In that class

"Cold war, though not as destructive as the pernicious world war II , perpetrated an unprecedented race for weapons and covert acts of destruction by individual nations, in particular Soviets ."

While madam, wallowed in those historical facts, I wallowed in the sight that presented itself from across the grills of window. A branch of mango tree, with its greyed leaves, swayed in the gentle breeze. The breeze that caressed my face draped in sweat beads,twinkling. The breeze that carried with itself the faint cadence of a genset working far away.




But my teacher's history class diverted my attention from the motherly lap of nature. Gorbachev and Nixon disturbed my rendezvous , so did the other crass men of history. What afterall was history, other than lies perpetrated by the victors? I was wondering about the way history has been misused by the demagogues of both past and present, destroying the beauty of a serene life.

The life, yes, that was when a gust of wind, wafted from the window and brought my attention back. Smell of mango wafted in with the faint slither of dried leaves. A chameleon, ran through those dried parchment, when a sparrow eyed its transgressions with contempt. The sparrow shaked its puny tail in disgust, and looking sideways, jumped off to another branch.

Behind the dried leaves of mango trees, tall grass had grown answer shone in verdant green flame, in the hot afternoon sun. The tuft of grass, moved in symphony with the breeze, just as they would sway in an ocean of gusty flow.

What were they all to me and I to them? Each one in the scene completed the meaning of its presence. This meeting, as it cemented itself in my heart, history lesson drew to end..... The bell pealed with three quick gongs, and the meeting of the mundane with beauty drew to close as well. I closed the half open history book and rushed to home.The class had ended.