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An autobiography of Bridge

Posted by : DEBASHISH BARUA on | Oct 15,2014

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.