The Duck and his Little Duckling

I am scribbling this story at 4:17 AM in the morning after a dream broke my sleep. The dreams that one sees at this time of the hour are hard to remember once one wakes up. But when I woke up a while back, I was determined that I would not let this one wipe away. A better way of remembering it for a long time would be to pen it down on the iPad. So here goes the dream.

 It was soon to be sunset on the seashore. The sky was lit in orange, with sparse dark clouds adding to its beauty. A father duck and his little baby duck were waiting by the seashore, soaking their fear over the wet sand of the beach. The father duck seemed weak, tired, and wounded. He seemed hurt from a recent fight with a predator which he had managed to escape, a few of his feathers worn out. He had managed to hide his little duckling from the predator. The little duckling was too naive, just learning to walk and swim. The father duck seemed worried for the little one. He looked at its tiny feet that had just started to toddle around him.

“You must be strong, lad, and start finding your own food,” the father duck said.

“Huh huh,” said the little duckling, looking at its father and nodding back. It looked so innocent, unaware of the worldly challenges it could come across when he said so.

“Look, dear, I want you to concentrate and listen to me. I want you to know that your mother and I were fighters. Together we overcame several challenges in our lives. I want you to remember this for the rest of your life. You must keep fighting,” the wounded father kept talking.

The little duckling stopped playing with the waves and gave its father a grave look. It had started to realize that what its father was sharing was serious.

“I wish I could have taught you more life skills. But my time is over and I can no longer serve you, lad. You are on your own from now on,” said the father duck, as he looked at the setting sun on the horizon. He was sure that if he stayed with his little duckling, he would be a burden—unable to find prey on his own. He kept watching the little duckling, which now meant the world to him. It was the only living memory of his partner who had left the family. The father duck had a heavy heart. He was weeping deep inside, yet unable to cry. He did not want to show weakness to his kid. He wanted it to believe that its father was a hero, and that it was the offspring of a heroic duck.

It was a situation he had never been in before. He just wanted the little duckling to leave and fight its own battle. But he kept worrying for its safety—something he had no control over now.

Time had paused. The wind stopped blowing that moment, and the little duckling said, “I’ll go away, Pa! But where are you going?”

“I am going into the sea, lad. Everyone has to go there one day,” said the father duck, seeming to cover the situation.

“Can I come along?” asked the little one.

The father duck had no answer. The waves had calmed down and he knew that they would soon cover the beach. He just wanted his kid to leave the seashore before it was dark. He was unsure of its future after he left, but for the moment he knew the beach would no longer be a safe place for the little one.

I woke up disturbed. It was a dream. A dream for sure. I looked at my hands. I had no wings. Those were my hands. I woke up and walked towards the other room. The kids were asleep with their mother. I stood there for a while wanting to hug them. I did not want to disturb them.