My dear clouds,
I am writing to you with a very heavy heart. We had not yet come to terms with the last Sawan’s tragedy of Summer Hill th🐼at ꦚyou heaped another tragedy at Rampur, Himachal Pradesh. Your sudden outburst on the intervening night of July 31 and August 1 wiped out almost the whole Samej village. Thirty five villagers were swept away in the furious flash flood. Imagine the piteous plight of a family that lost its seventeen members in one go. Their wailing cries are moving mountains but you seem unmoved. The villagers lament:
Badlon aur havaon ke darmian ye kaisi sajish hui
Hamare ghar mitti ke the, aur unhi pe barish hui
(Wh𓆉at sort of conspiracy was this between the clouds and winds? We had houses of mud and it rained on 🐻them only).
Friends, we remember how our hearts leaped up when we saw you floating in the sky in our childhood! We fancied you as flying fairies carrying pitcher of water and at times as an elephant ready to sprinkle water from his trunk. We were mesmerised by 🀅your changing moods and intently gazed at the crescent rain bow in the sky. The elderly people could guess from your changing colours as to what the weather would be. A saying came current as:
“Evening red and morning gr💛ey sees t𓂃he travellers on their way
Evenings grey and morning red brings🌳 down rain on their head “
But now you have become absolutely ꦬunpredicไtable. At times you keep the sky overcast for days with no rain at all. When farmers need you the most, you rain the least but when they want you not to rain, you rain in torrents. Likewise, at you drop too much snow on the hills and at times none at all.
I may remind you that that peacocks that danced to your tunes now shudder at your s🦹ight. Writers and poets draw different sy💞mbols from you for their poetry and prose. In his epic poem Meghdootam, Kalidas made you a trusted messenger of the exiled Yaksha to carry his message to his love torn wife in the Himalayas.
It appears that the praises of poe🍰ts and writers have gone into your head and you have started behaving in a condescending manner. I may warn you that the poets may shy away singing your paeans if you wreak havoc like this.
You may attribute your misdemeanour to the man itself. No doubt his misdeeds of global warming have told upon your nature and behaviour. The man very well realises this but he is in a fix what to do. He needs roads and bridges for his brethren. They can’t walk on clouds. They need indus🐻try and power projects for their necessities. Nevertheless the man is mulling measures day in and day out to contain global warming and concomitant climate ch🃏ange. Please bear with him till then.
Dear clouds, you come and go with seasons. Your relationship with man is as old𓃲 as the human civilisation itself. Man can’t really do without you. My simple appeal to you is that you hail, rain or snow but for god sake don’t burst. 💮
&𝐆nbsp; Sincerely yours,
; &nbsꦑp; &♉nbsp; K R Bharti
K R Bharti is a retired IAS officer of Himachal Cadre, a poet and writer.
