Where the Elements Meet

 

A few photos from my travels — beaches, deserts, mountains — and a Sonu Nigam song from Bunty aur Babli came together in my mind early this morning. Along with some thoughts on the Panchamahabhutas (five great elements), they wove themselves into a quiet reflection as I peeped through the curtains of my bedroom.

Early mornings have this magic. It is that moment when the world hasn’t quite decided what it wants to do. The dark sky seemed as if it was stretching itself awake, peeling itself off the crown of the trees and light unzipped itself from the horizon, like a solo hiker getting himself out of a sleeping bag. For some fleeting moments, the earth and the heavens seemed to be hugging each other, not wanting to leave while they whisper their goodbyes. Some clouds in the meanwhile, rolled and curled around the sky, like a teenager trying to avoid getting up in the morning as his mother tries to wake him up.

I was reminded of another dawn in Pondicherry at the beach a couple of years back. I was sitting relaxedly on the sands watching the beauty of a sunrise. In front of me, the sea appeared to be taking long breaths. Exhale and the lightly frothy waves push itself towards me. Gently rolling. It does not crash or roar.  Inhale and the waves recede. Not rushing, just going back, merging itself back into its source. It was simply breathing. And as each wave rose, it seemed as if the earth herself was diving gracefully into her own reflection. We think of waves as the sea touching the shore, but at that time, I felt it was the land that leaned in first. The waves and the sand like a pair of dolphins diving in and out alternately. The earth dissolves into the water, and water, in turn, shapes the earth, smoothing its edges, carrying away the powdered sand, grain by grain.

From the sea’s edge to the heart of the land, the dance of the elements continues.

Further inland, a river snakes through the plains like a toddler taking its first steps, winding its way. As we watch it closely, we may forget which is moving — the river or the land. The current gives the illusion that the earth itself is gliding, surrendering momentarily to flow. 

And in that mingling, I saw the third element — space. Not just as emptiness, but as the vast silent canvas on which the others were playing. The horizon was its soft seam, where sky and earth and water were stitched together with light, only to be gently sliced with a sharp knife, apart again. At that instant, the thread glows gold; and at dusk, it is stuck together, the thread, a smouldering red. It’s as if the universe is forever re-stitching its own hemline, while letting us glimpse an unseen hand at work. 

Then, the fire arrives. Not in fury, but looking like a tender blush of a young bride. Soon the pink turns to molten gold as the rising sun spills its shine  upon the waves; the sea catches fire, but nothing burns. For a while, water and flame share the same skin, two opposites reflecting each other’s beauty. The fire lends warmth, the water lends coolness, and both play in the air with the invisible wind that carries their shimmer to where I sit.

Ah, the wind, the unseen traveller and storyteller. It touches everything. It ruffles the water scattering a few beams of sunlight into ripples, brushes the hillsides playing tag with some fallen leaves  and moves on. It is what gives sound to silence of nature — the soft hiss of surf, the sigh of grass, the whisper of clouds shifting shape.

In this interplay, I realised that none of the elements are truly apart. The sky needs the earth’s horizon to define it; the earth needs water to feel alive; the fire needs air to burn; and all of them need space to be. Together they create this endless choreography of appearing and dissolving — a world that seems solid, yet is nothing but motion in disguise.

I sit and watch until I no longer know where the land ends and I begin. Maybe that’s the quiet secret of the five elements — that they’re not outside us at all, but within.