It’s an hour or so after dusk .. I have read “the shepherd” again and finished a cup of Elaichi chai . I stroll outside the verandah, to the little incline up the small hillock . Its cold and foggy , but there is enough moonlight.. I look up and there are sparse grains of stars too ..
I look at my side and spot dull yellow lights from the home I stay now, a few hundred meters away.. . I choose to now gape straight down the long valley, as the gentle Kodava breeze embrace me bringing its faint but pleasant howl to me and the beyond. The final streak of darkness infested daylight is fading fast at the horizon.
I keep a steady foot and savor this ambience. I look at the mountains beyond, the hills around and the plains down and wonder how long since they have been formed, how long they have stood mute witnesses to all those evolution and degradation.
These are still not pillaged by the phenomenal progress of civilization of the last century, century abounded with war and peace, growth and destruction alike, when nations were ruled by powerful men who decided the order of the day. These men were divided, their nations fought , the people fought and the world was ridden with slashes of kamikaze as a direct consequence of the world war II, the souls suffered, lives were lost and the very essence of life was shaken. But then there were tales of hope and success too because there were men, men who set out to protect, to save lives around them, telling tales of courage, bravery and unflinching heroism.
I realize I feel like that RAF pilot from “the shepherd”, high up in the air, thoughts drifting and serenity around.. Decades after the great war had ended , he is flying home for Christmas in his Vampire, a season of warmth , merriment and sharing goodness unto others.. Solitude is a funny thing.. One moment you enjoy it , the next moment perception changes as the thought shifts and you feel lonely.. and this is what happen to our young pilot also.. he now longs home, for his fellows and buddies are already rejoicing.. and he is thousands of feet high above the earth that is now steeped in celebration, braving the night , cold and the perils of flying itself . And the worst happens too , an electrical system failure happens in the aircraft and his instruments conk out. He is stark lonely for he cannot communicate with his radio dead and unlikely that his existence will even be detected by the Air Traffic crew down the ground. The moon, sky and the stars now become hostile for him and he can’t even hear his own voice of panic and despair with his oxygen mask on. He is apprehensive of bailing out, for he feels sure that he will not survive the raging cold of the North sea.
Now standing high upon the mountains, I don’t fancy myself in his situation, but I eventually think of “the shepherd” who attempts to rescue him from his crisis. History however glorious or inglorious it might be, is always a thing of the past. But imagine, in a situation, eons away, you come face to face with a war hero, catch him in action , helping you to evade the very crisis you have got into. Our Young pilot finds that “the shepherd” is such an old timer, a legend among his peers and guides him to a safe landing.
But the story doesn’t end here, we realize a whole new fable of past lurking in those ending lines of the novel. We are not allowed to venture into it and it all ends on a note of stirring suggestiveness. And that’s what adds beauty to “the shepherd”.
I always believe you can weigh a novel as good based on how much it works your inside world of fantasy and intellect. Frederick Forsyth writes, just narrating this story to you, but letting the mind work in awe and amazement in the background.
I could reminisce more on “the shepherd” , but when words have triggered feelings I find it a little hard , surprisingly, to articulate those same feelings in eloquent words.. Maybe I should return now, to the warmth and comfort of my home...