Recently, after reading several excerpts regarding
India—which I discovered in Sir Charles Dickens’ journal, Household Words—I took to stowing myself away on a ship, docked and
prepared for export. I was right giddy
as I sat, hidden within several stacks of boxed crates in the lower decks of
storage, and my heart beat so as I could feel its pulse inside my ears. When I felt the lurch of the ship as it
pulled away from the docking station, I exhaled a sigh of relief, glad to have
not been caught and tossed out. I sought
to witness India through my own eyes in order that I might return to England
with stories to entertain my home-body friends.
After weeks
of being sloshed about in high winds and storms, purging on myself from
sea-sickness, and having crates and other items sliding into or falling on top
of me, the ship finally reached the Indian port of Ganges. Upon the return of my land-legs, I managed to
slip past the unloading crew and down the ramp, while my eyes busied
themselves, soaking up the Indian land, climate, and culture.
As I
came into the town, I met a tour guide who was all too eager to offer me an
escort. Of course, I obliged and bade
him lead the way. We wove our way
through town, myself fascinated and my guide hurried, until we came to the edge
of the lush jungle. I worried, at first,
when my guide turned to face me and drew out a machete, for I had nothing of
value on my person, but I realized this tool was only used to part the way of
our travels through the thick greenery.
Once we
found ourselves deep in the foliage, my guide having pointed out several new
species of animals and plants, some harmless and others extremely poisonous, we
came to a halt. My guide cried, “Look!”,
and pointed towards a sunlit plant of about three to four feet in height with
bright green leaves and butterfly flowers of pale red. I did look, and what I saw still amazes me to
this very day, for the plant was moving!
Without being touched, the plant twisted itself with its footstalks in a
circular motion, swaying amongst several other plants of its kind. As I looked closer, I noticed the leaves were
also moving up and down, as if the plant were dancing. The guide told me this plant was a vegetable
called Hedysarum gyrans.
I took
a step closer so as to examine the curious plant, but my guide caught my arm
and told me to be careful because the ground was covered in the writhing
leaves, which had fallen from the moving foliage. I was not certain whether or not this plant
would harm me, so instead of going forward, I stood behind the guide while he
removed a small object from his pocket and gathered two of the loose leaves and
began pounding them together. When I
asked my guide about this procedure, he explained to me how the Indian people
believe that those who observe this plant in motion must pound the leaves with
the tongue of a species of screech owl as prevention to being crossed while in
love. I believed this to be reverent of
superstition and refused to touch the screech owl tongue.
When I
later returned to England, I told my story to my home-body friends, and they
asked me if I had encountered any such crosses in love since my sighting of the
moving plant. I had not, at that time,
ever encountered love, but, as of late, I have been crossed in love ever since.
-Mckenzie
Frey
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