Book Title: On the Banks of the Pampa
Author: Volga
Translator: Purnima Tammireddy
Publisher: Harper Perennial India
Number of Pages: 164
ISBN: 978-9369894017
Date Published: Jul. 17, 2025
Price: INR 232
Book Excerpt
Chapter 1
Pages 1-5
The darkness in the forest was so dense that not even dawn could dispel it entirely. The rays of the morning sun, further ablaze by a zealous determination, sought to usher daylight into this unlit jungle. But Surya’s long-held desire to crown this region with daylight remained unfulfilled, as his prowess was a bane to his ambition.
As Surya asserted his dominance in the woods, the saplings grew stronger. They matured into large trees, their lush boughs spreading everywhere. Intoxicated by the sunlight they derived through their offshoots, the trees thickened excessively. As a result, they formed a trellis that stifled the free passage of light, allowing it to seep only through narrow, slender paths. The centuries-old trees swayed their heads and bowed to Surya to show their camaraderie and respect towards him. Impressed by these gestures, Surya veiled himself behind the clouds, displaying his benevolence.
The clouds, captivated by the forest’s allure, showered down every drop of rain they possessed. The drenched trees, reinvigorated by the loving raindrops, grew with greater vigour. Exasperated from having to contain all the rain, Mother Earth released the excess water into thin streams and streamlets, guiding their way to the Pampa. The waterfalls from faraway hills also gushed into the river, teeming with life, with all kinds of species thriving in its surroundings.
This morning, the forest was abuzz with the sounds of birds chirping, peacocks screaming and elephants trumpeting. Elephants gathered beneath the banyan and peepal canopies, their skins gleaming in hues that echoed the deep, weathered barks of the trees. They rubbed their bodies against the massive tree trunks and bantered with them, revelling in their own delight. All the birds in the forest were friends with the tuskers. They flew to the spot where these majestic beasts stood, circled over their heads and shook hands with them. Deer were in a deep slumber under the ganuga trees. The does continued to feel around for their fawns even in their sleep. At a distance delicate ponna flowers blossomed and fell from the trees, turning the ground into a fragrant, sweet-smelling carpet. Rabbits and squirrels, true to their mischievous nature, trampled over this delicate tapestry. But all their naughty attempts were foiled as the flowers kept falling, creating the carpet afresh.
Cuckoos began to sing, perhaps from the mango trees ahead. Wild creatures familiar with the orchestra hurried in that direction. Both sides of their path were filled with ganneru trees in full bloom, in myriad colours—some white, some yellow, and many more in faded red.
There was hardly a tree not laden with fruits or flowers. It was a spectacular display of colour. The wealth of flowers, the wealth of fruits, and the pulsating wealth of countless life forms—there was no treasure absent there.
Mother Earth was overwhelmed and captivated witnessing her own wealth. If someone were to strike up a conversation with her and ask, ‘O Mother, do you feel fulfilled when you see all your offspring in their full glory?’, she would have simply burst into laughter. She would say:
‘You only see the forms of consciousness that are on my surface—the singing birds, the sweet-smelling flowers, the blooming trees and the dancing animals. But have you ever wondered about the lives that exist within my belly? There are precious minerals, diamonds and gems that are yet to be discovered. Have you ever considered the possibility of life existing in every atom of my being? How amazed you would be if you could see it all!’
Today, undeterred by the forest’s towering trees, Surya was leisurely wandering along the banks of the Pampa. A rocky boundary had barred the flow of the river, creating a small pond. The lotuses, native to the pond, wereenchanted by the music of their honey-seeking guests, the bees. The sun’s rays danced nimbly on the water, ripples the shape of tiny flowers forming on its surface. These flowers regaled the Pampa with tales from the forest. The quivering water, blithely clinging on to the weightless specks of light, begged them not to depart. ‘No, we can’t stay on,’ said the light-streaks, adding enticingly, ‘Instead, let us take you along on a journey, on the highways of the sky!’
The region was brimming with love and companionship. Nature, in its entirety, moved in harmony, and in delicate equilibrium.
As a woman walked towards the riverbank, any doubts about the presence of humans in the forest were proven false. She blended with nature seamlessly. All species capable of movement regarded her as a part of themselves. She entered the wilderness with such poise and detachment that it seemed as though she were affirming her inherent connection to this breathtakingly beautiful world. Just as one could not determine the age of the trees in this forest, they could not ascertain hers either. Despite her frail, ageing body, her gait revealed the firm control she still had over it. Her eyes exuded a glow that seemed to illumine her entire being. Her skin was dark, her hair white. The light shimmered on her dark skin, like it would on the leaves—a deep green, fading to a near-black on thetrees. She resembled a tree heading to the banks of the Pampa on foot. Her name was Sabari.
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Excerpted with permission from On the Banks of the Pampa by Volga, published by Harper Perennial India.
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