In the serene hills, where the Nilgiris rise,
I guide our sheep through the emerald green,
Tea plantations stretch endlessly,
Mist clings to the peaks,
whispering secrets of the past.
I’m a timid boy, always scanning,
Cautious and alert, every step measured.
The night was cool,
the air sharp as I stood on the hill,
Feet pressed into the damp earth,
The grass wet beneath me,
The smell of eucalyptus all around.
I always come here when the world feels too big,
When the hills seem endless,
and the sky is so wide it swallows me whole.
Beside me, Nila, my doting sister,
Bold and fearless,
with a heart full of adventure.
She leaps around like she owns the place,
Light as a bird,
her feet barely touching the ground.
She never stops, that girl – always moving,
Always searching for something I can’t see.
I keep the shepherd’s crook close,
My fingers gripping tight,
As though holding it keeps me steady.
We are orphans by destiny,
Shepherds by necessity.
Below us, the valley stretches out,
A sea of tea leaves and dark forests,
The trees like shadows,
the streams winding through the land,
Silver veins glinting in the light.
Hills always feels like a dream,
A place caught between the earth and sky.
And tonight, the moon hangs low,
A pale ghost over the Nilgiri hills.
The night is calm,
yet anticipation hangs in the air.
Villagers gather, their faces turned skyward.
My eyes are fixed on the sky,
Watching the moon, bright and whole,
But something’s wrong. I can feel it.
The Moon’s light begins to fade,
swallowed by shadow.
I feel a chill, a sense of unease,
“Is this a curse?”
I wonder, my voice barely a whisper.
The shadow deepens,
the landscape bathed in darkness,
A celestial dance unfolds, silent and profound.
The hills usually vibrant and alive,
Now seem otherworldly, cloaked in mystery.
The tea leaves rustle softly,
the air thick with suspense,
The villagers hold their breath,
squarely caught in the moment.
Nila and I stand together,
a contrast in demeanor,
One cautious, the other bold,
yet both captivated.
Nila bounds up beside me,
her eyes wide and full of wonder.
“Do you see it?” she asks, breathless.
I nod, but my stomach twists.
I’ve seen this before.
The moonlight swallowed by darkness,
The slow march of shadow.
It’s a strange thing,
the way the world changes in an instant.
“A shadow,” I mutter,
trying to make sense of it myself.
“The earth’s shadow… it’s covering the moon.”
But that’s not the whole story.
I know it, and she may know it too.
There’s more to it than just shadows and light.
Nila frowns, and concurs –
“Why does it happen? Is it a curse?”
I shrug, feeling small under her gaze.
But inside, I feel and recall the stories
Whispering through me like old ghosts.
Stories of gods and curses,
Of shadows that aren’t just shadows.
Just then the shadow spreads,
Slow, like a dark veil slipping across the moon.
I can feel it now—heavier,
Like the air itself is thickening,
pressing down on me.
The stars seem dimmer.
The world is quieter than it was just moments ago.
The goats huddle close,
Their bleating soft and nervous.
I move toward them,
My heart pounding in my chest.
But Nila, she stands at the edge of the hill,
Watching the sky like it belongs to her.
The Moon, now fully obscured, hangs in the sky,
A reminder of the vastness, the unknown.
As the eclipse reaches its peak,
the world holds still,
The stars seem closer, the universe more intimate.
I feel a shift, a sense of awe replacing my fear,
Nila’s hand in mine,
a silent promise of support.
“Do you think the moon will come back?” Nila asks,
Her voice cutting through the dark.
I hesitate, the words slow to come.
But I remember something our father once said,
Before he got sick, before everything changed.
“Everything that goes comes back,” he’d said.
“The moon, the rains, the sun.
It’s all part of the dance.”
For in the dance of shadows, in the cosmic play,
We found courage, wonder, and a deeper connection
I swallow hard,
Nod, even though I’m not sure.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“It’ll come back.”
Nila stands still beside me,
Her eyes reflecting the faint light of the stars.
“Do you think we’re part of it?” she asks,
Her voice soft, almost like she’s afraid of the answer.
“The moon, the earth, the stars… the whole thing?”
I look at her, my little sister,
Always asking the questions I’m too scared to ask.
I don’t know.
I don’t know if we’re part of something bigger,
If we’re just here, like the goats, like the trees,
Caught in some orbit we can’t escape.
I’ve never thought about it that way before.
But now, standing here,
with the sky so dark and the world so quiet,
I wonder.
Thirty years have passed, and
I sit alone now.
On the same hill where we once stood,
The same earth beneath my feet,
but the world feels different.
In my hands, I hold this poem — Siva’s words,
His voice lingering in every line.
He’s been gone for decades,
Slipping away like the moon behind clouds,
Quiet, without warning,
just as he always feared.
Yet here he is, still speaking to me,
Through the words he left behind.
And though he’s gone, I feel him here,
In the stillness of the night,
in the rhythm of these hills.
As the moon rises again over Nilgiris,
And I, Nila, the girl who once raced ahead,
Sit quietly with my brother’s words,
Knowing he’s still with me,
In every shadow, in every light.