The raindrop has dived 6500 feet. His destination—a diseased mango leaf. The raindrop does not dwell on wasted grandiose; he knows his place, and he is aware he comes with purpose—to plant a touch, a kiss as a representative of the universe, to soothe the mango leaf, a stranger in distress—before rolling off its anthracnosed surface, pulled by fate. Some think to call it gravity, but gravity is fate, and fate—the raindrop knows—is design, supplemental to purpose; it is old wisdom, for he has lived and relived since he came to be, many million years ago. But come the time, the raindrop, wistful, will cling to the tip of the mango leaf, refusing to let go. Yet, the raindrop must, and the raindrop will, for the raindrop has dived 6500 feet with purpose more than one—to sink into the earth, and be one with the other raindrops—aid birthing the new, sustaining the now, washing away the old—before disintegrating, atoms scattered—interweaving between growing spaces—caught in a farewell dance with fellow raindrops, until he is a raindrop again, and ready to dive 6500 feet.
Tejaswinee Roychowdhury lives in West Bengal, India, and writes fiction, CNF, and the occasional poetry. Her work has recently appeared / will appear in Ongoing, Roi Fainéant Press, Yuzu Press, Ayaskala, Alphabet Box, and elsewhere. She is also a lawyer and tweets at @TejaswineeRC.