A school bell shrieking out the joy of liberation.
Children squabbling, giggling, chatting as they run out into the fields.
Bicycle bells jingling.
Temple bells echoing off in a distance.
Tiny bells around cattle’s necks tinkling through the afternoon.
A lone vendor shouting out the advertisement of his products.
A group of customers huddled around the vendor, chatting away merrily.
Chiming of heavy anklets and glass bangles.
An ageing cough followed by friendly rebuke to the Almighty.
Crickets, grasshoppers, bees and birds forming a choir.
A lazy buffalo sloshing around in a muddy pond.
A mother yelling at the boys who try to ride the buffalo like a horse and end up one with the muck.
An occasional tractor.
A breeze audible through the thick Neem leaves.
A dust-storm howling in a distance.
A splash of bucket deep inside the house well.
A silbatta pounding away the spices.
A sexagenarian voice timing her hymn with the grinding wheel, turning cereal into flour.
A gruff voice asserting dominance and control with a single summon.
Sheep and goats bleating on being ushered away from the road.
A complain, “When will you come, sit and eat ?”
A tearful gratitude, a joyous blessing, a pained prayer.
Silence. A comfortable, warm, welcoming silence that hammers with the heart, thunders through the soul.
Anhad/अनहद 