinner would be huge and satiating. She wipes her eyes and walks away.
Her footprints leave no traces…
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