MAZHAVILLU | Page 27

Don’t Lose Hope A rare gust of cool wind swept through the barren, desolate landscape, shattering the frail surface of the water into a million fragments for a split second, and retreating as soon as it had arrived. The sun hurled its deadliest powers at the helpless innocent land; a merciless hunter with a venomous dart arrow that slowly and painfully usurped all life; a magician who loathed happiness, casting a dark spell on a land and its people, whom in his eyes had experienced too much joy and prosperity. I scanned the horizon, searching desperately for a glint of green or a patch of resilient greenery that was still fighting to survive in the desert-like conditions as well as the uncompassionate heat. All in vain. A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of my face and fell onto the dry land below, the ground soaking it up greedily, demanding for more. The fragments from a memory of a large expanse of dazzling azure water and vibrant plant life, gradually faded away, the view replaced by a shrinking mass of murky water surrounded by a vast and empty wasteland. The never-ending silence was deafening. Jagged parts of a jumbled jigsaw puzzle created a chaotic and scorching mess beneath my feet, as though the floor pattern had been arranged and assembled by a two-year-old child. It was a huge stretch of blazing ravenous land, sucking up any sources of water in a millisecond, driven thirsty and craving for more by the omnipresent power above them ][