The requiem of a mountain stream

Forested hills are often furnished with many tiny streams that originate from natural underground reservoirs. They hold enormous natural, aesthetic and cultural values but today, more so than ever, they are in extreme danger for several reasons, in different parts of the country. The small town of Kurseong, in the hills of Darjeeling - where I come from - also has many such streams that are of unparalleled beauty and value. I grew up visiting several of them in different seasons and what lovely times they were!

Sadly, today most of the streams are gone. Some dried up due to inextricable reasons involving climate change, deforestation, and so on, while others have simply been clogged by filth and garbage. This has affected every part of a resident's life, and this transition perhaps reflects a deeper change in society. Yet the issue of drying hill streams is barely a topic of discussion. Though my poem draws from my own experiences, I hope it brings about a moment to reflect upon what we have lost and are ought to lose in the coming years.

Note: The photos used here were taken by me and my friends and are for representation purposes only.

The tiny forest stream that once toads,

Fishes, insects, and birds called home;

Has metamorphosized to a stinky drain -

Plastic-filled and filth-torn.

The young lady that once sourced,

Clean water from its flow;

As an old woman now is forced -

To pay for water from another drying source.

The serenity that it once brought the locals,

As they sat beside it mingling at night;

Is replaced by a pocket of anxiety,

That provokes none to fight.

When I see the poor stream today,

My memories seem fictitious:

Turning rocks, catching crabs on good days,

Attaining solace in what now seems preposterous.

Perhaps chopping the old trees uphill -

Or choking springs with plastic did the trick;

Or perhaps the greed to extract all water

Killed the stream; none considerate for the fish?

Now the toads don't croak at night,

Missing too, are the snakes and the butterflies;

An unorthodox panoply of human actions,

Has had the biodiverse stream streamlined.

And yet we do not learn,

Because filth is swept away every monsoon -

Cleaning the hills but choking the feet.

For we fail to learn that the stream is one -

From its source, to where its ends meet.