Lake of serenity

My Sunday afternoon siesta was disturbed by stealthy noises interspersed with sudden rustlings coming from my garden. I was sure it was the woman who habitually stole my jasmine buds. Hoping to catch the thief in the act, I crept out to my garden. I was taken aback when, with a loud “keeoow,” two large avian intruders flew blundering away. The pair of peacocks had, for reasons known only to them, made their way from the nearby lake into my garden. That was the last time I saw them.

In the evening, I met my neighbour Mr R returning from his walk around the lake and I told him about the birds. He said, “I never saw any birds. The whole place is a mess.” I was astonished by his remarks as I was under the impression that the week’s copious rains had filled the starving lake.

“The lake is full of grass, and the rains have made them grow higher. The path around the lake is not cemented and it has become slippery. The pourakarmikas transfer the garbage they collect into the lorries just outside the lake, making the whole place stink to high heavens. And there are no benches to sit,” he continued airing his grievances. I wondered why he wanted to sit in a malodorous place. “The city is going to dogs!” he concluded.

The next morning, I met young K, coming back from his jog around the lake. I asked him if he had seen the peacocks on the island. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Wild peacocks strutting around in a city like Bengaluru! I saw some painted storks too.” He rattled off the names of some more birds he had seen there. I asked him about the grass growing on the lakebed. “Grass in a lake gives out oxygen which is better than froth!” he laughed.

He had a positive attitude to the smell from the garbage too. “The smell is from methane given out by the organic matter. It is not harmful like the exhaust fumes from the vehicles in the city.” He said he was glad that the path around the lake was a mud road. “It is best to walk or run on the natural surface. I am glad there are no benches there. It discourages people from sitting and gossiping,” he laughed.

I wondered about the two conflicting descriptions of the same lake, and went there for a walk myself. There was grass on the lakebed, but there was plenty of water, too, complete with cormorants and egrets. Since I had a cold, I could smell no toxic gas. The newly planted native trees looked shiny and happy. But look as I might, I could catch no sight of the peacocks. I remembered a saying from the ancient Zen Master Dogen: “To be in harmony with the wholeness of things is not to have anxiety over imperfections.”

The next morning, the watchman of the apartment block near my house told me that one of the peacocks had fallen dead in their compound. Someone had taken a potshot at it.