A Story from the Beginning of Time
The Yogi stood at the edge of the cliff, at the tip of the great, damp boulder. It seemed as if he was part of the cliff, like he was the power in the stone; as if his strong hold on the peak kept the whole world in balance. The sky was grey, thick with clouds, like remnants of smoke from an erupting volcano. Here and there the sky gave way to a pale pink, so that, it could have been the beginning of dawn or that of dusk. The wind was cold, yet pleasant and carried the scent of the sea below and the grass around. She approached the Yogi with silent steps, the wind in her wake, his back towards her.
Who are you? She heard his question yet there was no sound. He did not turn around to face her. He did not need sight or sound to know that she was coming. He could sense the ripple in his surroundings, as if the earth was trying to balance out this new force, like an equal pull to a push.
Thunder struck. Its blinding spark dulled by the thick clouds, making the roar of it all the more magnificent. Zordiiva, she answered.
The Yogi closed his eyes and a towering ice-berg appeared between them, its glossy transparent surface reflecting the sky perfectly, so it seemed that a strange sky had emerged from within the stone cliff. Zordiiva fell back with a jolt. The earth did not soil her clothes nor did it stick to her arms and hands.
Show me your magic, she heard him say, the words not uttered out loud as if their voices conversed in a separate dimension. She stood up and raised her head towards the sky, drawing her shoulder blades together. When men and women stood at the foot of the mountains they felt awed, yet Zordiiva felt like a conqueror beside this huge and endless mass of ice. She raised one arm, straight upwards looking like a dancer ready for a step. Suddenly, she brought her hand down in a single stroke, like a man bringing down an axe aiming to chop.
The earth split open with a deafening scream. The crack on the cliff widened, spreading from her feet to his. The earth opened wide enough to swallow the ice-berg, crushing it, sending shards of ice flying; icicles bursting free from a canon. While the crack was still wide, Zordiiva walked on it, never falling down. Fire erupted from her footsteps, small flames mingled with ice, which began to sizzle and melt. As she walked over it, towards the Yogi, the split began to heal and the cliff stood as if never touched. They now stood face to face. She was breathing hard; not from the fatigue of the magic but the exhilaration of it. She loved the magic flowing through her blood, dancing in her eyes, glowing in her heart.
Now that they stood as equals she broke the silence between them. “I am water, air, fire and earth,” she spoke, her voice strong and melodious. “I am the elements of nature.” She spoke not with arrogance but the unmistakable assurity of knowing one’s own power.
The Yogi only stared at her. He had the look of someone with access to beyond the conscious, his gaze having a quality like that drop of water which enters through the ear, which one can feel moving down but can not wipe away, it trickles down your insides leaving a trail of disturbance and unease. He brought his hands together near his face, his thumbs against his lips and tips of his middle fingers against his forehead. He closed his eyes for a few moments, producing ball of fire from between his palms. The flaming orange and yellow rebelled against the grey. When the Yogi opened his eyes, they too, were fire. The pupil and the whites were gone, replaced by more than a mere reflection of the sun in his hands.
He threw the blazing ball past Zordiiva, towards the huge, luscious tree standing alone on the cliff. The fire spread out as if to meet the tree from all sides at once but stopped to form a ring of fire around it. The tree stood unharmed in the frame of a force repelling the fire outwards. Zordiiva flicked her wrist in the Yogi’s direction. Mud flew in to his eyes forcing him to blink. As suddenly as it had appeared, the fire vanished from his eyes and around the tree.
Zordiiva pinned her arms to her sides, her forearms stretched east and west. She had now let the wind touch her so that it passed through her clothes, her hair, her eyelashes and soon it seemed as if the wind flowed from her. Her eyes were closed in deep serenity. “The elements do not hurt me or that which is mine,” she said, her head thrown back towards the sky. She whispered something inaudibly, like a precious secret, in to the air. Suddenly, she jerked her hands upwards, as if lifting something heavy and invisible up and above the cliff, her arms forming a V and her body limp in the middle as if it had drained all its power in to its arms.
