The dragonfly and the Lizard
“Look, look Mumma I caught a dragonfly,’ panted my boy in anticipation of cheer as he showed me a rudderless dragonfly flapping its wings hysterically to get out of the plastic jar. I showered praise for his effort and courage and my eleven year old gleamed with joy. His eyes glistened with pride. Catching a dragonfly might not be the greatest achievement for you and me, but a child lives for the moment and at that moment he felt like a winner.
When he was looking intently at the desperate dragonfly and describing all its body parts vividly, I quietly asked him if the fly looked happy to him. He looked at the fly closely, “Mumma, I think it is afraid and looks sad.” He paused for a moment and looked at me with curiosity wanting a road map for the next action.
I felt the euphoria ebbing away in his tone but at the same time wanted his new pet to be happy. It was twilight, birds were chirping faintly as most of them flew back home, peacocks squawked and pigeons cooed distantly. Perhaps it was time for the dragonfly to go back home. “Well, go to the verandah, and set the dragonfly free,” I advised my boy. “Are you sure, Mumma?” He glanced at me and then at the fly. Little boys have this ability of instant affection towards a thing, insect, animals or toys.
“I am sure, see, how impatiently he is fluttering.”
“Okaaaay,” said my boy as he dragged his tone and feet.
I got back to my work and forgot about the dragonfly for a while.
“Mumma, Mumma, see what happened!” His voice was layered with excitement and remorse.
I scurried to the verandah. My boy stood at the entrance of the verandah with the open jar in his right hand. The lid of the jar rolled to the left corner of the verandah.
The moment he saw me, tears welled up in his eyes. I could not fathom what could be so regretful between a trapped dragonfly in the jar and setting it free!
“Mumma, the moment I let the dragonfly out of the jar, the next moment a sly lizard gobbled him,” he blurted out in anger. “I could not stop the lizard from catching the poor fly,” he dropped the jar on the floor and darted out into the garden overlooking the two hundred and fifty-year-old neem tree. I understood his pain. Perhaps he understood how nature works.
The empty jar still oscillated on the floor. With a fixed gaze on the inanimate object I thought, who was right? Was it my boy as he wanted to keep the dragonfly, probably he decided to name it too or me, as I wanted the fly to be free or the lizard who ate up the fly as his primary instinct to satiate his desire for food? Were we all correct from our own perspectives or all wrong? As I debated with futility, it was dark outside. The birds stopped chirping. A couple of frogs croaked nearby. I saw my boy walking back with downcast eyes. I realised whatever my conclusion is about who is right or wrong, the dragonfly is still gone.
