On the beach she sat. Visual impressions of her life appearing and disappearing in consortium with the waves that played with the shore before her. Tears were flowing easy that evening.. so easy that she barely realised she was crying until she tasted the salinity in her mouth. She didn't take off her glasses.. she didn't wipe off the tears from the sides of her shoulders.. she didn't even move. Every now and then she would squeeze her eyes and heavy drops of tears would come running down .. some wetting her neck, some falling down on the sand on which she was sitting with her arms around her legs.. her favourite position. These were not tears, something inside was telling her, this was the cleansing of her soul. This was required before she could actually move on. 'Pain is important', she told herself. 'Extreme emotions lead you ahead, they teach you and they bring about changes in you. Time of extreme emotions are few but they remain with you. You will have to go through this phase, not once not twice for quite a few times, before you can get in complete control of yourself.'
At a distance not very far from where she sat.. she saw two puppies frolicking about. With their little teeth they were teasing one another, tugging at each others tails, their ears flapping, tiny tongues hanging out. Happy and innocent moves, ever on a look out for the next mischief. There was comfort in their sport, the world of purity in their bright eyes and pure almost inconceivable happiness in their puny tails..aiming towards the sky..as if challenging it. The sight made her cry all the more, it reminded her of her lost innocence. But just then, one of the puppies, that had come quite close to her, realised her presence and as if in a marvelling glance seemed to ask her, "huh? you?"! His little demure face slightly bent towards one side as the tiny ear lobe swung in the air. It looked at her in amazement and with courage came close to her. The pup seemed to be speculating in his mind, "Will she move or not? Is she a toy? Would she hurt me or give me a nice treat?" The little fellow came closer as she extended her hand wanting to touch it. Sceptic that the pup was, he came closer to sniff, but the very next moment hopped back two steps, in a half standing half lying position, a play-with-me posture that is a visual delight for any dog lover.
The smears of tears against her skin were still showing but with his playful charade the pup had made a fan. She extended her hand again and made a sound of endearment. The fellow sprinted at her but this time did not scoot off like before. He licked her hand..once twice again and again.. he licked and licked and licked.. she wondered if he has a liking for her hand because of the saline taste of tears on them. She let him lick as much as he wanted. The ticklish feeling was divine. Something some people have never experienced. It felt therapeutic to her dried soul. The other pup soon joined them and in no time she was up and running along the sea side, with the little ones following her excitedly..jumping hopping sprinting.. all so joyfully. The trio made a happy group..her grief drowned in their happiness. What were they celebrating? What made them jump in jubilation for no reason at all? How could she forget her sorrow that seemed almost Brobdingnagian in size?
