Chapter 1

There is a heart in a rock one simply need to listen, I have been living in Godwad the last green western frontier of India for the past 19 years. We have grown up understand the law of nature and the law of the civilised wild. The urge to save and create has always been lingering in my soul, in fact the seed was grown by my guru and father Maharaj RK Rajendra Singh of Jodhpur. He has a vision, he calls it Frontier Horizon.

Skill training and practice is what every living creature lives for and death is what we walk towards. Here is where we stand, now in the present moment. As I am typing my thoughts down, I am feeling the present moment. Like we all know the minute the flow breaks. What we call as I am distracted, is nothing but our monkey mind taking a leap on another branch…. And our present moment becomes another.

So when I am distracted, I stop and observe. Is what I am thinking or doing of any use to me, can it be done later? If no and yes happen together it means , I must go back to what I was doing, typing my thoughts down.

My work place is a playground, we are all under training, our basic skills are put to use. All of us communicate in Hindi, local languages and English. We don’t speak either of them right. We enjoy being in this environment of learning and development.

The nature is our principle, others teachers. We serve every traveller who passes by, from the herdsman and his thirsty herd to a family with children on play. The birds are busy with their lives yet they know the gossip of the forest wild. The monkeys just know how to have fun and the python has the coolest spot, away from the blazing sun, he curls up under the water tank, comfortably numb.

The seeds from the Palaas trees have sprouted perfectly under, some dared to travel a mile. The dry hot winds blowing through the leaves big and small, over rocks and through cracks. Temperatures rising above 50 degree Celsius , yet they sing for herds, “taarr tarrr and with the lips bhrr bhrr”. Walking the lake dry, not a drop to drink. The crocodiles hibernate and the wolf trots along his regular path, not looking back he is too quick for words. The afternoons, be quite as the dead and then suddenly a soul sings, joined my others and that’s how the day turns it’s page.



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