Little world of mud
By Ruskin Bond

I HAD never thought there was much to be found in the rain-water pond behind our bungalow in North India, except for quantities of mud and the occasional water-buffalo. It was my grandfather who introduced me to the pond’s diverse life, so beautifully arranged that each occupant gained some benefit from the well-being of the others! To the inhabitants of the pond, the pond was the world; and to the inhabitants of the world, commented grandfather, the world was just a muddy pond.

When grandfather first showed me the pond world, he chose a dry place in the shade of an old peepul tree, where we sat for an hour, gazing steadily at the thin green scum on the water. The buffaloes had not arrived for their afternoon dip, and the surface of the pond was undisturbed.

For the first 10 minutes we saw nothing. Then a small black blob appeared in the middle of the pond. Gradually it rose higher, until at last we could make out a frog’s head, its big eyes staring hard at us. The frog did not know if we were friends or enemies so he kept his body out of sight. A heron, his mortal enemy, might have been wading about in search of a meal.

When Mr Frog had made sure that we were not herons, he passed this information on to his friends and neighbours, and very soon there were a number of big heads and eyes on the surface of the water. Throats swelled. We were treated to a chorus that went, "Wurk, wurk, wurk ...."

In the shallow water near the tree, we could see a dark shifting shadow. When I touched it with the end of a stick, the dark mass immediately became alive. Thousands of little black tadpoles wriggled into life, pushing and hustling each other.

"What do tadpoles eat?", I asked.

"They eat one another most of the time," said grandfather. "It may seem an unpleasant custom, but if all the young tadpoles in this pond grew into frogs they would take up every inch of the ground between here and the house. And they’d be all over the bedrooms and the bathrooms and the kitchen. Your grandmother wouldn’t be too pleased."

"Their croaking would drive her crazy!"

Grandfather told me that when he was a young man he had once brought home a number of green tree-frogs. He put them in a glass jar and left them on a window-sill without telling anyone of their presence.

At about four in the morning, the entire household was awakened by a loud and fearful noise. Grandmother and other members of the household gathered on the verandah for safety. Their fear turned to outrage when they discovered the source of all the noise. At the first glimmer of dawn, the frogs had with one accord burst into a song. Grandmother wanted them thrown out of the window, but grandfather gave the bottle a good shaking and that quietened them for some time. Everyone went back to sleep, but grandfather was obliged to stay awake in order to shake the bottle whenever the frogs showed signs of bursting into a song.

The following day, one of my aunts took the cover off the bottle to see what was inside. The sight of a dozen green tree-frogs so frightened her that she ran off without replacing the cover. The frogs jumped out and got loose in the garden and were never seen again.

But to return to the pond.... I soon got into the habit of visiting it on my own, to explore its banks and shallows. Taking off my shoes, I would wade into the muddy water up to my knees, to pluck the water-lilies off the surface.

One day, when I arrived at the pond, I found it already occupied by buffaloes. Their owner, a boy a little older than me, was swimming in the middle of the pond. Instead of climbing out on the bank, he would pull himself up on the back of one of his buffaloes, stretching his slim brown body out on the animal’s glistening back.

When he saw me staring at him from across the pond, he smiled, showing gleaming white teeth in his dark, sun-bronzed face. He invited me to join him for a swim. I told him I could not swim, and he offered to teach me. He dived off the back of the buffalo and swam across to me. And I, having removed my shirt and shorts, followed his instructions until I was struggling about among the water-lilies.

The boy’s name was Ramu. He promised to give me swimming lessons every afternoon.

Before long I was able to swim across the pond to join Ramu astride a contented, basking buffalo. Ramu came from a family of milk-vendors and had received little schooling. But he was well-versed in folklore and knew a great deal about birds and animals.

I liked the buffaloes too. Sometimes we tried racing them, sitting astride different buffaloes. But they were lazy animals, and would leave one comfortable spot only to look for another; or, if they were in no mood for hectic activity, would roll over in the water, depositing us into the mud and green scum of the pond. Emerging from the pond in shades of green and brown, I would slip into the house through the back door, to avoid grandmother’s wrath; then hurriedly bathe under a tap before getting into my clothes.

Sitting on our favourite buffalo, Ramu and I watched a pair of Sarus cranes prancing and capering around each other. They were tall, stork-like birds with naked red heads and long red legs. These birds are always devoted companions, and it is said that if a Sarus is killed, its mate will haunt the scene for weeks, calling sadly, and sometimes even pining away and dying of grief.

They are held in great affection by village folk and will often "adopt" a village, living on its outskirts. And they are as good as watch-dogs, giving loud trumpet-like calls if strangers approach.

This particular pair of Sarus cranes seemed to have adopted our pond and bungalow, for we were to see them often in the coming months. Both grandfather and Ramu felt that people should be more gentle with birds and animals, and not kill them for sport or commerce.

"It is also important that we respect them," said grandfather. "We must acknowledge their rights on the earth. Everywhere birds and animals are finding it more difficult to survive because we are destroying their forests. They have to keep moving as the trees disappear."

Ramu and I spent many long summer afternoons at the pond. The buffaloes and the frogs and the Sarus cranes shared our friendship. They had accepted us as part of their own world, their muddy but comfortable pond.