The Momma Clan

Mumma bear watched the time on the clock and went out to collect the honey from the hive.

“It’s evening, and the time is right to gather honey,” she thought.

The breezy wind carried the fragrance of the wildflowers in the valley, and the bees buzzed around the fragrant, colourful cone and cosmos buds, swaying in the spring air.

Their beauty enchanted the wild, and the flowers wilted in the wilderness; the dancing bees, wasps, and butterflies welcomed the blooms.

The valley blossomed, unfurling its beauty in spring, and a brook rippled through the hill, cutting it into two unequal halves; round red and brown pebbles filled the hillock, and wild grasses danced to the melody of the wind. The sun’s rays shimmered on the river’s surface, glinting like precious gems.

Mumma bear lived with her baby bear in a den beneath the hill.

Every morning, Mumma Bear strolled out in the sunshine to absorb the essential vitamins for strong bones and combed the valley, collecting wild berries in her basket. Today, she thought of gathering honey in her honey bag for her little one, who loved the smell of fresh nectar.

As she entered the dark house, a sliver of light filtered through the curtains, and the baby bear slept soundly on the bed.

She caressed her baby, waking him up from his deep slumber.

“Guess what we will have for breakfast,” she whispered in his ear, “loaves of bread with honey, wild berries, and cheese,” Baby Bear smilingly answered, his eyes half-closed.

Mumma Bear pulled the curtains aside and prepared the morning’s delightful breakfast. Both mumma and Baby had fun eating together, chuckling between their mouthful bites and singing the rhyme.

The goat paddles the bicycle,

through the mountain road,

singing songs all day.

He whistles a tune

through the mountain road,

The wind carries the melody all the way.

Mumma Bear washes the dishes and heads towards her workshop; she makes wooden tables from the wood collected from the hillside.

Her baby builds castles with sawdust that crumbles with whiffs of wind.

He restarts enthusiastically, changing the patterns and shapes of the houses; his hands are dirty, and so are his clothes.

They bathe in the clean river water and sit together for lunch.

Grilled fish with herbs tastes divine after a hectic day at the workshop.

Mumma and Baby Bear watch their favorite television show; they cuddle, exhausted and snoring after a long day and a hearty meal.

Mamma Bear takes the baby bear to the park by the river to play with his cub friends.

They run, laugh, hop, and skid in the sand, trekking to the hilltop as Mumma Bear watches the cubs push and pull each other. Memories of her childhood flash before her eyes, and she moans and woofs, revisiting those golden, carefree days.

The sunsets, and they call an end to their beautiful day!

Mumma bear sings songs, dances to the music, narrates tales from storybooks, and plays games with her baby cub.

The baby cub was never encouraged to watch television, as he kept busy helping his mother around the house.

He heard stories, songs, and rhymes, played games, and tended to the plants in the garden.

Sometimes, he accompanied his mother on morning strolls, picked berries, went fishing, and collected honey. A swarm of bees stung his face, causing him to jump and run into the wild.

He replaced cartoons with real-life incidents. Ensconced in nature’s exuberance, the baby bear sought nothing unreal. His life was more adventurous than those fast-paced cartoon movies, which are untrue and transient memories that fade with time. Childhood memories are raw, unpolished, and messy. Bruised knees, pencil scribblings, silly fights, dirty clothes, runny noses, sunny afternoons, stolen mangos, and howling voices of neighbourhood old land ladies fill the space called childhood memories.

 The baby bear smiles and sits beside the running brook, holding a fish rod and humming his favorite tune Mumma taught him.

-Nibedita