With her motion a hundred trees, as green and luscious as the one already standing there thrust forth from the earth. The ground quaked and groaned like the rumble from the throat of an awakening beast. The earth vibrated uncontrollably as if willing to shake everything off its chest to make space for the command it had been given. New blood pumped through the earth’s veins, the sheer energy of the flow making trees shoot from its surface. While the cliff shook and even the wind swayed, Zordiiva stood still as if the spot under her feet was the sole stable spot in the world. She stood like a soldier in front of an army, her posture normal now; the tension back in her legs, her spinal cord, her shoulders. The slope of the cliff made it seem as if the thicket of trees had caused the tilt, like the hull of a sinking ship.
Slowly the ground stopped trembling and instead hummed like an engine just turned off. It was not Zordiiva who had done this. The Yogi sat on his knees on the peak of the cliff, his left hand pressed hard against the stone, the fingers spread wide apart. He murmured something as his eyes turned an electric and unnatural blue. Silence fell as the earth stopped shaking, the wing quietened and the leaves on the hundred and one leaves stopped rustling. She looked at him with an amused expression. The presence of a counter power did not scare her. If anything she was annoyed at the unneeded taming of her elements. As if answering her thoughts, the Yogi said, “Control them then.”
Before she could prepare herself for what she knew was coming, the Yogi extended his arm towards Zordiiva like throwing a Frisbee. He sent flying an electric blue ball, releasing the energy he had extracted from the earth to calm it down. The striking blue struck Zordiiva in her chest and the energy vanished in to her heart. As soon as her heart absorbed the energy, pain surged through her body, overwhelming her.
The wind caught rhythm again. As her pain increased, the wind became more ferocious hitting like a whip. It was like hot liquid scalding her insides, an invisible torment burning her.
The trees caught fire. Their roots and leaves ablaze, the fire traveled from extremities to the heart of the trees. The wind, now mad with agony and revenge, carried the suffocating smoke and spread it everywhere, not wanting to calm but down but to include everything it touched in its misery. The earth flew with the wind as well; mud flying in think chunks and everything became a haze.
The clouds began to pour rain, thick and mercilessly cold, that cut through the skin. The roar of the thunder was frightening, like the rage of God. Lightning lit up the whole cliff in flickers, making the darkness a looming uncertainty. It was like luminescent cracks in the clouds, the rain droplets pronounced by the white, the fire boldly painted silver.
The sea lost all calm. Its waves thrashed about in pain as if the mighty tentacles of something fierce and strong were struggling to break free from under the water. Except the waves were the monster, rising high to meet the cliff; water threatening to overtake earth. The elements were relentless, waging war against their tormentor.
The Yogi pulled her up in the havoc, making her stand upright. Her body was covered in sweat despite the wet and cold. “Look in to my eyes”, the Yogi commanded. With the wind now turning in to a storm and the smoke from burning wood, he could barely open his eyes. Zordiiva shivered with pain but met his gaze with ease, the elements never bothering her. The instant their eyes met, the Yogi calmed her senses. She felt a strange numbness cover her senses and detach her from the pain coursing through her body. “Feel the beat of your heart,” the Yogi told her. She felt the frantic beating. “Calm it,” he said.
The trees were now completely covered in fire. The smoke fused with the clouds so that they stood with a background of endless grey on the west of the cliff and a blazing golden towards the east. Zordiiva willed her heart to calm down and breathe evenly. She used the calm from the Yogi, letting the tranquility flow along with her blood, to regain control on her senses.
She smelled something burnt and heard the retreat of a crazy wind. She could taste the mud in her mouth and feel the water under her knees and hands. She did not know when she had fallen down. The pain had left her, replaced by an odd calmness. She opened her eyes to witness the devastation around her. She felt a tinge of shame along with a simultaneous overwhelm of power. All the trees were charred and black, even the one she had protected from the Yogi’s fire, the wood still emitting smoke.
The air, the water, the wind and the fire had returned to normal now. She looked around to see if the Yogi had done that but she already knew his doing it had not been necessary. He stood again at the edge of the cliff, his back towards her. “I am the balance to your elements,” he said as she approached, looking beyond the point where the sky met the sea.
THE END
