An autobiography of Bridge.
A
spring is cascading through a valley between two steep hills of a mountain,
dividing the two hill which carry different socio-economic cultures. People of
one side cultivate paddy and the people of other side cultivate oranges. Inhabitants
of both the regions remain always in pensive mode: “What are our faults why
cannot we mix with each other and share the moods of other?”- they always
think. One day, while on the respective banks, were on the discussion how to
dispel the obstacle, an old man with long beard and with deep farsighted eye
appeared like a phoenix and seer. He declared “I can solve your problem; please
listen to me; go and fetch some bamboos from the boor”. People of both side
obeyed his order joyfully. The old man than put those bamboos on the spring
cool water were flowing gently through the valley than and over it bamboos kept
hanging, removing the ongoing gulf forever and thus goes the history of my
birth.
Since then innumerable caused of water have flown through
the spring and innumerable passersby have crossed me to reach their respective
destination. Their joys, sorrows, ill deeds, their magnanimity, for all these,
I am the sole silent witness. I can describe you all their stories but as I
have promised to preserve their secrecy I must have to keep silence.
Still I cannot but to express to all of you one event which
was very much heart-rending for me. One day while serenity reigned throughout
the valley; perhaps it was mid noon, all of a sudden my backbone broke down and
found under me a car with full passenger drowned, many of people had flown
away, the car in no time turned into a relic. I wept throughout the day though
my weeping was useless. Some days after a roller came and with rods and cements
people of town repaired my broken backbone again and thus I got the new formed
which now everybody sees.