There once was a little boy named Sebastian, who was fond of wandering and adventures. These wanderings and adventures were his ‘walkabout’. What is a ‘walkabout’? You may ask. That is indeed an interesting question.

It is said that once a child reaches puberty amongst the Australian aborigines, he or she is left free to roam the desert, preferably under the watchful eye of a tribal elder. The child wanders here and there and sees all. The sights become perceptions; the perceptions become observations; and the observations become learning once translated by the elder. As they grow older, the learning is applied to life, and the lessons become wisdom.

Though Sebastian was never left free to roam around, he loved doing it whenever he could. He loved the tall trees and the green mountains and the blue sky filled with the billowing summer clouds. He loved nature and all its wonderful smells.

‘Each smell, good or bad, becomes the most important part of the memory.’ His old grandfather once told him.

‘A memory?’ The boy asked with surprise glinting in his black eyes, ‘The memory of what, Grandpa?’

‘The memory of life and all of its so many transformations and evolutions - the memory of metamorphosis.’ The old man said while lighting up his ancient wooden pipe.

‘But I don’t like bad smells. I just love fragrances.’ The boy insisted with his hands placed defiantly on his hips.

‘This is because you choose to shun some of the smells and do not treasure them as memories.’ The old man answered with a chuckle, ‘Just like life, the smells cannot be shunned away. And just like memories, all smells, good or bad, are equally wonderful.’

‘I like your smell.’ The boy said affectionately. The old man smelt of sweat and tobacco and some old-fashioned aftershave, and even brandy sometimes. But to the little boy, he always smelt of love and companionship.

‘Yes, you do, don’t you, my little one?’ He gave the boy a loving gaze. ‘Yet my smell is a combination of both good and bad smells.’ ‘I don’t care.’ The boy said while hugging the old man and hiding his small head in his warm lap.

Then one summer evening, something strange happened. In those days, weird things happened to little boys and girls only on summer afternoons. It was probably because while the adults were busy taking their lazy siestas, the children were free to roam around and imagine.

Sebastian was walking a path in the dense forest. He had never seen that path before and was therefore curious. Suddenly, he saw a golden butterfly hovering over some wild flowers. He ran after the butterfly, eager to catch it, and drifted away from the path. After a few minutes of chasing after the butterfly, he found himself standing on the shore of a lake.

The lake was of the deepest shade of emerald green and turned olive where the branches of both old and young trees bent down to softly caress and kiss its waters.

Sebastian saw the lake and was rooted to the spot, overwhelmed to his very core. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Strangely, the lake reminded him of some earlier life - the memory of something sweet, which was lost forever across the thresholds of time.

That summer afternoon, Sebastian and the lake shared a special moment. And in that particular moment, the two were alone amongst an all-encompassing silence. It felt peaceful, and it felt serene as if all the troubles of the world stopped short of the lake’s shore.

‘Guess what I found today in the forest?’ Sebastian excitedly woke up the old man. His grandfather used to have his afternoon siestas in the comfort of his wooden rocking chair, placed in the kind shadow of an ancient oak.

‘Why don’t you tell me?’ His grandpa opened up his sleepy eyes and smiled kindly. Though he loved his siestas very much, he loved his grandson even more.

‘I have found a lake.’ Sebastian informed him excitedly.

‘You haven’t found just any lake. Rather, you have found “the lake”.’ The old man corrected him affectionately.

‘The lake?’ The boy was confused.

‘Yes, the lake!’ The old man ruffled his wild hair. ‘Not everyone can find the lake. Most of the people are stupid and fall in love with the rivers and streams, foaming with needless passion and fury. Then there are a very few who can appreciate and respect the beauty born out of silence and calm, and patience. And the lake is found only by these blessed few.’

‘I don’t understand Grandpa.’ Sebastian protested while scratching his head. ‘You will….one day!’ The old man said, closing his eyes once again.

The next afternoon, the boy visited the lake again, and each afternoon after that, the visit was repeated, finally becoming a ritual. In fact, like the ever-traditional needle of a compass, which always points to the magnetic North, Sebastian felt himself drawn to the lake every day and every afternoon.

