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The Walk and The Ride

The Walk and The Ride

One late afternoon, before the sun set behind the Maragondon mountains, my younger brother and I were about to walk on a narrow path of earth between rice paddies.  It required a good balancing act to walk on this narrow path about a foot wide or else I would end up falling onto the muddy rice paddy and would sink to almost knee deep of mud.  But as a boy who grew up in and around the farms of New Malainen, I could run up and down this narrow path with ease. 

I wouldn't run. 

This path was carpeted with half a foot tall grass and made it difficult to see what was underneath.  It was a dangerous path.   Poisonous snake common in the area was known to slither underneath these grass preying on small green lizards. 

We dared not run. 

Stepping on one of these snakes would surely cause it to strike as fast at whatever stepped on it.  With a bamboo stick in my hand, I flogged the grass ahead of me to shoo away any lurking creatures underneath the grass.  The bamboo stick made an ominous hissing sound as I sliced the air with it.  Occassionally, I would hear an unseen creature scampered away from the path.  It was most likely the small harmless green lizard. 

I started to walk cautiously.  I wished I had leather boots.  I only had on my feet a pair of flimsy rubber sandals.

Behind me was my younger brother, Ronnie.  He followed me with the same ease.  He also held a bamboo stick and swayed it from side to side to amplify our warning to the unseen creatures.  The swaying and constant flogging of the grass ahead of us must have worked.  We made it to the next paddy without incident.  Here, the path was a lot better than the last one.  The farmer who tendered the field here cut the grass and placed mud over the path and it was already hardened and dried for us to walk on. 

We passed by a large Acacia tree, jumped over a narrow brook and the path became wider. This path was frequently used by farmers who tilled the land around here.  The grass was dry from the frequent trampling.  Here, the rice paddies were mostly dry, the crop was recently harvested and the ground was flat and hadn't been plowed yet for the next planting.

We finally reached our destination.  Another dry rice paddy where a big black water buffalo grazed tenderly on left over hay.   We were to take it and walk it back to the village to be corraled for the night.

It was a gentle beast. 

We did not walk the bulky beast but instead, we scampered hastily up on its back, me at the front and little brother behind me.  The hairs on its back stung our exposed legs.  I held a rope that was attached to its wide moist nostrils, tugged the rope to urge it to move and it did.  To lead the water buffalo to the direction I want, I simply pulled the rope gently to either left or right and the animal would turn.  A few practice turns and I felt at ease leading the beast of burden to our destination. 

So little brother and I did not have to walk on dangerous paths anymore.  We were on the water buffalo's back, whistling a happy tune as we passed the countryside under a warm lazy late afternoon.  The beast walked slowly and despite our itchy legs, we welcomed the summer sun, the cool breeze, and the gentle ride back to the village. 

I enjoyed it too much that I did not pay attention to where we were heading. 

"Brother," little Ronnie nudged me, "ahead!" his finger pointing.

The narrow brook was up ahead.

"Hold on Ronnie," I said.  "We're about to jump over the brook."

 "Wrap your hands around my waist."

He did.  I kicked the sides of the water buffalo with my feet as hard as I could to urge it forward.

It jumped, naturally.  It jerked its hind legs forcefully and suddenly.  As heavy and bulky the beast was, it managed to lift itself into the air gracefully.  We felt the bump, the jerk, the jump.  Our heads were tossled upward.  I held tight on the rope as it 'flew over' the brook in slow motion (at least that was how it felt like) and landed softly on the other side.

Except that Ronnie's hands were no longer wrapped around my waist.  I turned around and he was gone.  I stopped the water buffalo immediately and dismounted it. 

I went towards the brook.

And there was Ronnie, sitting on knee deep water of the brook, laughing.  He was thrown off the back of the water buffalo when it jerked its hind legs and landed butt first onto the brook.   I joined him in his laughter.   Our laughter rang out loud.  Green lizards, snakes, grass, critters, water buffalo must have laughed with us.  

I extended my right hand to him and pulled him out of the brook.  We resumed our little adventure on top of that beast as we continued the journey back to the village.    Before the sun set behind Maragondon mountains, the beast was back in its corral.  

I can't help but smile, grin, laugh at the memory.