A Short Monsoon Story

The first day of monsoon mist. And it’s strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that’s what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight.

Through the mist, Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him.

The lesson gives us a glimpse into the diary of Ruskin Bond and the first day being talked about is June 24, the time around which monsoon begins. As is written, June 24 is the first day when the mist appeared. The writer calls it “strange” how all the birds suddenly went silent as a cloud of tiny water droplets climbed up the hill. He tries to explain why the mist is called “melancholy” by giving two reasons. First, it covers up the mountains and hides the serene view. Second, it silences the birds, hereby bringing sadness. He writes how only an hour before the mist appeared, trees could be heard ringing with the chirping of the birds (birdsong) but now it was so still and silent that he called the forest “deathly” as it felt that it was almost midnight.

The writer could hear Bijju calling for his sister but could not see him through the mist. He could anticipate that Bijju was running about on the hillside.

Some genuine early monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we’ve been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: “A paradise that might have been.”

On the twenty-fifth day of June that year, the hills witnessed some early monsoon rain, which brought with itself warmth and humidity. It’s different from the showers the hills receive all year that cools the environment at such high altitude. The plants also knew it very well that the monsoon had arrived as the first cobra lily of the season plunged its head making its way among the ferns as the writer walked till the bank and the post-office. Upon being asked by a school boy, the author described the hill station and valley as “A paradise that might have been”. It means that during monsoon season, the hill station and valley must feel heavenly which is why it has been referred to as a “paradise”.

The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday afternoon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants’ quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju’s cows but fled at the approach of Bijju’s mother, who came screaming imprecations.

As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away.

The rain brought with it the news of the arrival of a few occasional visitors like the leopard and quite a few thousand leeches. On the afternoon of the day before, the leopard picked up a dog from near the servants’ quarter which was below the school. Not only this, in the evening it ambushed one of Bijju’s cows but ran away as soon as Bijju’s mother came cursing.

With the leeches on the other hand, the writer says that he must get used to losing a little blood to them every day. He mentions a few other names that arrived with the rain such as the scarlet minivets; bright red birds that look like a cuckoo, however, their female counterparts are yellow in colour. They move swiftly and lightly among the leaves giving the appearance of brilliant jewels around them. These birds are so bright in their colour that regardless of how leafy the tree is, it is difficult for them to hide themselves. However, sometimes they manage to go unnoticed by remaining absolutely silent. A bird species named Drongos also comes along, quite unnecessarily aggressive in nature. They chase these minivets away.

A treecreeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds.

During this time, a tree creeper climbs up the trunk of the oak tree, carrying insects with it. The rainy season ensures that there is no scarcity of food for the insect-eating birds. 

All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn’t keep me from sleeping. 

It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. 

The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. 

As the rain stops on the 3rd day of August, the clouds begin to separate giving way to the sun on the writer’s left. A woman could be seen cutting sticks into smaller pieces and the tinkle of cowbells could be heard. A crow sitting on the oak tree shook itself to get away with the raindrops on its feathers as it cawed unhappily and water dripped from the leaking drainpipe that carried off rainwater from the building. As everything settled, the pure song of the whistling thrush could be heard like a “dark sweet secret” from the depths of the valley.

By August 12, the hills had been experiencing continuous rain and permanent mist. They had not seen the light of the sun for about a good stretch of eight to nine days. Everything in the surroundings was slightly wet and moistened. One could not go anywhere. The only option was to move to and fro in the room or look out of the window at a few umbrellas moving suddenly. The author is pleased that it was not cold rain. The vegetation could be seen growing luxuriantly and abundantly on the hillsides as the last-monsoon flowers began to blossom. A few flowers that began to appear are wild balsam, dahlias, begonias and ground orchids.

It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end.

August 31, the last day of the month, also marked the nearing end of the monsoon season. The monsoon vegetation growth had reached its peak by that time and the colour changing of the seeds of the cobra lily to red hinted at the end of the rainy season too.

In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady’s slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold.

As the next few days pass, the flowerless plants or the ferns will begin turning yellow against their present fresh green colour as they stand firm and upright. He mentions how the ground orchids, white butterfly orchids and the mauve lady’s slipper made the grassy slopes of Landour look fashionable. Furthermore, the wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, turned their heads back towards the narrow openings in the rocks where they had taken hold.

Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. “Don’t kill it,” admonishes their grandmother. “Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!” And sure enough, I received a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same.

The snakes and rodents that have come out of their holes and burrows in huge numbers, took shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A small insectivorous mammal resembling a mouse, namely a shrew, with quite a weak eyesight moved about clumsily in the room. It acted as a source of entertainment for the children. Their grandmother warned them not to kill it because Chuchundars, as they are called in Hindi, are known to bring money and prosperity. The author jokes about it and says that he surely received a cheque in his mail. Although not a huge amount, but welcome anyway. 

We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with beautiful golden light.

Suffused- gradually spread through or over

The month of October took the mountains straight into winter rain as it marked the end of the extended monsoon season. The higher altitudes were covered with snow. On the 3rd day of October, the sky and hills were bathing in beautiful golden light after experiencing a hailstorm an evening before.

Winter Rains in the Hills

In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress.

In the month of January, the hills receive winter rains. The author talks about the twenty-sixth day of January when he was all alone in the quiet and still house. The friend who accompanied him a while ago had also gone. He mentions how it was very lonely and quiet as he sat in complete silence experiencing the silence within. He was surrounded by the rhythm of the rain, the slow and gentle movement of water on leaves, lemons and roof as it drummed on already wet dahlias and window panes. The mist covered the house gently in its darkness. 

Late March. End of winter.

The blackest cloud I’ve ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming.

Next he writes about late March that marked the end of the winter season. He recorded having seen the blackest and darkest cloud resting over Mussoorie. It poured hail that looked like marbles for about thirty minutes. He reveals how there is nothing like a hailstorm that clears the sky. He mentions that even as he was writing his diary, a rainbow was in its formation.