Though the relationship between the lake and the boy grew stronger with each visit, something kept troubling Sebastian. The lake reminded him of something but he couldn’t remember what she reminded him of. This greatly perturbed him as he was curious by nature and therefore always wanted things to make sense. When they failed to make sense, they got stuck in his mind. He could, of course, ignore the lake, but she was too beautiful and too magical to be ignored.

Growing tired of his confusion and constant agony, Sebastian bent down and picked up a stone - the biggest he could find. He threw that stone into the lake with his full might. He used so much force that a sharp jab of pain in his shoulder made him wince. But he didn’t have time for pain. Instead, his gaze was focused upon what was happening in the lake.

Ripples were forming and moving out from where the stone had struck the surface. The ripples grew larger and larger and finally reached the shore. The lake was no longer serene. It was no longer beautiful. The spell had been broken, and the lake was troubled, just like Sebastian.

The young boy stood at the shore, silently observing the ripples. Then grief and shame enveloped his heart, and he sat down on the grass. ‘What have I done?’ He thought bitterly. ‘And to what end?’ He reflected.

‘I have done something terrible.’ Sebastian sheepishly informed the old man.

‘Oh?’ He sat up, ‘And what have you done?’

‘I have disturbed the lake.’ He looked into the old man’s eyes for solace and forgiveness. ‘She hates me now.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Sebastian!’ The old man smiled and patted his shoulder, ‘The lake can never hate her friends. It is beyond her very nature.’

‘That might be so, but I have disturbed her, and she may not desire my presence anymore.’ The boy looked down and shuffled his dirty shoes on the grass in sadness.

‘Yes indeed, you have disturbed her. But tell me….’ The old man looked at the boy, ‘How do you know the lake desires your presence?’

‘The wind tells me so, Grandpa.’ Sebastian looked up.

‘The wind?’ The old man’s eyes first widened with surprise, but then settled once again. The shadow of a faraway memory lit up his rheumy eyes. ‘Ah, yes! The wind, of course.’

‘Yes!’ The boy explained eagerly, ‘When the lake desires my presence, it sends a message of her fragrance, riding on the soft shoulders of the wind.’

‘And it is a many-layered fragrance - deep and intoxicating and overwhelming.’ The old man was lost in his memory.

‘Yes, but how do you know that?’ The boy was surprised.

‘Because once, I too found the lake.’ His grandpa smiled a sad smile.

‘The lake?’ The boy asked. ‘You mean my lake?’

‘No!’ The old man wiped his tears. ‘It was my lake, but I lost her.’

‘How did you lose her, Grandpa?’ The boy was very upset, ‘How could you lose the lake?’ ‘Because she was incapable of hating me, I took her for granted.’ The old man sat down as if he had walked hundreds of miles in one go, ‘I chose to ignore her silent message of fragrance in favor of my stupid desires.’

Time kept on passing as it always does - oblivious of everyone and everything. The old man died when Sebastian was still a child. He missed him often, and whenever he missed the old man, he could sense the summer afternoons filling up with smells of sweat, tobacco, and brandy.

Time passed some more. The boy grew older, and the lake grew older with him. When done with all the worldly responsibilities, Sebastian built a wooden cottage on the lake’s peaceful shore. He and his lake were finally together.

‘Tell me……’ One afternoon, the lake whispered, ‘Tell me why you are still here?’

‘Because you were the missing piece in my puzzle, and when I found you and understood you, I felt complete.’ Sebastian answered while inhaling the deep and many-layered fragrance.

‘And tell me……..’ He asked the lake after a while. ‘Tell me why you are still here?’

‘Because…….’ The fragrance whispered back, ‘Because you never took me for granted.’

‘And also because…………’ The fragrance of the lake whispered something in Sebastian’s ear, and he smiled and closed his eyes.

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We might never know what the lake whispered in Sebastian’s ear. But there is something which we can state confidently - there is a special magic in the lake, and if you find one, consider yourself blessed. And if you find one and want to hold onto her, never take her for granted.