rivers – Pure and Simple

“If the fish comes out of water to tell you the crocodile is ill, believe it.”

I came across this sentence while I was scrolling through instagram.

Is it a puzzle? I wondered, and decided that the only way to find out was to see how writing might solve it.

But first: have you ever come across this one before?

I’m just curious about its origin.

So, let’s set the scene first.

An old wise man was walking along the riverbank just after dusk. (Now, don’t ask me why an old man. I really don’t know, it just came that way into my head. Besides it sounds better than “an old woman” in the context of a quiet, dark background. And don’t ask why wise. Actually … I can see your point. Not every old men behave wisely. But, at lease let’s make them wise in stories. Now not more interruption, please.)

Once upon a time, an old wise man was walking along the riverbank just after dusk, as the last reddish ray of the flaming sun sank deep behind the big, dark mountains. He was having his usual evening walk by the river. Whether it was cold or warm, rainy or dry, busy or quiet, he never missed this routine unless something serious held him back.

On every evening walk, the old man had a plan—a simple plan to make a kind deed.

Sometimes he gave a stray cat some food,

sometimes he picked up litter and dropped it in bins,

sometimes he helped a mother get her baby’s pram onto the bus,

sometimes he sat back on a bench and patted another old man on the back as he listened to his heartbreaking story,

and sometimes he tried other gestures of kindness.

Until the day he took his evening walk by the riverbank, when it was extra quiet. The only thing he glimpsed that evening was a faraway, shiny golden fish bouncing on the beach.

The fish was the size of a medium salmon. He glanced right and left, wondering whether anyone might run and catch her for their dinner, but there wasn’t a soul around.

He rushed towards the fish, not to make her his dinner, but to push her back into the water so she might live. When he was about a metre away, she made one great bounce into the air, and spoke in a human voice: “The crocodile is ill.” As she landed on the damp beach, a high tide crept forward and swallowed her back into the deep river.

The old wise man stared into the deep river under the dark sky, wondering whether he was dreaming. After a few long moments of silence, he turned and walked back towards the road.

“Even if it was all a hallucination… what does ‘the crocodile is ill’ mean?” He wondered, and sat on the nearest wooden bench.

“If the crocodile is ill, perhaps it means the world is finally safe. People can go out and about with no fear, no threats, no weapons. Perhaps, now they can swim into the river and get rid of it. Then, life will be safe, fishing will be abundant, and people will be free.

“Or… if the crocodile is ill, it may be a warning of danger, awful danger. The river is no longer pure, no longer clean, no longer suitable for life. Not because of the crocodile but because of the river itself. Its water may be polluted, and the land no longer fit for living.”

A moment later, a young man drew near him and gently whispered, “Aren’t we blessed to have this beautiful river…. Tomorrow we’re going fishing.”

The old wise man smiled. He had found the answer.

But… do you think which one was it?

With hope and peace,

Nahla

I studied about oceans at school, but I hadn’t seen one until I moved to the UK with my husband. My first shock was how grey it looked, but of course it’s just the reflection of the typically English grey sky most of the time.

In Egypt, we have the Mediterranean Sea in the north, and the Red Sea is the east. Both are magnificent, with shades of blue and turquoise, sandy beaches, and bustling, beautiful cities. But nothing is totally perfect, because they’re both far too hot.

One of the best memories in my life was when my father held me in his arms and took me far, deep into the sea. My small arms clung tightly to his neck as the sea waves carried us up and down. I closed my eyes and screamed while he laughed at me. He was a great swimmer, the only person I trusted to take me into the big sea.

The River Nile in Egypt in another story, a long beautiful one. There are Nile cruises, restaurants and cafes that light up the nights, and sleep during the day. Yet, my best memories are not from Cario but from the village where my father family used to live in the Upper Egypt. I can still remember the view of the river from the backdoor of the village mosque. The river looked so serene, so elegant, surrounded by green trees, listening to small birds chirping here and there. My father would hold my tiny hands as we climbed down a few steps to the riverbank. There, he let me watch some fishermen at work, and sometimes he would teach me how to hold a fishing rod. The smell of its water and fish was so special, so fresh.

In England, I’ve been fascinated by the tides. I don’t recall noticing this phenomenon in Egypt, perhaps because back then I was so young, and didn’t know much about tides. But in England, it amazed me to see the ocean so far from the shore. It felt extraordinary to walk a mile or two on bare, wet sand, scattered with seaweed and shells, and then find just a few puddles left behind, as the tide remains out, with no sign to return any soon.

Have you heard the saying: Flow like a river, and live like an ocean?

Isn’t it beautiful to let your life flow with the wisdom of the river and live with the ocean’s tides?

In the end, life is both a unique journey with an unexpected adventure.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

Tag: rivers

What Does the Fish Want to Say?

River And Ocean