The Sky And The Land

By Raghav Badrinath

Listen, and I shall tell you a tale whispered by the winds, a tale older than the first cry of a child, of how the sky once loved the land.

In the beginning, when the earth was silent and creation still dreamed within the void, the sky stretched wide and endless above, watching the sleeping land below. She looked upon him and saw beauty in his stillness, in the way the mountains rose like breaths from his chest, in the way the rivers wound like veins of silver through his heart. The land looked up and saw in her the boundless blue of devotion, the gentle curve of eternity. They were different, yet drawn together by a love so deep it gave birth to life itself.

When the sky descended to meet her beloved, the world bloomed. Her breath brushed his soil, and flowers awakened. Her laughter danced upon the waters, and oceans shimmered with light. Each dawn was their meeting, each dusk their farewell. And in those sacred hours, when night and day held hands, they whispered promises that echoed through every leaf, every tide, every heartbeat.

But the gods looked upon them and grew envious. No divine union in all the heavens rivaled the tenderness that flowed between the sky and the land. Their jealousy darkened the stars, and in their envy, they cursed the lovers. They commanded the sky to rise high above and the land to remain still and low. With a single word, they tore them apart, and creation itself shuddered at the sound.

The sky cried out in sorrow, her voice trembling through the winds. From her grief poured tears of silver and crystal, cascading through the heavens. They fell upon the land, who reached upward in desperate longing, his rivers swelling to meet her touch. Each raindrop became a kiss, each storm a moment of reunion. Though cruelly divided, they found each other in these fleeting embraces, their love defying even the gods who sought to destroy it.

The gods watched, unmoved at first, but even they could not deny the beauty in her sorrow. Her tears did not fall in rage but in devotion, and the land did not curse his fate but waited, patiently, tenderly, to feel her once again. Moved by this love that neither time nor divine decree could sever, the gods allowed her tears to fall as rain.

So it is said that when the clouds gather and the heavens open, it is the sky returning to her beloved. Each drop that falls carries her heartbeat, each gust of wind her sigh. And when the thunder rumbles across the world, it is her cry of longing, calling out to the one she can never hold. The rivers swell in answer, the forests tremble in joy, and the land drinks her sorrow as if it were the sweetest wine.

Even now, their love endures. Every field that blooms after rain, every scent of earth that rises with the storm, is their story retold. The sky weeps not for loss but for love eternal, and the land waits not in despair but in devotion, knowing that in each storm, they are one again.

For some loves are too vast for the world to contain. They shape it instead, weaving themselves into its bones, into its breath, into every drop of rain that falls.

By Raghav Badrinath