Blue Rock, Sandal Tree

The moon sways in the cloud spattered sky. The trees rustle as she passes by as if they know her secrets. They whisper to each other in the silence of the night. They’re pretty sure they have seen her before, making this pilgrimage, but they cannot be entirely sure. Many women make this trek every year, every month, every week. It is hard to keep them all straight. All of them have the same quickened pace, while sneaking glances behind them. Their faces they attempt to cover with their soft muted veils. But this one was different. She didn’t even wear a veil. Also, she was older now. The lines of an old woman had started to trace her face. The gossiping trees lean in to take a closer look. Yes, they are sure they have seen her. In fact they have seen her pass through on this pilgrimage four times. This time though, her face is set—an almost angry look. Her walk is much stronger too. In her brown arms, she cradles a muffled bundle and pushes onward down the long dirt path that has been travelled by many before her, and will be by many after her. The wind pushes a cool breeze against her tight skin but sweat patches still form underneath her arms. She uses her free hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead, just as the path is abruptly stopped by a river.

Dark clouds pass over the moon, as she sets the bundle against the lone tree that points travelers to the only way to cross the river: four large rocks, jutting out against the current. She sits herself down next to the tree. Leaning her tired back against its itchy bark, she takes off her worn sandals. Her tired feet are covered in dirt and blood from all the walking she has done. Her devotion to this pilgrimage is manifested in her pain. The moon reveals its face again and she can watch the water as it rushes past the four rocks. She can also see the other side of the river, where the path is continued. She has never been on that side of the river. She contemplates what could be on the other side. She takes three deep breaths and picks up her sandals. She stands up and reaches for a free branch. On this branch she hangs her worn, tattered sandals next to the others that have been left by the pilgrims before her. She then picks up the bundle that has been waiting for her.

She walks to the edge of the river. A path has been worn down. She points out her foot and steps lightly onto the first stone of red hematite. She can feel the water as it squishes in between her tired bloody toes, washing them clean. A shiver runs through her entire fragile body. After her second foot makes it safely to the rock, she edges to the second rock which will bring her to the middle of the river. The rains had been harder this monsoon than they had ever been, so the current was swifter and hungrier than before. She lifts her first foot up cautiously and places it onto the second rock of robin’s egg blue. She firmly uses her quad muscles to anchor her tiny frame down. When she steadies herself she slowly lifts her second leg. She tumbles a little as the river suctions off her foot, but she quickly plants her second foot onto the blue rock. The current has rushed up past her ankles and is now soaking her dress. She wonders if she would be able to float away with the current if she wasn’t holding her legs taut. After she believes that she is stable, she shifts the bundle to one arm. She uses her free hand to open it and she peers inside. Her black eyes search hard as if she is trying to remember everything she is seeing. Then her face, so strong, crumbles. She looks so young almost prepubescent as the clouds shadow her face. She allows the stinging tears that she has bottled inside flood her cheeks. She ignores the wind as it picks up and blows her hair into her face, soaking up her silent tears. She stares deeply into the bundle as her tears subside. She then covers it back up. She shuffles to the edge of blue rock and bends down. She touches the freezing river with her free hand. She then shifts the bundle into both hands and lays it softly on top of the hungry current. She takes three more breaths and then lets the current take it away.

She stands there at blue rock watching the black current until the bundle and the crying are drowned by the angry babbling of the river that is no longer so hungry. She stands up and turns back to look at the sandal tree. The wind picks up again and the colorful sandals start to sway pleasantly while the moon shines off of them like a Christmas tree. She turns back toward the other two rocks and stumbles her way to the other side of the river.