The motorcycle monologue

The motorcycle and its rider both had an uncanny rickety ruggedness about them. But while the machine kept on growling and sputtering, the rider bore a nonchalant serenity. Perhaps that’s because he wasn’t the one doing the work. However, he had many signs of not shying away from hard work. But presently he was just content to soak up the primal beauty of his surroundings. They had left the road some time ago and were now traveling on a gravel track lined with occasional clumps of woods and leading to the not-so-distant mountains.

Iskra, the motorcycle, was doing his best not to lose his footing on the loose gravels. But he wouldn’t have minded sending his rider tumbling over. He had been miles and hours on the go, ever since he was rented from his quaint shop in that little town. He does take travelers around, specially during the summer months like this. But none of them were demented like the one he was carrying now. What sort of lunatic rides on these roads? Roads, in the middle of which a hawk is comfortable enough to devour her rabbit?

Iskra wasn’t shy of hard work. Thousands and thousands of miles had rolled under those wheels; well, not exactly those wheels since he got those just a couple of years ago. He wasn’t any city slicker either, just look at those dents and scratches all over his body. In fact, he would rather be in this wild unknown than any other place in the world. But that aura of madness around his present companion made him uneasy. What if he had an accident, he being the rider and not himself? How on earth will someone find him? The old lady will only start looking if he isn’t returned on time. Wait a minute, he grumbled to himself, why the hell am I getting worried about him?

Perhaps it was the affection. Iskra loved the rough caress on his tank and though that thump on his seat was a bit hard, he didn’t mind. And he gave him the name-Iskra, the spark. It made something warm flow through his body. He actually loved being with him, out here. If only the nutter had stuck to the roads, the real roads, for his own sake. Now where the hell is he going, Iskra sputtered to himself? He doesn’t have any camping gear with him, does he want to sleep under the sky? Iskra let out coughs, he couldn’t help laughing. Even the summer’s midday wasn’t warm enough for him, he would love to see him spend a night out in the open, Iskra gave couple more coughs.

The coughs were misinterpreted by the rider. He stopped the motorcycle on a patch near the river and gently rubbed the tank. You OK, mate; he asked, let’s take a breather, he said and climbed down from the machine. I think we are almost there, he mumbled, staring at the looming mountains. Then he brought out a large sandwich from his rucksack; want a bite, mate, he offered Iskra. Iskra remained silent, unperturbed by the snub, the rider leaned on the motorcycle and started to munch heartily. Hope the tea is still warm, he mumbled as he dragged a flask out of his rucksack. ‘Aah’ came a loud and merry exclamation, the tea was still warm indeed. He took a generous gulp, let the warmth run through his body, and smacked his lips in delight. They call it summer, a bunch of loonies, eh! Iskra remained silent. But this was what summer looked like in the Grampian Mountains.

The rider was right about being almost there. For the last couple of miles, the road ran along the river, now that the river had turned and snaked into the mountains, the road had faded into the forest at the foothills. Oh dear, what’s he up to now? Iskra growled loudly as the rider drove him straight to the forest-to a giant, fallen tree. YOU, NUTTER; he gave one last growl before giving up to being smashed to smithereens. There wasn’t any crash & bang, instead, there was a mild popping sound and a strange sensation of being sucked into. A moment later, he was on a dirt track inside the forest.

It was an ancient forest. Grand, old trees laden with mosses and lichens lined the narrow track and even at midday there was a dappled light on the forest floor. Iskra was torn between relief and bewilderment; Hey! I’m in one piece, collided with Where the heck am I? The forest was full of twits, chirps, rustles, and scutterings and all those seem to be hardly bothered by a growling, sputtering motorcycle. Gosh, it’s freezing in here, the rider yelped; Iskra had forgotten about him. After just a few minutes of a bumpy ride on the track, they came out of the forest.

They raced across the sun-drenched clearing, the mountains looming in the background as the forest closeted from all sides. They were racing towards the house on the other side. A house! Not a hut, not even a cabin, a beautiful, cozy, house. Three figures emerged through the front door moments before Iskra came to a screeching halt in front of them.

Hiya, Pivsy! Suruj gave the little girl dangling from his neck an almighty squeeze.