A Field of Traces

a field of traces

Our landscape flowed Like rain in a stream.

In its solid form, We have ground for our practices.

Activities of all times and durations Play out along side one another.

Jointing basalt columns beyond coastal towns, Remnants of the splitting landmasses, and flowing lava.

The island is merely an extension of the town.

Columns hold salt, Deposited by evaporating water.

Crevices run deep as the waves erode basalt And tides hit and recede.

The kite rests on the pillars of basalt.

Deposits its droppings, Outlining the columns.

Barnacles stick to the rock.

Marking the line of the lowest tide, Forage as water washes up the basalt.

Shells crumble to sand over time.

The island sand, a remnant, Of shells broken to powder by water.

Water becomes The most ephemeral trace, Ubiquitous activity And vast ground.

A line of trash.

Arrives with humans.

Strewn plastics mark, The line of the tide.

Footprints emboss, And wash off with time.

Crabs climb over the basalt Out of water, crawling over the sand, Scattering their tracks As they burrow.

The fisherfolk dwell on water as much as land, Along the coast of amphibious practices.

Yesterday’s catch, fish fallen, Sludge running dry, and ice melting wet Left after the bustling port wanes.

Rope is marked, To cast in the sea.

See how deep the net goes.

Cut rope, left on the floor, No scales and measurements.

Fishing the waters for food.

Unloaded on concrete, Leaving strewn fish, And sludge everyday.

Fish are ephemeral ripples.

When caught and thrown They become mounds of waste.

The abundant sea to streams in soil, Water manifests ubiquitously.

Around it are a horde of rituals.

Fish flow from sea to rainforest, Across the paddy field.

The heron follows fish across grounds.

The kolam grows bigger At the onset of the procession.

The procession makes its own mark over the kolam, Chariot tracks and footprints of devotees Erase and spread the kolam everywhere.

Through the day, feet erase all The morning brings a new motif of sand.

The temple procession is a ritual.

The mighty chariot imprint tracks, in concrete, Footprints of devotees, cattle and the elephant are seen only on the kolam.

Coconuts mark the coast, Grow with salt.

One ritual to another.

Everywhere, in every form.

Fertilizer flows far wide, Along the paddy.

Green everywhere.

Tracks of the plough wheel impressed, Stay in the dryness.

They disappear by water filling the field.

Paddy takes root and grow.

Cracks run dry in paddy, Wetness or its absence.

Vanish as the patch fills.

And sowing begins.

Active spiders spin cobwebs Strewn all over the forest, A ground for water.

The woodpecker carves a hollow Deeper into a tree stump Nest for its young ones.

The water skater appears By the most ephemeral ripple.

When the leaves fallen on the forest ground Rise to form crafted mounds, The nesting of the King Cobra is marked.

A quarry grows into permanent trough Of breaking bricks.

The quarrying enters new activities As bricks build on.

Humans dwell, digging in, A permanent trough full of concrete Breaking apart stone.

Lapwings build and break, Nests with seasons.

A mark of breeding.

Cattle hooves stamped Disappear as other rituals Use the same path.

The dung piles and decays.

Burning firewood, Lit till all is black.

Charcoal crumbles Disappearing into the meadow.

Fire burns in the temple, Sublime camphor vanishes instantly.

The black soot mark Is still holy.

Caterpillar gorged lattices Fill the forest.

Forgaging to grow and survive.

One upon another, Traces disappear, Change, emerge, Evolve and get retained Building the field, The landscape of the Ghats.